“It’s not,” I insisted.
“So you never shared Eurymachus’s bed?” Odysseus pressed. “You never told him of my wife’s ploys?”
“Father, she would never.”
Odysseus turned to his son. “Have you ever known Eurycleia to lie?”
Telemachus hesitated, meeting my gaze. “But you wouldn’t…would you?”
“I…I didn’t mean… It was…” My voice was brittle, breaking into useless shards that lodged in my throat.
Telemachus looked as if I had struck him. “Melantho?”
“I was protecting you,” I tried. “Please, let me explain—”
“Do you see the lies she spins? You saw her yourself, bringing weapons to arm the suitors against us. She is as guilty as they are.”
The prince’s lips trembled, then hardened into a firm line as he met his father’s gaze. “What will you do with her?”
“I will decide her fate in due course,” Odysseus said. “But first, we must purge these halls of this bloodshed before the gods take offense. Eumaeus, take the goatherd away, and keep watch over him.”
Eumaeus bowed low. “Yes, master.”
“Telemachus, find Eurycleia,” Odysseus ordered. “Tell her to bring me the rest of the queen’s handmaids.”
***
My hands were blistered and raw from scrubbing away all evidence of Odysseus’s massacre.
Around me, my friends worked in fearful silence. When Eurycleia led them into the hall, I had seen the horror carve open their faces as they beheld the gruesome scene.
“Clean,” Odysseus had instructed us.
So we cleaned.
As others came in to drag the bodies away, we got down on our hands and knees and scrubbed at the gory mess and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, all while Odysseus prowled around us.
Time lost all meaning. We could have been cleaning for hours or days, yet the blood never seemed to lessen. It was everywhere—on my clothes, my skin. I swore I could eventasteit: that thick, metallic tang…
“What happened?” Hippodamia breathed beside me. “We were so worried about you.”
I met her gaze and felt her fear spark against mine. I couldn’t think what to say to her, how to explain.
My attention drifted to the others. Autonoë was choking on the stench of death while Actoris stole worried glances at Skaris. Her wound had been bound, but it was clearly still troubling her. Even poor Eurynome had been forced to work on her knees, her movements painfully stiff.
Autonoë tossed another bucket of water across the floor. The king of Ithaca halted midstride and stared at the bloodied river pooling around his feet. I swore I saw him shiver.
“Melantho?” Hippodamia brushed my arm.
“Where is Penelope?” I asked.
“Eurycleia locked her in her rooms. She said it was under the king’s instruction. He wanted this mess cleared before she sees it.” Hippodamia fell silent as Odysseus stalked past. Once he was a safe distance away, she continued, “Penelope nearly lost her mind when you did not return. If she hadn’t been distracted with tending to Skaris’s leg, she would’ve come after you.”
Come back to me.Her voice ached in my mind—a torturous plea.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“Don’t be.” Hippodamia reached for my hand, a hesitant smile lifting her lips. “It’s done. It’s over now.”
