“I do not think I can walk.” She gripped him tighter. “Will you carry me to our chamber?”
“I have matters to attend to here.”
“Let Telemachus handle them.” Penelope stared at her son. “He knows what he must do.”
Odysseus looked reluctant. “Penelope—”
“Please.” She stroked his face with such tenderness.
I wanted to scream or vomit, yet all I could do was stare dumbly at them, gulping down breaths into my ruined throat.
“Take me to our marriage bed—the one you made for us,” Penelope whispered. “Please, husband.”
This request seemed to strike Odysseus like a blow, causing his face to crumple. He began to cry then, tears streaking clear paths down his bloodied cheeks as he lifted Penelope into his arms. He carried her so gently, with hands capable of such violence.
“I tried to return to you sooner. I am sorry, I—”
“Let us not talk of this here,” Penelope murmured.
Odysseus nodded, then looked to Telemachus. “Hang the slaves, then burn the bodies. I want nothing left of them.”
Telemachus nodded. “Yes, Father.”
Penelope’s eyes reached for mine, our hearts shattering against each other’s as the king of Ithaca carried his wife away.
62
I held Melanthius in my arms as his body grew cold.
I could not cry for him. I was beyond tears now, in some weightless, liminal space where emotions hung suspended within that crushing darkness of grief.
“Eumaeus, leave us,” I heard Telemachus say.
“Master, are you quite sure?”
“Do not question me!” the prince of Ithaca roared. He sounded like his father. “I said leave!Now!”
There was a brief silence, then the shuffling of steps that slowly faded.
Wordlessly, the prince of Ithaca walked forward and picked up the sword his father had discarded. I tensed as I stared at the boy I had helped to raise, the boy I loved as my own flesh and blood, the boy who was made from the person I cared for most in this world.
“Are you going to kill me now, prince?” I muttered.
Telemachus stared at the blade as if he were still deciding. Then he stormed toward Actoris and sliced her bindings.
“Help me free the others,” he commanded. “Quickly.”
Actoris spat out the rag Odysseus had used to gag her, then turned on Telemachus, her eyes filled with such hatred they made the prince flinch.
“You would’ve let usdie,” she snarled. “You sniveling, spinelesscoward.”
“Please,” Telemachus whispered thickly. “We don’t have much time.”
Without saying another word, Actoris shoved past him and began untying Skaris.
I knew I should help; we might only have a few precious moments before Odysseus returned. But I could not bring myself to leave Melanthius alone with only the severed pieces of himself as company.
“Melantho.” A frayed voice came from beside me. A hand on my arm. Hippodamia. “We must leave now.”
