“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I gulped out useless pleas, tears streaming. “I won’t do it again. I promise. Please. Please don’t.”
I felt a warmth trickling down my legs, just as Clytemnestramuttered, “Gods above. She’s pissed herself.”
That’s when I began to cry for my mother.
“Please, stop this!” Penelope shouted.
“Just get on with it,” Leda instructed.
I lifted my head just enough to glance over my shoulder. Penelope was standing behind me, the whip in her hands, horror filling her eyes as she watched me sprawled out before her.
“I cannot,” she whispered thinly. “I will not.”
I felt a flicker of relief before I saw Clytemnestra shove Penelope aside, grabbing the whip.
No.
A hand slammed my head down, the impact juddering through my skull.
I heard thecracka moment before I felt it.
Liquid fire seared my back. I had never known pain like it. It was unbearable, carving open my skin, making my entire body spasm. I screamed, my cries for my mother strangled into a howl of agony. Before I could even catch my breath, the whip came again. It felt as if it were eating my flesh.
A darkness crept in around me, but I blinked it away, terrified of sinking into it. When my eyes focused, I saw Penelope standing in front of me, held there by another guard.
“It will be over soon, Melantho,” she was telling me, though the words sounded watery in my head, like hot broth dripping from my ears.
When the third and fourth lashes came, I felt the world grow distant; the only thing keeping me tethered to it was the pain devouring my back with tongues and teeth of fire. But even that could not stop oblivion from beckoning, and I tumbled down into an endless darkness.
Consciousness found me again as I was being peeled off the table. There was blood everywhere. So much blood. I stared at it, barely able to comprehend it was my own.
“Well done,” a voice said. Clytemnestra, I thought. “You took yourpunishment well.”
“Take her back to the slave quarters. She is a handmaid no more. Make sure someone tends to the wounds.”
“Yes, my queen.”
A hand pushed me forward, and I stumbled, my legs giving out beneath me.
“Gently,” Leda snapped. “If she can’t walk, just carry her.”
Large arms slipped around my waist, and I felt the floor disappear. The guard then draped me over his shoulder, ensuring no part of him was touching my back. I hung limply, barely able to lift my gaze. Across the room, Penelope was staring at me, gray eyes wide and glassy. She was utterly motionless, save for the slight trembling of her fists where she gripped her gown.
I held her gaze for a long moment, waiting for her to speak, to reach out for me, to comfort me, to do something. Anything.
But Penelope just lowered her eyes as they carried me away.
6
I recovered slowly.
I can only recall glimpses of that time, wisps of memory dancing like shadows in a storm.
My mother holding my hand.
My brother crying.
The sting of a wet cloth against my back.
