I knew that. Every slave did. It was the silent threat that hung over us, all those horror stories about slave markets and silver mines.The knowledge of how much worse our lives could become with just a single command.
“But don’t you want to be more than what we are?” I pressed. “More than just a slave?”
Sometimes, I longed to go back to those days when I believed “slave” was just a name I shared with my family, one that gave me a sense of belonging. But that naivety was gone, stripped from me like everything else.
And I knewshewas to blame.
Penelope had struck something inside me that summer, a thrill I had never experienced before, one that lingered, its echo making my life feel inexplicably hollow. With her, I had glimpsed another world, and now, in its looming shadow, everything felt…lesser. Ifelt lesser.
And I hated her for it.
I hated her for so many things.
“All I want is for you to be happy, my heart. If I have that, what more do I need?” My mother smiled, and I sighed, throwing my hands up in defeat. She never understood.
“But I’mnothappy. I’m bored.”
“Boring is good. Boring is safe.”
“I would take danger and excitement over boring and safe,” I stated. Though even just saying the words made the scars on my back twinge.
“Don’t tempt the Fates, Melantho,” my mother warned.
I scoffed. “The gods do not listen tous.”
She took my hand and squeezed tight, her dark eyes suddenly intense on mine. “They are always listening, Melantho. Always.”
7
The morning was fresh the day my world fell apart. Autumn had finallyset her claws into the earth, letting the summer heat bleed out.
I was with my mother, preparing our masters’ breakfast. The kitchens hummed with activity; fires spluttered to life, pots clattered, feet shuffled to and from the storeroom. Sweet cinnamon punctuated the air as one of the cooks sprinkled it over the porridge. It was a rare and expensive spice, the smell of a luxury I would never know the taste of.
The sound of footsteps caught my attention.
I glanced at my mother, a silent question lifting my brows. A second later, guards burst into the kitchens.
“Up. Move. Now.”
“I said now!”
“What’s going on?” I gasped.
“It’s all right,” my mother whispered. “Just stay close to me. Everything will be all right.”
Before I could even wipe my dough-caked fingers, I was swept up in a swirling current of rushing feet as the guards herded us outside.
“Move faster.”
“Keep quiet.”
“Eyes ahead.”
I gripped my mother’s hand as we spilled out into the palacegrounds. Sleepy morning mist skulked across the earth, dew-dusted grass caressing our feet. Ahead of us, a thick thread of gold tied the horizon to the sky as Helios began his daily ascent. Beneath that sky, I spied men working the fields, their spindly silhouettes like smudges of paint. Some turned to watch as the guards drove us into straight, uniform rows.
To our left were three large carts. One was filled with pigs, another with bleating sheep. The third cart was empty.
Icy dread crept up my spine. I looked at my mother again, watching the fear tighten around her like a noose.
