I stared at the sprig in his hand. It had a long green stem with feathered leaves and little white flowers crowded at one end.
“Yarrow,” I murmured, taking it from him.
“She said it would help with your wound.” Callias stared at my bandaged hand, a crease pressing between his brows. “Melantho…youshould’ve told me what happened with Agamemnon.”
A bolt of anger shot through me.
“She had no right to tell you,” I snapped. “And I don’t need this.”
“It might help—”
“I don’t need her help. I made that very clear. I don’t need anything fromher.”
Callias’s brows rose. “Fine. Just toss it away then.”
“No.”
“No?”
I shouldered past Callias, crumpling the sprig in my fist.
“Melantho?” he called after me as I pushed my way through the crowded kitchen. “Where are you going?”
“To tell her myself.”
***
Fury fueled my every step.
Thankfully, the palace was swarming with busy slaves, so nobody questioned me as I stormed my way to Penelope’s chamber.
“I need to see the princess,” I told the queen’s handmaids hovering outside her door.
Their chatter fell silent as they eyed me suspiciously.
“Why?” one asked.
“A private matter,” I said.
“Princess Penelope isn’t allowing any visitors.”
“She won’t even letusin. Says she doesn’t need our help,” another added sourly.
“Well, I need to see her,” I said, pushing past them.
“You can’t go in there!” a third cried.
The handmaids’ squawks faded as I strode inside, the door swinging firmly shut behind me. I balled the yarrow in my fist as I marched forward, fury coating my tongue with acidic words I was ready to let fly. But when I looked up, I froze.
A goddess stood in Penelope’s chamber, radiant and golden.
She wore the most beautiful gown I had ever seen, a yellow so rich it looked as if it had been woven from pure sunlight. Jewels glittered at her wrist and neck, a gold diadem dripping down her forehead, glinting in the light. Her hair had been cut short, the sheer edges brushing her jaw, leaving the elegant slope of her neck bare.
“Melantho.” Penelope stared at me, my name catching on her lips.
I blinked, forcing myself to focus.
“You…you gave me this,” I said, holding out the sprig of yarrow. The accusation did not come out as I intended. My anger sounded blunted, its edges dulled to a thick lump in my throat.
