“Good night. May Demeter bring you her fertility and Aphrodite her passion,” Eurycleia said with a wink before leaving.
I noticed the way her words made Penelope stiffen.
“Thank you for being here.” Odysseus turned to address us. “I am certain your lovely voices will bring us good fortune in producing a strong, healthy heir for Ithaca. What duty could be more important than that?”
I glanced at the girls, their faces shining with purpose. Did they really eat his words up so easily? I tried to keep my attention on them, but Penelope’s presence was like the tide, pulling my focus toward her no matter how hard I fought.
She was watching Odysseus, her expression calm, though I could see she was picking at her nail beds behind the folds of her gown, the skin red and sore. When I lifted my gaze back to her face, she was staring at me, eyes bright with fear. The sight of it silenced the anger inside me, like icy water thrown over a flame.
Odysseus’s hand landed heavily on Penelope’s shoulder, making her flinch.
“I have something I wish to show you,” he told her.
He flung open the doors to his bedchamber and led Penelope forward. Inside, I caught a glimpse of the bed Eurycleia had spoken of. Indeed, it had been carved from a tree growing through the heart of the chamber, its very branches making up the framework of the bed. It was an incredible feat of craftsmanship, and I saw the way Odysseus’s eyes gleamed with pride as he showed Penelope, murmuring words too low for me to catch.
I craned my neck, trying to get a better look at the bed, but then I thought of all that was about to occur within its sheets. Torturousglimpses burned through my mind, of flesh and skin and lips. I felt my cheeks burning, that fist clenched around my stomach twisting tighter.
Odysseus turned to us then and gave a triumphant smile before moving to close the doors. Over his shoulder, Penelope’s eyes reached for mine. She looked so small in that shadowy room. So afraid.
So alone.
It reminded me of when we’d first met, after Penelope had walked me back to the slave quarters and I had been so desperate to hold on to that last glimpse of her. Our eyes held, just as they had done that night, as the doors between us closed, once again locking Penelope in her world and me in mine.
But for the first time ever, I did not wish to be in her place.
***
It was the longest night of my life.
I did not sing with the other girls, nor did I leave. As much as I wanted to, something rooted me to the spot. I told myself it was because I did not wish to face Eurycleia’s wrath for abandoning my post. But truthfully, it was the fear in Penelope’s eyes that kept me there. It had laced itself inside me, tying me to that wretched room, rendering me unable to leave until I saw her again, until I knew she was safe. I still hated her, of course, but that did not mean I wanted any harm to come to her.
And I knew how ugly a man’s lust could become. How terrifying it could be.
I listened intently at the doors, my whole body poised, ready to storm inside should I hear any hint of a sob or a scream or a shout.
But no sound came, just the warbling voices of the slaves as they sang their wedding ballads, painting the darkness with their sweet, lilting melodies.
When dawn spilled, rosy and golden, across the floor, the girls began to leave.
“Melantho, it is time for us to go,” Hippodamia whispered, voicehoarse from singing.
I said nothing, continuing to glare at the closed doors ahead of me.
I heard Hippodamia sigh as she left.
I do not know how long I waited after that, but eventually those doors opened, and Penelope stepped out.
I did not move, did not even breathe, my eyes burning as I scanned every inch of her. She looked tired, her hair and clothes a little disheveled, cheeks slightly flushed. But she appeared unharmed.
“Are you well?” My voice was a strange, strangled thing.
Penelope blinked, once, twice. It was rare to see her so surprised.
“I am,” she whispered. Then she tested a step forward. “Melantho—”
I turned on my heel and stalked out of the room.
20
