I hated the cold curl of fear that slithered through me. It felt so wrong to be frightened of Melanthius when once he had been my safest harbor.
“I’m not defending her,” I said carefully, forcing myself to hold his blistering glare. “But it’s not as simple as you think—”
“No, sister. It’s actually very,verysimple.” Melanthius braced his hands on the table, leering toward me. “Penelope is one of them, and to them, we’re nothing. We’ve always been nothing and always will be.” My brother’s gaze dropped, noting the flush of color creeping upmy neck, bleeding into my cheeks. “Oh, Mel, don’t tell me you actually believe Penelopecaresfor you? How about we count the scars on your back? Will that remind you how she really feels?”
“Stop it—”
“What is it with her?” he pressed, disgust curling around his lips. “What hold does she have over you?”
I looked away, shame clotting inside me as that dream flooded my mind, the same one that had been plaguing me the last few nights.
“I’m done with this conversation,” I said, rising on shaky legs.
Melanthius laughed. I remembered when his laughter had been sweet and infectious, always summoning my own. The noise that escaped him now was the withered ghost of that laugh, a cruel, dead shadow chilling the room.
“Of course, run back to your Precious Penelope. Gods forbid you spend too much time with your own kind.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Admit it, Mel.” He stood slowly, stepping toward me. His breath smelled rancid, of wine and grief. “You hate your own kind. You only care for yourself.”
“That’s not true—”
“Tell me, how many slaves would you step on to keep Penelope’s attention? You already traded Callias and Melitta. So how many more?” He pushed closer, forcing me to retreat a step. “Five? Ten? A hundred?”
“That’s enough. You need to leave.”
“Oh? You’re givingmeorders now, that it? You really have been spending too long with their kind, sister.”
His fury was like a shard of glass embedded in his flesh—sharp and cold and cruel, reflecting all the ugliness I recognized inside myself.
“I saidleave.” My voice quivered from the strain of reining in my temper.
“This is your problem, Mel. You think yourself so above us. Youalways have.” He was all around me now, swallowing up every inch of space until my back was pressed against the farthest wall. “But guess what? You’re just as worthless as the rest of us, and no matter how much you grovel at Penelope’s pampered feet, you won’t ever change that.”
I moved to shove him away, but Melanthius caught my wrists, yanking me against his chest so he could spit his next words directly into my face.
“Listen close, sister, ’cause it appears you’ve forgotten. You are Penelope’sslave. You are a thing, an object, just like the rest of us, and you’llneverbe anything more to her. You are nothing. Do you hear me?Nothing.”
His eyes were manic, but amid that frenzy, I saw something caught there, vulnerable and delicate, beating like the wings of a bird in a raging tempest.
“Is that what you see yourself as, Melanthius?” I asked.
His lips curled into a snarl, but he remained silent.
“Because it’s not true. You arenotnothing. Not to me.”
“Don’t give me your pity—”
“It’s not pity. You are not—”
“I saiddon’t!”
I did not see his hand until it struck, the impact singing along my cheekbone. But it was not pain that shot through me. It was rage.
Melanthius’s face was suddenly bloodless, eyes wide.
“Melantho…” he spluttered. “I didn’t mean… I…”
