“Get out.”
“Sister—”
“Get out!” I screamed, so loud it made my cheek throb.
Melanthius flinched, stumbling back a step.
Then he turned and fled.
***
Penelope’s quarters were mercifully quiet when I returned.
I had spent the afternoon walking the hills of Ithaca, chased by my brother’s vile words.
It was dark now, a stillness falling over the palace as night settled in. I was grateful for the solitude as I cut across the room to where the wine had been left out. I poured myself a drink and drained it quickly, then another.
Setting the cup down, I covered my face with my hands, feeling the heat radiate from my swollen left cheek. I pressed harder, wanting to feel the sting of Melanthius’s strike once again, wanting it to hurt.
You only care about yourself.
“How did it go with your brother?”
I glanced over my shoulder and found Hippodamia watching me from the hearth, her brows pressed together in concern.
I said nothing, turning back to refill my wine.
“Melantho? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I saidI’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine—”
“Well, apologies—we can’t all be perfect, happy handmaids likeyou—but some of us have shit to deal with.” The words were like poison leaking from an infected wound. I couldn’t have stopped them even if I had tried.
Hippodamia huffed a quiet, humorless laugh but said nothing.
I sighed, setting the wine jug down.
“I… It’s been a long day,” I murmured, rubbing my chest with the heel of my palm, trying to dispel the guilt that had settled there. “I want to be alone.”
I hoped Hippodamia would take the invitation to leave, but then I heard her bare feet padding over the floor and felt her draw up beside me. She picked up the jug of wine.
“Did you know I was born in a brothel in Athens?” She spoke as she filled a cup for herself. “My mother worked there. My father…well, hewas only around long enough to get what he paid for. My mother died in childbirth, and I was left to grow up there alone, forced to work as soon as my body had developed enough to…satisfythe customers. I was only six when I had my first client.” She smiled at me as she brought the wine to her lips and took a sip. “I have stories darker than Nyx herself.”
“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
She shook her head. “No. Don’t give me your sympathy. I don’t need it. You know why? Because I decided long ago that my past would not define me. I decided that every day, I would wake up and I wouldchoosehappiness. We don’t have much choice in this life, Melantho, but we have choice over that. To not let them break us.Thatis my rebellion.It may seem small and insignificant to some, but it is the reason I am still here today.”
I stared at her for a long moment, mesmerized by her quiet, beautiful strength.
“How did you end up in Ithaca?” I asked.
“It turned out the brothel manager was a terrible businessman. Gambled away all his earnings. He had to sell all his whores to pay back his debts. I was carted around to a few port towns and was finally bought by King Laertes.” Hippodamia sipped her wine, watching me over the rim of the cup. I sensed she was debating her next words carefully. “You can choose it, too, you know. To be happy.”
