I glanced away. “It’s not always that simple.”
“It can be. But first you must allow yourself to be happy.”
I felt the warmth of Hippodamia’s hand on my arm. It was surprisingly reassuring.
“Whoever it is you’ve lost, don’t you think they would want you to be happy too?”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked thickly.
She chuckled, her hand falling away. “Our masters prefer it if we hate one another because we’re weaker when we’re divided. Friendship can be a form of rebellion too.”
We were silent a while as I let her words sink in.
“Do you…do you see Penelope as your friend?”
Hippodamia nodded. “I do.”
“But she’s not one of us,” I bit out. “She’s one ofthem.”
“She belongs to Odysseus, just as we do.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I never said it was.”
“Penelope is a princess. A future queen.”
“And yet…” Hippodamia took another slow drink. “Even when she sits upon Ithaca’s throne, Penelope will still be a possession. She will still belong to a man. That is the curse all women carry. A curse that unites us.”
“So what? You think we should see Penelope as one of us, merely because she’s a woman?”
Hippodamia smiled, setting her cup down gently. “WhatIthink, Melantho, is that we should see people in our own light rather than the light the world tries to force upon us. If Penelope does not treat me as a slave, then why should I treat her as a master?”
I blinked. How did she make it sound so simple?
“Penelope cares a great deal for you, you know,” she added.
I felt my cheeks instinctively heat. There was a flare of delight in my chest, quickly chased by a rush of shame. I pretended to find a sudden fascination in my wine.
“I’ll leave you be,” Hippodamia whispered. “Good night, Melantho.”
She squeezed my arm again before leaving, and I envied how easily she wielded such warmth.
Once alone, I felt my mother’s ghost creep into the stillness. I so rarely let myself think of her, but Hippodamia’s words had plucked these memories from their graves, splaying them out before me.
I pictured my mother’s face, how it would come alive whenever I laughed or smiled, as if my joy were the single spark that lit her own.
I pictured us in the palace kitchens, working away side by side while I moaned about petty, childish things. I heard my mother’s reply,her voice as bright and clear as the moonlight spilling through the windows.
All I want is for you to be happy, my heart.
“But what if I don’t deserve to be?” I whispered back.
I stood in my loneliness, awaiting a reply that would never come.
27
The next morning, I did not leave my bed.
