Hippodamia and Autonoë let me be as I hid under the covers, quietly festering beneath the weight of my brother’s words. They played over and over in my mind, like the mighty ouroboros forever eating its own tail, my thoughts turning in an endless, devouring circle.
You only care for yourself.
You hate your own kind.
You are nothing.
It was as if a sinking void had opened beneath me, my body too drained and lifeless to claw its way out.
Eventually, hunger forced me to drag myself from bed and trudge into the central room of Penelope’s quarters.
“Melantho.” Her voice greeted me as soon as I entered, though she sounded strange, her voice clipped and formal. “I understand you were not feeling well and that is why you rose late. You are excused for this.”
Excused?
Penelope met my frown with a pointed look, and I followed her gaze to where the king of Ithaca stood on her balcony, cradling Telemachus in his arms.
“Thank you…mistress,” I said, the title tasting bitter on my tongue.
Penelope gave an apologetic smile. I knew she felt uneasy aroundLaertes, as many of us did. The king was a peculiar man. Hippodamia said the death of his wife had completely unraveled him, and the departure of his only son seemed to have done further damage. These days, Laertes stalked through the palace like a restless, angry spirit. When he wasn’t ranting wildly at the slaves, he was shouting doomed proclamations to whoever might listen.All is lost. The gods have cursed me. I will never again know my son’s smile.
I glanced around the room, looking for Hippodamia and Autonoë, but they were nowhere to be seen. No doubt they had wanted to avoid the unpleasantness of Laertes’s company.
“I think he has my eyes,” Laertes said as he wandered in from the balcony.
I stifled a scoff. Telemachus quite clearly had Penelope’s gray eyes. But of course, men only wished to see their own selves reflected in the world.
“Let me see,” Penelope said, placing a hand on Laertes’s shoulder to peer at her son. “Ah yes, so he does. The gods have certainly blessed him.”
Laertes’s mood instantly darkened at her words.
“Blessed? Telemachus is not blessed. The gods have cursed him to never know his father.”
Penelope squeezed his shoulder. “I have faith the gods will return Odysseus to us. I pray for it every day.”
The king patted her hand with a condescending smile. “You are sweet, my dear, but you are ever so naive.” He then turned to bark, “Slave.”
He held Telemachus out to me, but Penelope intercepted, taking her son in her arms. Her smile remained perfectly in place, though it seemed tighter around her lips.
“He needs bathing. Give him to the slave,” the king ordered.
“I can do it,” Penelope said.
Laertes watched her with a disapproving frown. “That is not your duty, Penelope. Remember our discussion.” The king stared pointedlyacross the room.
I followed his gaze to where a large leather pouch sat on the far table.
“I hope you will think on my offer.”
Penelope nodded. “Of course, my king.”
With that, the king of Ithaca shuffled from the room, shoulders stooped as if he held the weight of the world upon them.
Once he was gone, I turned to where Penelope was setting Telemachus down in his cot.
“It’s nice to see Laertes is his usual, optimistic self today, is it not?” she said dryly. “How was Melanthius yesterday? You disappeared afterward, so I didn’t—” She cut herself short, eyes narrowing. “What is that?”
Before I could reply, she was striding toward me, gaze fixed on my cheek.
