“Itisthat simple. You are just refusing to see it,” I snapped as I strode for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I need air. Do I have your permission,mistress?”
I watched the title land like a blow. She flinched, glancing away from me. I found no satisfaction in hurting her. If anything, it only made that pit in my stomach grow deeper.
You are nothing.
I did not wait for her reply as I stormed away.
In my hands, I clutched the leather pouch, the stolen silver tinkling inside like cruel laughter, chasing me from the palace.
***
The market bustled with life.
Wooden stalls filled the cobbled streets, canopied by colorful stretches of fabric playing in the sea breeze. Some of the shops spilled from small, mud-brick buildings, their fronts opening out like giant gaping mouths. In the distance, I could see the temple of Athena, modest yet proud, overlooking the hubbub below.
It felt freeing to melt into the crowds, losing myself in the vibrant current of overlapping lives. People laughed and gossiped and argued, and sellers hollered over the commotion, eager to catch a buyer’s attention. All around me, rich, dizzying smells filled the air. There was so much to look at, I found my head snapping back and forth as I admired the stands—baked goods, fresh fish, ground spices. I lingered at one that was selling jewelry, my eyes caught by the twinkle of gold.
“The finest in Ithaca,” the seller told me with a toothy grin.
I shook my head politely as I wandered on, surprised to see mostof the sellers were women. But of course they were, for the men of Ithaca had left with their prince.
The scent of freshly baked flatbread lured me toward a tucked-away shop. Inside, I saw a woman kneading dough on the countertop. Stools were set up for patrons to sit and chat while she prepared their food. Her strong hands worked with deft efficiency, and I saw glimpses of my mother within them as memories glowed inside me.
A hand grabbed my wrist.
I let out a yelp as I was tugged into the narrow passageway beside the baker’s shop. I stumbled, panic spasming in my chest as I clutched tightly at my pouch of silver.
“Has Dionysus stolen your mind?”
I stared up at the tall, slender figure before me. Her clothes were different, tattered and worn, a drab scarf concealing most of her features, but that rainfall voice was unmistakable.
“Penelope?” I gaped. “What are youdoinghere?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
The stolen silver suddenly felt heavier in my hands.
“I’m sure you’ve already figured it out,” I countered, lifting my chin.
“Of course I have. But I didn’t quite believe you’d be foolish enough to go through with it.”
I glared up at her. The passageway draped us in cool shadows, yet I could see the glint of her gray eyes, intent on mine. She was standing so close to me, too close. I took a step back and felt the wall press against my spine.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I did not have much choice in the matter.” She spoke calmly, but there was an undeniable edge to her voice. “If I had sent someone after you, how would I have explained this situation?”
I shrugged, and something flared in Penelope’s eyes, like a single star carving across a midnight sky.
“Do you not care about being caught?”
“It was a risk I was willing to take.”
“And what about me?”
