“No, mother, we will speak about this now.” He said firmly, planting himself in the bedroom chair.
“Careful, son…” Odysseus grumbled, stepping forward slightly as if to shield his wife, his hand brushing against Penelope’s back in a quiet gesture of solidarity. His voice was low, almost warning, though his eyes carried the weight of understanding.
Telemachus’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, anchoring himself. “You would let her go,Father? After everything?” His voice cracked slightly, and Penelope’s heart ached at the vulnerability beneath the anger.
“He is notlettingme go, Telemachus,” Penelope said softly, placing a steadying hand on Odysseus’s arm. “This is something I’ve chosen. Fear will not confine me, not when there is still so much at stake.”
“Mother,” Telemachus said, his voice dropping, though the chaos in his eyes didn’t waver. “I understand what is at stake. Ithaca needs you. We need you. How can you risk leaving when-”
“When the gods have already turned their gaze on us?” Penelope finished for him, her voice firm but not unkind. “That is exactly why I must go.”
Her son’s eyes burned holes into her soul. She could read each emotion on his face, every line of sorrow making him appear both decades older than he was, and yet, still the boy she held in her arms so many years ago. “And the families, Mother? What if there is an uproar when their queen has left?”
A proud smile graced her lips as she looked upon him. He had grown so much, carried so much. She wished, for many years, that she could hide him away from the pain of growing up fatherless. But… then she had needed him. While it left her with a pang of shame, she wouldn’t have survived without him.
“I trust you will handle it, son of mine.” Penelope responded to him, doing her best not to let her amusement slip into her voice. She saw so much of Odysseus’ fierceness in their son. Her eyes flicked to where her husband stood, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek. Both men stood with a scowl, arms crossed.
“And leave the mad old king to do what? Whittle spoons?”
“Telemachus,” she scolded, eyes narrowing.
It was impossible to ignore the tension between father and son. Odysseus radiated unease, shifting his weight from one footto the other under his son’s glare. She couldn’t fault her son, either. All he knew until days ago was that his mother had a wild and reckless love that ran deep, and he disappeared for twenty years.
His annoyance wasn’t a dislike of his father. It was uncertainty, precariousness. It was years of stories and imaginations that were left to fill in the blanks.
“Your father is coming with me. He will accompany me to Sparta to seek answers.”
Telemachus’s brow furrowed deeper, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the chair tightened. “You’re trusting a man who’s just returned to guide you across the sea when he’s barely regained his footing on land?” His gaze flicked to his father, a challenge written in the hardened line of his jaw.
“Enough,” Penelope said, her tone sharp but maternal, brokering no argument. She stepped toward her son, her hand brushing lightly against his arm. “Your father is a warrior, Telemachus. He has seen things that neither of us can imagine, and yet he has returned to us. I would not make this decision lightly, nor would I leave Ithaca if I didn’t believe you could shoulder its needs.”
“Mother…” his voice softened slightly. “The woman that you have been in the last fortnight… I… I’ve never met her.” He didn’t meet her gaze, but she could see the sorrow lingering in his eyes. “I-”
“You’re right to feel ill at ease, son.” Odysseus stepped in, relieving Telemachus from the burden of grief he was attempting to convey. “I would too. You have protected your mother, your queen, in a way that would please even the harshest of gods.” He turned, looking to Penelope with something that bordered on reverence. “But trust your mother. She knows me better than anyone, knows thiskingdombetter than anyone.”
The king’s eyes sparkled as a grin touched his features. “You don’t have to trust me, Telemachus. I can live with the weight of what I have taken from you. But trust her.”
Telemachus observed the both of them, conflict warring behind his eyes, but he finally exhaled. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. “I will keep Ithaca safe while you’re away.”
Penelope smiled softly, embracing her son. “I know you will. You always have.” She pulled back, ruffling his hair as she did. “You’re going to make a fine Ithacan King, Telemachus.”
26
PENELOPE WATCHED FROM THE DOCK as their sailors loaded the final trunk onto the ship. Along with their provisions for the journey, Ithaca was bringing olives, fruits, and a variety of honey to Sparta with them as a gesture of continued good will.
She would be lying if she claimed to feel at ease about this trip, as necessary as it was. Standing here by the sea, the past overwhelmed her. The ocean lapping against the pitch of the ship, the tang of salt lingered on her tongue, sharp as the loss she had felt that day. She was back in that moment when they said goodbye.
That Penelope had no idea what was waiting for her, no idea the hells and horrors that she would face. All she knew was grief, raw, debilitating grief, as she had tried to wrap her head around her husband, leaving to fight in a war against the gods themselves. How she could bear to let him go.
“The sea still stirs something in you, doesn’t it, wife?” His voice was soft, measured, but she felt the weight of the question in every syllable.
His hands softly gripped her arms. His touch was welcome - steady and warm. A faint smile tugged at her lips. They hadtaken to accommodating the other without a second thought. Announcing their closeness to keep from startling the other.
“Not the sea,” she replied, her voice quieter than intended. “What it’s taken.”
Odysseus’s hands tightened ever so slightly, his thumbs brushing against her arms in a silent gesture of reassurance. “It’s also what’s brought us back to each other,” he said, tilting his head toward the ship. “And what will carry us forward.”
Penelope’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, though her heart still clenched with the weight of memory. “Do you think it knows,” she asked, nodding toward the restless waves, “what it’s done to us?”
