“A silly thing to say, really.” He countered softly, his voice quiet as the breeze. He adjusted, so he was sitting cross-legged beside her, facing the woman that carried his heart in the palm of her hands. “Let me share the burden with you, wife. What troubles you?”
Her breath came violently, hands trembling as she tried valiantly to calm herself. Odysseus reached forward, taking her hands in his, anchoring her to the moment, to him. “I am here, Penelope. Feel me.” He brought her hands to his lips, where he pressed a gentle kiss to each of her knuckles, desperate to ease the tremors that seized his wife. “You are safe. We are safe.”
She closed her eyes tight, the stream of tears refusing to lighten. “I can’t,” she hiccuped, shaking her head.
Odysseus’s chest tightened as he held her trembling hands in his. In all their years together, through all their trials, he had never seen her like this, so utterly unguarded, so shaken. She had always been his rock, even when he was at sea. She was the unwavering anchor that kept Ithaca afloat in his absence. To see her now, fractured, cracked under the weight of her pain, struck him harder than any blow he’d suffered at war.
“Yes, you can,” He replied, using her hands to tug her down to him. He released his grip on her, opting instead to enclose her in his embrace, holding her tightly against him.
Penelope clung to him, her fists balling the fabric of his tunic as if she might slip away into the darkness without an anchor. She buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled but relentless, shaking her smaller frame in his arms. Odysseus pressed hislips against her hair, his words moving in a whisper against her temple. “Whatever it is, my love, I can carry it. You’ve carried enough.”
Her voice cracked as she spoke, barely above the sound of the waves. “I wasn’t strong, Odysseus. I wanted to be… but I wasn’t. The suitors… those men… I let them…” her voice faltered, unable to say the words out loud.
But Odysseusknew.
He stiffened at her words, his arms tightening around her like a shield, his jaw clenched so tightly that he feared it might snap. “Penelope...” His voice was raw, thick with rage and sorrow. He willed himself to stay here, to calm the storm that was brewing inside of his heart.
“They… they…” Penelope’s voice cracked again, the words escaping her like fragments of glass, jagged and painful. She trembled against him, and he felt his own composure fray.
“You don’t have to say it,” he murmured, his voice a fragile thing in the quiet night. “I know. You survived them, Penelope. You survived, and you are here. And I will carry this weight, what they’ve done, for as long as I live.”
Penelope clung tighter to him, her face still hidden in his tunic. He felt her exhale, the sound ragged and broken, and he pressed another kiss to her hair. “By the gods, no men will touch you again,” he whispered, though the vow carried a darkness she would surely hear in his voice. “Not while I live and breathe.”
Her breathing settled as the minutes passed. No sound, but her quiet lamentations could be heard against the waves. But her grip on him did not loosen. She still trembled beneath his embrace, and the king swore he would personally see to it that these men were held accountable for their treason, for their disgrace of his wife and his kingdom.
Again.
“Odysseus…” her voice was small, almost lost to the breeze around them.
He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his eyes, brimming with tears. “No more, wife. No more. The gods themselves could not break you. No man could.”
Her lips quavered as she searched his face. He could see the fears clawing at her through her eyes. “You don’t think me broken, Odysseus?” The words left her mouth, raw and unguarded. She looked as if she wished she could take them back immediately, shame written across her features.
He froze, her words hitting him in the chest like an arrow to the heart. He slid his hands to her shoulders, grounding her, holding her. “Broken?” His voice was a hushed blend of awe and anguish. “Penelope, you are the strongest person I have ever known. The gods would have shattered a lesser woman, but you…” he shook his head, his own tears falling free. He couldn’t finish his statement. He prayed she knew.
“I have felt anything but strong,” she admitted, her voice still shook, but Odysseus could hear his wife coming back to him in her words. “I have carried so much shame. I have doubted myself, feared for your son and his claim to your kingdom. I was worried-” a quiet sob stopped her from finishing her thought.
“You could never fail me, Penelope.” He said fiercely, pulling her into his arms once more. “You are fire and steel. You arehome. And I am the man that will spend every remaining day of his life proving that I am worthy of you.”
They did not speak, not for their remainder of time on the beach. King and queen sat by the surf, tears falling freely as the past tried to catch up to them. But Odysseus made a vow to the dark. They would not spend their lives running from the past.
He would carry this weight for her, always. No matter the cost.
28
THE SALTY BREEZE TUGGED AT PENELOPE’S HAIR as she leaned against the rail of the small ship, her laughter stolen by the sea wind. “You’re mad, woman.” Odysseus called from the bow of the ship, tugging a rope into its rightful place. The Ithacan King had charmed a local merchant into borrowing his small vessel, promising to pay the kind soul back in triplicate once reaching Ithacan shores.
“Says the man who raced for my hand in marriage.” Penelope countered quickly, a lithe grin gracing her features. He crossed the watercraft in a matter of steps, cupping the back of her neck and tilting her gaze up to meet his.
“Look where that got me, princess,” his words were low, his lips grazing hers as she spoke. “Out to sea with a woman who has never had to tie a knot to keep a sail aloft in the winds.”
His fingers twisted around the curls that clung to the nape of her neck, damp with sweat and sea salt. “I’m a quick study, King. Teach me.” She murmured against his lips, pushing herself up on her toes to solidify the kiss between them. Odysseus’ lips quirked into a grin, one hand drifting to settle on her waist, tugging her against him.
Penelope knew this was reckless, possibly the stupidest thing she had ever done. But she knew she couldn’t watch this man sail away from her, not until she could crack open everything unspoken between them and find out what drew her to the king. She was a moth, and he was the flame. She might burn in the process, but she had to feel it for herself.
Her father would riot. She prayed that his rage would not affect Helen and Clytemnestra. But by the time he figured out where she was… perhaps she would already be wed.
“This is reckless,” she muttered, surprised at the words herself. Rarely was she so without poise that her thoughts became words without her permission.
