Hades did not hesitate, turning to Odysseus. “Fine, Ithacan. If that is your amendment, then tonight is when you’ll die.”
Relieved as he might feel over his wife’s newly granted protection, Odysseus didn’t miss how the god’s brow quirked, how his eyes quickly darted to his wife.
The waves crashed against the cliffs. A gull cried in the distance. The world was not ending, though the finality of his words felt like perhaps it should.
Penelope’s nails dug into his arm, keeping him in the present, on the beach. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “When you lay in your bed tonight, little king, it will ferry you to the underworld.” Persephone spoke this time. “Do take care, king, who you fall asleep next to. Anyone found asleep wrapped in your olive tree will face the same fate.” The god smirked. “Tonight, Odysseus.”
“Then let’s not waste time,” Odysseus said, nodding. The air around him tasted like cinders and pitch.
With a nod, the gods vanished, the shadows in their cove retreating with them. The queen at his side inhaled sharply, fingers trembling against his skin. “Odysseus,” she whispered into the ocean breeze. “What have we done?”
61
“YOU’LL SLEEP IN OUR SON’S ROOM TONIGHT.” He said as they passed through the doors of their palace. Odysseus tugged his wife away from the beach once the underworld gods disappeared, bringing her back to the safety the walls of Ithaca offered her.
She had been so quiet since he had agreed to Hades’ terms. The king was beginning to fret over her. He had never known a Penelope that didn’t challenge him.
When he stopped, when he finally met her eyes, he felt his stomach drop. Tear tracks stained her cheeks, redness surrounding her eyes. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not without you, Odysseus.”
“Penelope -” his voice caught, throat suddenly thick. He swallowed around the grief that was forming, taking his wife in his arms. “Let me do this,” He said into her hair, hands clutching at her. “Let me do this for you.”
“It’s too soon,” she said, fingers twisting into his tunic. “It’s too soon.” Her breathing was ragged as she let out a whimper. Odysseus could feel her trembling in his arms.
“We have tonight,” he pulled back enough to rest his forehead against hers. He held her face in his hand, joining hersorrow. “Let’s find a place to speak, heart.” Odysseus released her, taking her hand in his.
“Telemachus,” she gasped, rooting herself to the ground. “We have to tell him. We have to -”
“Hush,” his voice softened, brows knitting. “We will, there’s time. The sun still hangs in the sky.”
“Low, Odysseus. The sun is low.”
“There is time, wife.” He tugged gently on her hand, relief flickering through him as she gave in, allowing herself to be led.
Within the safety of their chamber walls, he expected her to come apart. He expected rage and grief and anger at him, at his choices. Instead, she met him with a somber smile and watery eyes. “Ody,” she whispered, her mouth twitching as though she fought back another sob.
“I have to keep you safe, wife. You need to be safe.”
“I know.” There was so much love in her eyes, a measure of adoration that suddenly he didn’t feel like he deserved. She was looking at him with reverence, but there was also acceptance.
For the first time in their decades of marriage, he shied away from her gaze. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle the way she was regarding him. Turning his back to her, he leaned over, gripping the footrest of their bed. “Penelope,” his voice cracked.
How was he supposed to say goodbye?
“Penelope, you have knitted me together from flesh and bone. You have carried the weight of my soul, of my actions, and of my misgivings for years, and you never balked.” His fingers tensed on the bed frame, a tear slipping free, darkening the wood. “I would not -” his breath caught in his throat, a ragged sob replacing the words he was trying to say.
“You don’t have to say anything, husband.” Her response was as quiet as a breeze, but it weighed heavily on his heart.
“Yes, I do.” But he still could not face her. One look at his wife and his resolve might falter. He might feel selfish enough to stayhere, in Ithaca, with her. “You saved me, wife, even when you did not know it. Saved me from the darkness… the otherness that threatened to swallow me whole.”
He heard her take a step forward, but he was still out of her reach. Odysseus tried not to hear the sound of her own gentle gasps, tried to ignore the ache in his heart. To ignore his base need to comfort her. “Look at me, husband.”
He shook his head, fighting back tears as his knuckles turned white around the bed frame. “Odysseus,” she pleaded, reaching out to touch him. He attempted to move from her touch, but she was quick. The warmth from her hand spread through his body, settling in his stomach.
He drew in a tortured breath, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Penelope, please.” Was all he could manage.
“Don’t carry this alone, husband. You aren’t the only one that gets to make grand speeches.” She might have laughed, but the sound wrenched his gut even more.
A strangled laugh escaped him. “I know, Penelope. You don’t have-”
