Page 72 of Odette's Vow

“I may take a walk to clear my head of this wine before bed,” I told her. That way, she wouldn’t come looking for me.

“Very well, I will see you shortly.”

When I was certain she was gone, I allowed several more slow minutes to pass, listening only to the sounds of the fire crackling, before downing the rest of my wine and heading out the door and towards the clearing.

She was here.

I could have sworn my soul sighed at the sight of Odette by the ocean. Though it had been a year since we had sailed, the gods knew how I had prayed that we would find permanent land, and there was something about Odette by the shoreline that made me think of freedom.

I crept around the edge of the clearing, placing my feet carefully with each step so as not to startle her. Her shoulders were tense, and her posture seemed unnaturally still, like a statue teetering on the edge of collapse. I paused for a moment, just watching Odette as the ocean breeze tugged at her hair, her knuckles white from clutching her cloak. I wondered what haunted her thoughts.

“Telegonus?” I asked, my voice low.

“Asleep,” she replied, not turning to face me. “Being watched over by the birds.”

“And yourself?”

She exhaled, but the sound was more like a tremor than a sigh. “Alive in a cage of my own creation.”

She always said that, and refused to reply whenever I tried to pry more from her, but there was something darker in her words this time. I could hear the tremble, the tenor of fear in her tone. Usually, when she said that, I would attempt to comfort her, and she would offer me a small smile, as if I were a young boy trying to sweet-talk a grown woman. It was one of those sad, all-knowing smiles that finds your naivety a kind-but-useless balm. Then she would shake her head, tell me it wasn’t for me to worry about, tell me whatever other piece of information she thought important for me to know – gathered from listening to Circe – and walk away.

But tonight, she surprised me.

“I cannot keep doing this, Odysseus,” she whispered, and I swore I saw her flinch at my name, like speaking it might summon Circe herself from the shadows.

“I will find us a way …”

“And I will lose my mind while you try.” Her voice cracked. “Circe always watches, alreadyknows. I know she knows.”

“Odette, I?—”

“I can’t stay here. Not with her watching. Not with this … thismadnessclawing at my mind.” She stepped back, shaking her head, as if trying to shake off the thoughts. “Circe … The power she has over both of us … We won’t escape it. We’ll be stuck here forever.”

I reached for her, but she recoiled, her fingers twitching nervously at her sides.

“Just a little bit longer, until?—”

“Until what? Until your next child is born? Your son will begin hitting his milestones before the turn of the season, and while I have tried my best while he is but a babe, the change in him …” she trailed off. “Would you really have me stay here until your son surpasses Lykas in age?”

I sighed. “No, I would not.”

“And you cannot get us off this island.”

She said it with such finality, it knocked all arguments from my lungs.

Before I could gather the breath to implore her, she turned, as she always did, and walked away.

I had triedeverything to convince Circe to free us from this island.

Everything, except the one thing I swore I never would. But with Odette on the brink of breaking, pride was a luxury I could no longer afford. Not if I wanted her to survive.

“Odysseus, what are you doing?”

She was amused. I was on my knees by our bed, and she was amused.

“Circe, I have done all that you have asked of me. I have sacrificed all that I have, given all that I am, gifted you children. What else must I do to be free to return to Ithaca once again? Tell me, please, tell me what I must do.”

Her stone-grey eyes, usually so hardened unless they were revelling in my misery, grew wide as I looked up at her. “You do not wish to be here?”

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