Page 74 of Odette's Vow

Home.The word hung between us, heavy with meaning. Ithaca might be his home, but to me it would become just another place of entrapment, another cage under a different guise, all thanks to that foolish vow I would never be free of.

I felt him nuzzle into the curve of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. “You won’t be Penelope’s maid,” he said, as if sensing the direction of my thoughts. “Not after the year we’ve had. I would not see you again becomethe shell of who you once were. Once we reach Ithaca, I’ll make sure you’re free.”

Free.The word sounded hollow, like a distant echo of something that might have once been true, but was now out of reach. What did freedom even mean anymore? What more could it be other than an elaborate curtain of illusion the gods placed before us?

When I didn’t answer, Odysseus went quiet and still behind me. For a moment, I thought he might release me, let me go. But then his arms tightened, and he buried his face in my hair, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorise the scent of me, to hold on to whatever part of me he could. Then, he turned me in his arms, his eyes searching mine, as if looking for something – understanding, forgiveness, maybe even hope. But I had none of those left to give.

“I don’t want to let you go, Odette,” he whispered, his voice breaking, raw with a vulnerability I had never heard before. “But I will, if I must.”

His words were just another set of chains binding me to him, tightening around my heart with every syllable. I could feel the desperation in his hold, in the way he clung to me, as if I were the anchor keeping him from being swept away.

He had promised me freedom.

The ship creaked beneath us, the wind picking up again, urging us forward. I closed my eyes, the salt of the sea mingling with tears that threatened to spill over as Odysseus held me, whispering promises I could not trust. I wanted to believe him, to let myself be comforted by his words. But all I felt was the weight of his love, heavier than the weight of the vow, and I knew no matter how far we sailed, I would not escape one without breaking the other.

There was no true escape. It would have been better if I had just stayed on the island.

What wasfreedom worth when my soul had been chained so tightly to his? That was what I kept thinking of as the windtugged at my hair, and the salty spray of the waves kissed my cheeks.

Odysseus was at the helm of the ship now, his hands steady on the rudder, guiding us through an ocean that felt like an eternity. The men, those who had survived, moved about the deck with a quiet efficiency, their eyes darting nervously between the sea and the sky, as if expecting the gods to curse us now that we were back on their chessboard.

The past year had left its mark on all of us, but none more so than me. My body felt foreign, weakened by the long months of hunger, toil, and the weight of despair that had settled deep in my bones. I was a hollow shell, worn down by the months of servitude.

I had been naive to think that war would be the worst of it. The aftermath, by comparison, was a masterclass in sinister cruelty. At least war was in your face, brash; it couldn’t hide what it was, nor did it attempt to. Ares did not hide his art. But what came afterwards – the torment, the unease in one’s own skin, thehatredthat could no longer be disguised as survival – was a merciless brutality that pounded and raged beneath my skin every day. One I had never expected.

We continued to sail on through the night, the stars above us as cold and distant as the gods.

The days passed in a blur of grey skies and churning waves, the wind driving us ever onward. It didn’t take long for the men to grow restless once again, so when whispers began to circulate that we were approaching the island of Helios – an island where sacred cattle roamed, untouched by time, watched over by the god himself – I knew what to expect. The promise of fresh meat would be too much for them to resist.

Hunger gnawed in my own belly, a dull ache that reminded me that Circe was a witch gifted with a godlike heritage. She had filled our stores with food she thought would last gods andgoddesses, not mortals. Our constitutions were not the same. Where they could survive off mere morsels of delectability, we craved a volume of averages. We had been starving within three days compared to what she had fed us on the island.

Perhaps that was her way of getting Odysseus to return.

So, when we landed on Helios’ island under a sky thick with clouds, I was not surprised to hear the men’s urgent whispers in low tones: “... the need to survive, to fill empty stomachs, to hell with the gods …” They were eager to hunt, their desperation palpable as they moved like wolves, eyes wild with hunger.

Odysseus gathered the men before they could scatter farther, forcing them to listen. “Men, heed my words,” he began. “These are no ordinary cattle. They belong to Helios, the Sun God himself. If we harm them, we will bring his wrath upon us. Remember, the gods do not forgive lightly.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances, and I swore only I could see it for what it was. They weredriven, desperate to cling to life. Somehow, the detachment of this thought allowed me to realise I was slipping further from it; from life. I would not eat this cattle, but their hunger made them restless, and reckless.

Eurylochus, his face gaunt and eyes hollow, stepped forward. “We’ve faced the wrath of gods before, Odysseus. We’ve survived war, storms, monsters, even the witch herself. But what good is survival if we’re too weak to stand? We’ll die if we don’t eat.”

I looked at him, at all of them, seeing the toll this journey had taken. They were mere shadows of the men who had left Ithaca so long ago – skin stretched tight over bones, eyes sunken with despair. I could see that their loyalty to Odysseus was not in question, but their endurance was nearly spent.

“I understand your hunger,” Odysseus said, his voice softening as he tried to reach them. “But there are other ways to survive. We can fish, forage – anything but this. Promise me.”

I watched the men turn to one another, questioning. Eventually they grumbled their agreement, but I could see it in their eyes. They had no intention of keeping the oaths they now swore before the gods. Their words were shallow, spoken only to appease their leader in the moment, but the truth was plain. It was only a matter of time before they gave in, before their starvation overwhelmed what little reason they had left. Hunger had a way of silencing reason, of drowning out the voice of caution.

Odysseus seemed satisfied, though. Or perhaps it was the weight of his responsibility that wore him down, for soon after, he lay beside me in a meadow, not unlike one I had lain in with Alcander once. I watched as he settled onto the hard ground, his body relaxing bit by bit, until the tension eased from his limbs and his breathing slowed. He fought sleep at first, his eyes fluttering open now and then as if he were trying to keep vigilant, but eventually, weariness claimed him. His eyelids grew heavy, and with a final exhale, he succumbed to the pull of sleep.

I leaned on my elbows and watched him, then turned to watch the men, now breaking their vow. I listened to the sound of Odysseus’ breathing, steady and deep, and felt an ache in my chest. I thought about waking him, about warning him of the men’s intentions, but the thought passed as quickly as it came. What difference would it make? Men always came out on top, didn’t they? Even when they broke the sacred laws, even when they defied the gods. Somehow, they always found a way to survive.

I used to care about surviving. Back when I had a reason to live, a reason to fight.

But what did I have now?

A life that was no longer mine. The woman I had been when I left Troy was gone, and in her place was someone I barely recognised. Someone shaped by the hands of a goddess, by thecruelty of the Fates, by the choices that had been made for me and by me.

The night wore on and I was eventually sucked under, to the usual chorus of cicadas and distant waves. I swore I laid there for an eternity, staring into the darkness, listening for any sign of movement. But I must have fallen asleep, for when I woke, the smell of roasting meat was wafting through the air, mingled with the tang of salt and the earthy scent of the island. My stomach churned, and I realised, after consciousness hit me with the force of an ocean slap, that it was not with hunger but with dread.

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