Chapter Twenty-One
I staggered down the hill toward our home, waiting for Morsimus to attack.
Waiting for the moment when he kicked me to the ground and finished the job he had started.
But it did not come. He neither glanced at me nor acknowledged me.
Not even to demand I quicken my steps as I dragged myself along.
I could have been a wraith in his wake for all the attention he paid me.
When we reached the fork that led to our house, he did not take it but went right toward the tavern.
I should have been pleased. Happy that I had been gifted at least a few more meager hours in the land of the living. But between the pain in my ribs and the fear I felt for myself and Phile, I had lost the ability to comprehend joy.
Inside, Melitta was straightening the courtyard, collecting the broken pottery from the floor. The moment she saw me, she stopped her chores and rushed to my side.
“Mistress! Come, please. Sit down. Sit down.”
This time, I did not object as she led me to a couch and lowered me to rest.
“He has gone to the tavern.” They were all the words I could manage.
“We should wash your wounds. I have mallow. It will take down the inflammation. And wine. You should have wine to take away the pain.”
“It is not so bad,” I lied, though the tears that pricked my eyes betrayed me.
Melitta remained silent, her eyes laden with a thousand words she would not say.
As I sat on that torn couch, the day flashed before me.
Were days meant to be so long? So full of twists and turns?
Eleni was still in a far worse state than I, but I had almost forgotten her in the euphoria of the afternoon and the desperation of the evening.
Now, I had no room left to even consider her.
A sudden sting on my arm alerted me to Melitta dousing a cut with wine. It was likely from when Morsimus threw me to the floor. Or perhaps from all the times I fell as I scrambled on the road. Either way, it did not matter.
“I have brought some honey too,” Melitta said as she cleaned me. “I will put that on the wounds. It will stop any infection.”
I did not look at my arms or the bruises swelling on my skin as Melitta worked.
Rather, I looked around the courtyard, filled with chipped tiles and broken vases.
Was this how life was supposed to be? Even if Morsimus did not succeed in killing me tonight, my life would be nothing but a constant game of survival, and one day, one way or another, I would lose.
Even Aina’s horses had more to live for than that.
As I continued to study the room, my eyes fell on a scrap of fabric, forgotten beneath a stool.
“Melitta, what is that from?” She followed my line of sight though was confused by what I meant. I pointed. “There, that? Is it leather?”
Moving across the room, Melitta picked up the item and brought it to me. It was nothing more than an offcut, little bigger than the palm of her hand. But it was leather. Thick and coarse. Not something you would wear.
“I do not know where it has come from.” Melitta returned to my side. “A couch, I think. I am sorry, mistress—”
“Do not apologize to me. This was his doing, not yours.”
“But…”
“This leather,” I said, trying to make her focus. I suspected she was right. It was most likely a piece from one of the couches we had fixed before. One that Morsimus had taken a knife to in search of my hidden money.
“I will find where it came from. I will sew it back,” Melitta said as she moved to take the scrap from me. But I pulled my arm away from her.
“No, I wish for something different. I wish you to use it to make a guard.”
“A guard?” she said, frowning in confusion. “For what?”
“For my arm. For hunting with a bow.”