Chapter 7
SEVEN
“IF I’D KNOWN I’D BE GREETED BY SUCH A PRETTY FACE, I WOULD have returned home much sooner.” The words were friendly, flirtatious even, but the voice was cold.
Thia was sitting on her bed, waiting for Sorscha to fetch something called wyrtwala, which she assumed was some kind of hot beverage.
Birds chirped a merry greeting in the trees outside, a beam of sunlight warming Thia through the hut’s sole window that faced the clearing. She turned toward the voice.
The injured woman—girl really, now that she could see her in daylight—from last night stood in the doorway, smirking in such a way that Thia looked down to make sure her dress hadn’t somehow crawled up her thighs as she slept.
“You seem better,” she said, ignoring the girl’s comment.
It was true. There was a good deal more warmth in her cheeks, and her stance was strong as she leaned against the doorway, arms crossed casually.
Her black hair was chin length, as evidenced by the strands that had come loose from her ponytail to fall around her cheeks, halting just below her mouth.
She wore a simple brown tunic that obscured the wound on her side, a white shirt beneath, and breeches.
“An unfortunate circumstance I owe to your efforts, I believe.”
Thia raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunate?”
The girl didn’t answer, only appeared bored.
Thia felt a flash of annoyance. “Sorscha will be back soon,” she offered instead, trying not to show it.
“I’m back now,” Sorscha said, appearing in the doorway, two steaming mugs hewn from what might have been clay in hand, a basket of cloth balanced on her hip.
She set the mugs on a rustic table, looking between Thia and her daughter.
“You’re not tormenting our guest, are you, Oskaren?
” Thia might have thought it a joke, but Sorscha seemed genuinely concerned about the possibility.
The girl—Oskaren—shrugged. “She’s in my bed.”
“She saved your life,” Sorscha chastised. “You ought to be grateful.”
Oskaren ran a gentle finger over the neckline over her tunic. It was a controlled, practiced movement, but somehow tightly wound. “I’ve never kicked a girl out of bed. I’m not about to start now.”
Sorscha dropped the basket of cloths she was carrying. “Oskaren Alinac.”
Oskaren raised her hands in mock surrender. “I know, I know. What was it you called me? Petulant child with a penchant for recklessness?”
Sorscha pressed her mouth into a line. She bent and began gathering up the cloths.
Even stranger, Oskaren didn’t appear amused, or even angry.
Beneath the playful words, she still just seemed bored, and maybe even…
empty. Like they were expected, practiced, but she honestly didn’t care either way how they landed.
Thia looked back and forth between mother and daughter, frowning.
Sorscha snapped one of the cloths in Oskaren’s direction. “You shouldn’t be up. Your wound could reopen.”
“If you say so, Mother.” With a wink at Thia, Oskaren departed, disappearing through the doorway into the second room.
“Sorry about that,” Sorscha said, voice cracking.
Thia helped her gather the remainder of the cloths off the floor. “Don’t be. I wouldn’t say those things in front of my mother, if I had one, but to each their own.” She was rewarded with a weak laugh.
“She has no heart,” Sorscha said.
Thia straightened, lifting the now refilled basket and setting it on the table. “You mean she’s heartless?”
Sorscha shook her head. “No. I mean the Tyrant took it.”
Thia’s mouth dropped. “Took her heart?” It had to be metaphorical, when Thia had quite literally felt the thing under her palms. But Sorscha was solemn.
“She is one of many the Mage King has cursed.” She began folding the cloths, unable to make eye contact.
“I would rather he had taken my daughter’s life.
An awful thing for a mother to say, I know.
” Thia put a hand on her shoulder, and Sorscha covered it briefly with one of her own.
“But to see her here, day after day, regarding those of us she once cared for with the same indifference, even cruelty…the king did not only steal her heart. He stole her ability to love.”
Thia had so many questions. Cursed how? Feelings were a product of neural pathways and chemical reactions, not the heart. Was it some kind of magical block? Some kind of dampener on her ability to feel? But she swallowed them down as Sorscha wrapped her arms around herself.
“She was so kind,” the woman said softly. “So good.” Silver spilled onto her cheek, and she cleared her throat. “If she remembers what it was like to love, she does not care.”
Thia’s blood chilled. “That’s awful,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She stared at the door to the other room as if she could see the girl through it and wondered if she should ask to stay elsewhere.
Sorscha cleared her throat again, straightening her shoulders. “Thank you.” She reached a hand for Thia, still looking at the cloths, and Thia took it. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but could you check in on her wound?”
Thia did not relish the thought of examining Oskaren’s bare stomach after everything the girl had implied, and everything Sorscha had just told her, but she could not say no to the woman after all her help. “Sure.”
“Thank you,” Sorscha replied, with genuine warmth. “I’ll fetch some breakfast to go along with our wyrtwala.”
Thia watched her retreating form and took a few breaths to pluck up her courage, then crossed the room to rap lightly on the door where Oskaren had gone. “Oskaren?”
“Come in.”
Thia pressed through, the wood rough under her fingers. Oskaren was seated on the bed. She had discarded her tunic, leaving her collarbones visible between the untied laces of her white shirt. Thia looked away, cheeks hot.
“Come to play nursemaid?” Oskaren wore the same smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Something like that.” Thia glanced around the room. Sorscha had left the wine and bandages on the table. Good. “Can you lie down?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay clinical. “I need to check your wound.”
“Stop the ruse, Faelyn. If you want me to undress, just ask.”
“My name is Thia,” Thia said, ignoring the rest.
Oskaren just flashed another grin that was halfway to a snarl, but she did obligingly lie back.
Thia stepped up to the bed. “May I?”
Oskaren reached down and pulled her shirt up, revealing the bandaged wound. “Go ahead.”
Obnoxiously, the girl wasn’t wrong. Under other circumstances, she probably was the sort of person Thia would have liked to see undressed—tall and broad and lean, the opposite of her own short, round form.
But that fact could not make up for the sense that the girl was toying with her, not for fun but just to have something to do. And Thia dreaded being laughed at.
Keeping her face neutral, she untied the bandage, a little clumsily with the slice through her own left palm.
Oskaren’s wound looked good, or as good as it could all things considered.
It was no longer bleeding, indicating that it had clotted nicely, and the discoloration had faded entirely.
Thia pressed a finger lightly around the edges, and Oskaren hissed. “How bad does it hurt?”
“Sweet of you to worry,” came the reply, with enough sarcasm that Thia rolled her eyes.
The skin was warm but not so hot as to be concerning.
At this point, it would probably be fine to clean the wound with soap and water, but she didn’t have soap, and she didn’t trust the water.
She soaked a fresh cloth in wine and handed a second dry one to Oskaren. “Bite down.”
“There are better ways to shut me up,” Oskaren informed her, and Thia tried not to enjoy it when the girl growled in pain as she pressed the wine-soaked fabric to the wound.
When she was confident it was clean, she fetched another long cloth and wrapped it around Oskaren’s waist.
“Well, Faelyn? What’s the consensus?”
Thia frowned. It was the same word again, which meant it was a nickname, not a mistake. She moved back to allow Oskaren to pull down her shirt. “You’ll survive.”
“Pity.”
Thia inspected her, puzzled. There was bitterness in that word, she was sure of it. In the way the girl’s shoulders curved in for a brief moment as she carefully sat up.
If she remembers what it was like to love, she does not care.
“Do you—” she began, but Oskaren suddenly snarled.
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out.” Her hand was on her chest, breathing shallow.
“Are you in pain? Your wound—”
“It’s fine,” she growled. “Leave me.”
Perplexed, Thia watched her for another moment, but when the other girl seemed ready to launch herself off the bed, Thia figured it would be better for the injury if she obliged. “Let me know if you need anything,” she offered, and when Oskaren was silent, she left.
Sorscha was in the main room when she returned to it, sitting in the chair beside the bed. But instead of food, her hands were empty, her expression wary.
“What is it?” Thia asked, wondering if she’d overheard her conversation with Oskaren.
Sorscha blinked up at her. “Pagdan has called the Council of Elders. They want to see you.”