Chapter 8 #2
“If you do, it’ll be because you’ll bleed out. Which will take a while, which means you’ll have plenty of time for dramatic last words. So let’s get this over with, and if the moment presents itself, you can compose your own eulogy then. Deal?”
Edith swallowed. “Fine.”
“Wonderful.” Thomasin gave her a tight smile and then gripped the arrow. “Ready?”
Edith squeezed her eyes shut, and Thomasin took that as confirmation enough. In one firm, steady movement, she yanked the arrow free. Blood oozed from the now slightly larger wound, and Thomasin instinctively covered the bleeding hole with her hands. Edith’s chest heaved with each shaky breath.
“Am I bleeding out?” she croaked.
Thomasin lifted her hand. “I’m not a physician.”
“She says, after performing surgery on me,” Edith grumbled.
“But,” Thomasin said emphatically, “I’ve seen enough stab wounds to say pretty confidently that you’re going to live.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
Thomasin agreed with a laugh of relief. Only then, once the true danger had passed and with her adrenaline waning, did she realize the sheer insanity of what had happened. “You saved my life,” Thomasin said hoarsely.
“I tricked you into coming here. It was the least I could do,” Edith said quietly.
Thomasin took Edith’s hand and pressed it to the wound, replacing her own hand. She made quick work of unbuckling her jacket and shucking it off. Beneath it was a sleeveless white tunic. She tore off a long strip of cloth from the bottom of the shirt. The fabric, old and faded, gave way easily.
“That arrow would have gone straight through my heart.” Thomasin brushed Edith’s hand away and pressed the fabric to her skin. “You took an arrow for me,” she told Edith, imploring her to acknowledge the significance of what she’d done.
Edith scoffed, but it turned into a wince of pain when Thomasin gently lifted her shoulder blade from the ground so she could loop the strip of cloth securely around her shoulder and underneath her arm.
Once the bandage was tied off and hopefully holding the rest of Edith’s blood within her body, Thomasin helped her sit up. Edith turned white as a sheet but managed to stay conscious. Thomasin leaned her back against the sculpture with the basin.
“Would you have preferred I let you die?” Edith joked weakly.
Staring down at Edith uncomprehendingly, Thomasin let out a huff of frustration. Then, she crouched down before Edith and took her face roughly between her hands. “Why would you do that? Why would you save me?”
“You would’ve done the same for me,” Edith wheezed.
Thomasin dropped her hands as if Edith’s very skin had burned her.
She wouldn’t have. Thomasin wouldn’t have saved her.
At that very moment, she was explicitly not saving her.
She was in the midst of betraying her, and Edith had gone and jumped in front of an arrow for her.
For no reason! She wasn’t playing an angle and gained nothing from saving Thomasin’s life.
She had saved Thomasin just because … well, that was the thing.
Thomasin could not, for the life of her, understand why Edith would have saved her life.
Thomasin had been yelling at her, acting like a child, trying to steal back her gold from the basin and threatening Edith’s chances of finding the treasure, which was the thing Edith cared most about in this world.
Thomasin was a criminal with more blood on her hands than Edith had ever even seen.
She was selfish and reckless. Merciless and uncaring.
Thomasin knew one thing with absolute clarity. She was not worthy of being saved. But Edith had saved her. She hadn’t even hesitated. Edith had saved her for no reason at all except that she cared.
Looking over her shoulder into the darkness beyond the archway, Thomasin thought about the scene brewing aboveground.
Edith’s father was likely ready and waiting to take Edith away and crush her dreams. Once they walked out of this passage, any positive illusions Edith had about her would be thoroughly snuffed out.
Thomasin let her gaze drift back down to Edith, who smiled up at her, blissfully unaware of how dangerous Thomasin really was.
But maybe she didn’t have to be dangerous.
Thomasin wasn’t ready to go back. She wasn’t ready to go back to being a person that Edith wouldn’t save.
She wanted to stay in Edith’s imaginary rose-colored bubble, where she could maybe be a good person just a little longer.
She wanted to help Edith follow her quest, even though none of it could possibly be real.
She wanted to save Edith from her father, from the mess Thomasin herself had created.
She opened her mouth, and the truth almost fell from her lips. The ransom, Edith’s father, the scope of Thomasin’s betrayal. She almost confessed it all. But just as the words began to form, dread settled like a stone in her stomach.
It was foolish, but Edith had never seen her as a threat.
Even when she’d robbed her, Edith had seen something good in her.
She hadn’t ascribed evil intentions to Thomasin or written her off.
She’d given her a chance. It was like that act had opened a door in Thomasin’s mind, reminding her of what it felt like to be seen as good.
And, all of a sudden, she wanted that again.
She wanted to be good. Telling Edith the truth would ruin all of that.
It would make Edith hate her. Thomasin knew she deserved that hatred, and yet she could not face the possibility of it.
Not when an alternative plan had already begun unfurling itself in Thomasin’s mind.
All she had to do was get Edith away from Slaughterbridge without her seeing her father.
If she did that, they could continue their adventure, and Edith would never have to know the depths of Thomasin’s immorality.
It was, admittedly, a cowardly plan. But for the first time in her life, Thomasin found that she would rather be a coward than a monster.