Chapter Sixteen
Avelina
The stunt in the storm brought her down with the sniffles.
Avelina woke the next morning, drenched in sweat and shivering down to the bone.
Her eyes creaked open like rusty hinges as something adjacent to sunshine broke through the shutters of Callum’s abode.
It wasn’t the golden rays of the SunBringer’s blessing, but it was light.
She coughed. The sound rattled her lungs and shook loose the cobwebs that started to form.
Unfortunately, the room around her spun and she grumbled as she sank further down into the sheets. This was not a part of the plan.
To be fair…the plan had been rather loose to begin with…
but she needed to level the metaphorical playing field.
Callum needed to understand she was valuable and not a burden.
Because the more favor of his she built, the better chances that when their big heist happened, he’d let her go unattended.
Or even better, he’d slip up and lose sight of her, then she could get away.
Tala would have punched her way out of Callum’s crew, but Avelina had to play to her strengths. Callum liked her, she needed to manipulate that to her advantage. Of course, once I’m back up on my feet. She coughed again and the sound echoed in the room.
“Mmm, a real shame somebody done murdered the best cook in Gloomsdale,” Callum teased as the delicious, divine scent of herbs and broth reached her in the bed. She tried to get up to see over the mountain of pillows and blankets that didn’t exist last night but slumped over exhausted.
“What a bastard,” she sighed, lamenting her existence. “Whoever it was is probably feeling preeeeetty sorry for themselves.”
“Yeah, well,” Callum chuckled as he slid up beside the bed.
She lay cheek to pillow, staring out at him with dry eyes and a runny nose.
He put a gravy boat in front of her, and she would have normally laughed.
But he tipped the elongated spout to her lips, and she was able to slurp a whole mouthful without moving her head.
Genius…he’s a bastard, but he’s a fucking genius. “They probably got what they deserved.”
“Fuck! You!” she wheezed between gulps of soup. It was mostly broth with clumps of something she didn’t even taste. It was all hot and mush and it went down without a fight.
“I would, darlin’, truly ye’ve never looked so pretty,” he winked at her, stirring up butterflies in her tormented belly.
She was too sick to feel things and yet there she was, fawning over him.
He’s even nursing me back to health. Callum’s eyes roamed her pale visage.
She could have sworn she’d caught concern in them before he glanced away.
His tail worked the blankets up higher onto her shoulders, burying her again.
“But I’m not lookin’ to catch yer cooties. ”
“Ha-ha.” She rolled her hot, dry eyes. Her whole body trembled, partially burning up, partially frigid.
Callum pressed the back of his knuckles to her forehead and tsked.
She moaned at the touch, like she was some undead thing wandering the swamp.
Pressure built at the center of her face and her eyes fell closed.
“Big talk from a sickly baby.”
Avelina tried to push her arm out of the blankets to swat at him.
He merely swaddled her tighter. Tucking her into several layers, then ensuring all her soup was downed, he left a jug of cool water by the bed.
If it weren’t so heavy, she could have used it as a teddy bear.
There was nothing she wanted more than to hug the cold iron to her embroiled chest.
“Get some sleep. Holler if ya start dyin’, but don’t die on me, little viper. I’ve not had my fill of you yet.”
Cold lips pressed to her sweaty temple. She couldn’t even open her eyes to catch him in the act of being nice.
Callum pulled away and she fell into another endless oblivion.
There were no dreams, not while she was sick.
Avelina existed in the dark, lying at the bottom of the ocean.
She could hear the roar of the storm from last night raging over her head, the sloshing of the river water.
But she tangled herself up in a bed of seaweed and stared up at the dark.
Then the creak of a door followed by a slam broke her concentration.
She awoke slowly, blinking away the crust of sleep on her eyeballs.
It took all her willpower to reach out of the warm blankets and grab the jug.
There was more strength in her to drag it onto the bed and prop it against the pillows to sip from it.
Once she drained it, however, she was bereft.
Her throat desired more. Avelia craned her head in a meager attempt to call for Callum.
But then something shattered and slammed against the other side of the bedroom wall. People shouted. The bedroom door rattled with force. Finally, Callum’s booming voice quieted everything. “Outside! The both of ya! Fuck outta here with yer bullshit.”
Silence followed, ringing in her ears. The world warbled, growing larger then suddenly shrinking around her.
Avelina experienced ‘drunk’ before at the hands of Tala.
One too many sparkling drinks and Tala wanted to show her she was even more formidable when intoxicated.
Avelina didn’t hold her liquor well. Her legs became noodles and she was offensively giggly.
She ended up drawing the eye of a strange man.
Avelina never saw his face; Tala pounced on him and turned him into a bloody pulp.
She dragged her best friend and the two tumbled into her mother’s house at who-knows-what hour.
Mother was livid.
Avelina blinked in attempt to push away the memory. Her mother stood in the doorway of her room, yelling at her while she was barely able to keep her head up and off her pillow. The world spun much like a dance that was way too fast and one of her heels was an inch shorter than the other.
It wasn’t her mother that nursed her back to health.
It was Tala. Still hungover herself, but experienced, her friend made them both pots full of chicken broth and swiped a loaf of bread from the kitchen.
They spent the day soaking the sourdough and chewing it slowly.
Tala even helped her take a bath and get back into bed that night.
Her mother didn’t talk to her for five days.
When her mother finally did, it was only because her father was on his way.
Their stalemate, which felt like her mother laced a corset around her throat and slowly choked her till she was complacent, was over.
Only because her mother needed an ally against her father.
They both suffered his presence for two weeks that time.
Avelina remembered the welts on the backs of her hands, mostly around her knuckles. Every time she stumbled over a word, every time she forgot a line of prayer—whack! His belt was as lethal as his broadsword.
The door to the bedroom cracked open and she locked eyes with Callum. He furrowed his brows. “Sorry, darlin’, the boys got to wrestlin’ over something.”
A breathy wheeze escaped her. “You’re apologizing?”
“I don’t have to,” he snorted.
“But you thought to,” she exhaled, sinking back in the bed.
Her face returned to the nest, still perfectly sculpted for her cheek.
Its cotton cover was drenched in sweat. Normally that would bother her, but she couldn’t be fucked to move it.
Every shift out of the blankets was a risk.
It invited the shivers back and she was finally starting to feel warm. “It’s okay.”
“Not really,” Callum grumbled as he slithered inside. He took up her jug and gave an approving hum. “Good. I’ll be right back.”
Avelina simply stared at the blankets wrapped around her.
Tucked in, as snug as a bug in a rug, with water and soup.
He even made his rowdy crew leave so she could rest. Avelina hated that an ugly bubble of emotions welled up in her chest. There were no tears; they’d turn to steam immediately.
But she wanted to cry. She wanted to sob.
As she pulled her hand out from under the cover, propping her feverish flesh on the pillow in front of her face, she imagined those welts.
Remembered the way her mother held her tight to her chest after he left to join some Paladins for prayer.
She wasn’t nursing the wounds, didn’t even so much as get her ice.
What a horrid thing he’s become. You’re not a cleric.
You’ve got no magic. Why does he demand this of you?
I don’t get what he wants from us. Like she didn’t stomp her heels and throw a fit when Avelina wore something less than fashionable outside the house?
Like she didn’t give her only daughter the cold shoulder when Avelina had other hobbies other than praising her mother?
Like she didn’t make a mouse of her child…
Avelina curled her fist up against the pillow.
Why did he have to be kind? It would be easier if he was only cruel. She’d dealt with cruelty her whole life. Avelina Dalethorn knew how to handle monsters.
Callum wasn’t a good man. He wasn’t even particularly nice. But she liked him nonetheless and it hurt to know that this random, awful outlaw from a swamp in the middle of nowhere showed her more decency than her parents.
“Now, don’t sip this fast, it’s still boilin’ hot.”
She gasped, blinking back to reality. Her vision swam as Callum lowered himself beside the bed.
He cupped the back of her head, inspecting her face.
He brought the gravy boat back to her lips and helped her take steady sips until it was cool enough for her to gulp.
Then he put the water up against her pillow.
She knew better than to pour it all down her throat like she wanted.
Instead, she took mouthfuls and let it slowly trickle down her throat. The impulse to chug fell away.
It helped that Callum brushed her hair the whole time. Simply using his palms against her hair, both of them clearly worried about the knots that formed in her sleep, but the tender touch was greatly appreciated.
“What were they wrestling over?” she croaked after the jug was finally empty again.
“Huh? Oh, they got to arm wrestlin’ over who got to stab Daggertooth Dan durin’ the heist.” He shook his head; eyes still trained on her face.
“Why?” she sputtered. Like a turtle, she pulled her arms back under the blankets before the shivers returned.
“’Cause they’re pissed. Two of the guys betrayed us back at Parandor. It’s all Dan’s fault.” He laid his hand firmly against the back of her head. Avelina squinted at him. Callum quirked a brow at her. “Yes?”
“And so they’re what, proving themselves to you by wrestling in your living room?” She snorted weakly.
“In a way, sure.” Callum shrugged. “Not much to do at the moment, on account everythin’ is two feet underwater and goin’ for Dan’s toes right now would be a fool’s errand.
They’re bored and needin’ to get energy out, but I made ‘em go splash outside. Wouldn’t want my little viper missin’ out on her beauty rest.”
She sputtered, unable to hide the curl of her lips. “Bet they loooooove that.”
“Does it fuckin’ matter?” He scoffed. “I don’t give a shit what they do when they ain’t workin’ for me. I ain’t their mama, so long as they show up when I call for ‘em and they do as they’re told, then they can sleep in a tree all day or paint their toes for all I fuckin’ care.”
“How progressive of you,” Avelina teased.
“Now, I do believe that sounded like sass. And if you’re well enough to sass me—” He grabbed the edge of the blanket. She squealed like a pathetic piglette on their way to slaughter. He howled with laughter, dropping the fabric back down. “Didn’t think so.”
“Didn’t think so,” she murmured mockingly into her pillow.
“Keep it up, darlin’, I’ll give that mouth something to complain about.”
“You won’t!” she spat, face scrunched for only a moment. Especially as she shifted to look up at him, calling his bluff.
His lips were curled. Callum affectionally tapped his thumb against her cheeks. “Nah, but it sounded real threatenin’, didn’t it?”
Avelina flushed, tugging the blankets up and over her knuckles.
She pinned them to her chin, but it didn’t stop the flutter returning to her belly.
Golden orbs roamed her face like he was putting it to memory.
She wondered if he was in the same boat she was…
liking the other person but knowing it was a terrible idea.
Because what if when her chance to escape arose, she didn’t take it? What if that titular romance book moment happened where she turned to run away, and she couldn’t take a step away from him?
It was silly, wasn’t it? Avelina couldn’t possibly ever like him enough to choose him over herself, could she?
“So, you don’t just hang out with them? Ever?” she asked, unsure what else to do to fill the intimate silence. She certainly didn’t want to leave it open. He might do something kind or sweet and make her question herself more.
“Never,” he groaned, shaking his head. To her relief, he climbed up on his tail again. Callum took the jug and gravy boat with him.
“Why not?” she blurted out.
“Cause I don’t like none of ‘em,” he scoffed.
“That sounds…” she trailed off, watching him turn back toward her in the doorway. He cocked his head. Callum waited for her to finish. The word bubbled up through her chest till it tumbled off her lips like the traitor it was. “Lonely.”
Callum made a face, eyebrows furrowed, gaze lowered, nose scrunched.
He didn’t like the insinuation, but he didn’t have a counter point.
Avelina pitied him in that moment. A king on a throne in a hollow court.
She imagined him at the head of a round table, full of chairs that were overturned or broken up.
Just him, the leader of his crew of outlaws, the big boss… all by himself.
“Know what the bards say, yeah?” He sniffed once uncomfortably. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
“Yeah,” she whispered, unable to bring her voice above a soft wheeze. “They do say that.”
Avelina didn’t know about bards. But she knew books.
And if this were one of her books, Callum would have already had a change of heart.
Heroes, anti-heroes, always have an epiphany and turn to the light.
They become good people, try to do the right thing.
She couldn’t even fantasize a version of Callum where he was anything but the rotten man she’d come to know.
Funny enough, she wasn’t sure she’d want him to change either.
Avelina liked him just the way he was, as terribly awful as that seemed.
The warlock liked her outlaw, she wouldn’t change a hair on his head.
It was a shame her life wasn’t a book, because she could almost imagine a happily ever after for them.