Chapter 39
Thealina
Tears prick my eyes as my old orphanage smiles back at me.
Its grey stone covered in moss and lichen I used to pick when sent to the wall if I was unruly.
I was treated with a firm hand here but never abused.
It was a cold atmosphere at times, but I always felt the love of my best friend, and sometimes, the house mistress and master.
“May I help you?”
A stern tone startles me, and when I turn and see who that familiar voice comes from, the tears that once stung, now fall.
“Girl, what’s got you a blubbery mess.” My old house master, Rupert, says, cupping my elbow.
‘The pollen. It’s high today.’
“Indeed.” He narrows his bushy black brows, probably wondering why I don’t speak. I want to throw myself into him. Hug him. Tell him thank you. Tell him I appreciate him and his wife doing the best they could to get me and the others prepared for the world.
He’d always put his hand on my head and tease how small I was. The memory pulls a wistful smile from me. His curried eggs were the best too, I’ve never tasted anything close to what he made. And his scent—earth and spice always kept me warm on the rare occasion he’d wrap his arms around me.
They loved the children, in their own way. And every time they took in another child they couldn’t afford, they would both take each other’s hand across the dinner table and say, “We’ve got each other. We’ve got this.”
‘Thank you for what you do here.’
A blush tickles his cheeks, and he clears his throat, waving a hand in the air like it’s nothing. It’s not nothing, so many of us could have been dirty, cold and hungry on the streets if it weren’t for Rupert and Celine.
“You look familiar?”
I shake my head. It would create more questions than I can answer. But I couldn’t help lingering a while, taking in the house and the children running around, being rumbustious.
My friends.
Rupert gasps, clutching his chest so tight I worry he’s having a heart attack.
“Thealina.”
Oh, no.
“Tell me it’s you, Thea.”
I shake my head again, smoothing out the purple dress and shawl I stole from the washing line.
“I’d recognise those steel eyes anywhere.”
I take a deep breath before bringing my gaze back to his blue ones.
“You travelled?”
He grips my elbow a little tighter when I attempt to walk away. He can’t know it’s me. Just knowing risks his life, his wife, everything he’s built, not to mention mine if he runs his mouth when he goes for his fortnightly session of beer and cards at the local alehouse.
Master Rupert was the person who helped me discover what I was when I asked him about my marked palm.
A mark he couldn’t see, but after he did some research, he explained what I was, and the dangers of it.
So, he made sure I was protected and made me drink an elixir every few months to hide it from any travellers who may see.
He was unsure if my parents were travellers too, and perhaps got into a bit of trouble, especially after telling me he found me in a bassinet plonked on his kitchen table, wailing in the dead of night. Like they knew Rupert and Celine would take care of me.
Not having parents didn’t affect me as much as some of the other children. I never had experienced them long enough to know what I missed out on. Not until I was older imagining what kind of mother I’d like to be, hoping my children don’t follow in my steps and bear a mark.
So, I kept taking the elixir.
It wasn’t until I met my husband and became content that I forgot to take it. The mark reminded me who I was, what I was.
I was too scared to tell him. Scared he’d deem me unworthy with a useless outlawed ability, so I didn’t. And with his mother and decades of his gradual abuse, I forgot about myself and what I’m capable of.
Until that horrific night.
“Thea?”
Rupert’s gravelly voice breaks the fog. I shake my head again.
‘Just a passerby with a sensitivity to pollen.’
It’s for your own good Rupert.
I nod, once, stepping around him and his cart of apples to trek back through the wildflower meadow.
Juvenile laughter erupts, children dart out and chase each other. I hold a breath, seeing my little-girl-self run past with stems of wheat in her braid. Her laughter loud and bright. Her smile even brighter. So innocent. So carefree.
I glance behind my shoulder. See my younger self wrap her arms around Rupert. He holds a palm over her head, and I mouth what he says next, the memory imprinted in my brain.
“Still as small as a mouse.”
I mouth what she replies too. “But with an appetite as big as a house!”
He chuckles; she chuckles. I chuckle.
She runs back to the house, stealing one of his apples as she goes, crying some battle-ready war cry. One rogue tear escapes. Today, in this moment, my ability doesn’t feel so cursed.
“You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman, Thea. And whatever it is you’ve come back for, I hope you succeed.”
He turns from me, though I catch his grin as he pulls the cart, his loaded apples bobbing as the rickety wheels roll over the uneven earth.
“Be safe, Mouse.”