Chapter 61
Thealina
Winari is magnificent. Everything moves slower here.
The small, picturesque towns I’ve travelled through from Worruks to Wick have turned my head.
Constant wow moments. From the green rolling hills to the abundance of canals and boats.
The water features and fountains I’ve come across have been nothing short of mesmerising.
They say being near bodies of water is soul healing. And I felt that. So much so it had taken me longer than anticipated to get to Wick.
The small town of Wick is pleasant, though a lot of military bustles around. Whispers of loose blood hounds tearing any living thing they set their sight on make the rounds, which does make me a little skittish.
Blood hounds. I’d never heard of them existing in our Kingdom bar the fables I’ve read. Doesn’t mean I’m dying to see one though. Imagine getting this far in being able to have my voice back only to get killed by curiosity—no thanks.
Despite the longer journey, my tongue is still going strong, though the tin of salve keeping it alive is completely gone. No bother now though, not with sitting on the bench in the healers’ station awaiting my name to be called.
Tes has been flitting around all day and hasn’t noticed me yet.
But I made sure I was on her roll call for treatment.
She’s remarkable, one injury after the other.
I’m not sure how she’s still on her feet.
It’s been hours, and my butt is numb, but still, I patiently wait, the nerves and excitement almost getting the better of me.
Her oak door to her treatment chamber whines as she peers out, not looking up as she opens her mouth to call her next patient. I hold a breath.
“Malov.”
I release that same breath, disappointment swims through my veins.
The day is not finished, I tell myself, over and over.
I stand, squeezing my butt cheeks to ease the ache, catching the slimy grin of a soldier who winks at me, blood dripping over his brow from the gash on his forehead.
I offer a polite smile and sit back down.
Morning became afternoon, afternoon became dusk, and dusk became night. Still, she didn’t call my name. Only a few injured folks remain as the night shift healers prepare to take over, herding out some stragglers.
Doors whine as they open, and thud as they close. Conversations become whispers, and footsteps now echo.
“Thealina.”
My name bounces off the walls and my heart stops.
Nerves swarm my stomach, and I look up, seeing the beautiful, bronzed skin healer.
No longer donning long braids, her brown wild curls now pile on top of her head, a few loose strands frame her face and show off her pointed ears.
Her face is passive, but the closer I get to her chamber recognition flickers in her eyes.
She waves a hand, ushering me inside the stone room that’s bare except for a table, large shelving cabinet holding tins, bottles, jars and bowls, and a small cot in the corner. Only one lantern illuminates the space, its orange glow making the small space cosier.
Tes smiles at me, it’s genuine, but I see her sadness behind it. “Good to see you again. Ailment?”
I love how she’s straight to the point. She blinks a few times as she scrutinises the cotton parcel I hold out in front of her. My tongue.
She looks at me, my tongue, then back to me again.
“Did you take someone’s tongue?”
Oh, gods no! I shake my head, pointing a finger to my chest.
“It’s yours?”
I nod. A lot. She must believe it’s mine, I’d never take someone’s else tongue, also that’s kind of gross, who knows what other people have been licking. Nausea bubbles in my gut at the thought.
“Do I want to know how you got your tongue back?”
I shake my head. No, Tes, you do not.
She rubs her mouth, contemplating, before she grabs supplies from her shelves. Hovering a hand over a bowl, water drips from her palm.
She’s a water elve. I wonder what clan she belongs to.
“I don’t know if this’ll work.” Gods, I hope it does.
Once the bowl is filled, she uses a pair of tongs and takes my tongue, plopping it in the water. After squeezing a few drops of luminescent liquid, she places the bowl on the table.
“Open,” she says, shoving a flat wooden stick in my mouth. Hmms and ahhs slip past her lips, her head tilts from one side to the other as she examines me. She’s so close it’s like she’s setting up camp in there.
I hope she doesn’t smell the pea soup I had for lunch at the tavern around the corner. The Bellyache. Who calls their establishment The Bellyache.
“I’ll have to take a small slice away where the flesh is dead, there’s no reviving that.” She tilts her head some more, never taking her eyes from my stump. “This might not work; you know that right?”
I nod.
“I’ll stitch it back together and let the balm help with the nerves and regeneration, but the tongue is a muscle, one that’s not been used for a while, so, it may take some time for you to be able to use it, if at all.”
Grabbing my quill and book, I write.
‘I’m willing to take that risk.’
“And if it doesn’t work?”
Then I’ll go back and re-write my past.
And erase Rafe and I.
My heart is heavy at the thought of not being able to remember him, and I want to beg she not fail.
That she stitches my tongue back on and makes it work again.
But I shrug instead. She looks like she’s carrying enough sadness and burden with how heavy and tense her shoulders appear.
She doesn’t need my heartache to add to it.
I wonder if she still associates herself with Commander Kharson.
I noticed their stolen glances a plenty while we trotted through Eklin before parting way at the town.
Equally, I saw the sadness in both their eyes too.
“Let’s get to it then.” Her eyes sparkle. It’s clear she loves what she does and takes pride in helping others.
The process of stitching my tongue back on was quicker than I thought.
I barely felt a thing after she put some balm on my stump.
Only a few twinges and pressure here and there.
Nothing compared to when I felt the knife my husband held slicing through my flesh.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Until he dangled the bloodied red slab in my face before throwing it across the room.
Discarded as nothing. Worthless.
The most uncomfortable bit is the metal clamps locking my jaw wide, and the drool and blood that sputters out when I cough if some trickles to the back of my throat.
Tes has been great though. Gentle. Calming, reassuring, moving my head to the side every so often so I don’t choke on my fluid.
Talking me through everything she does so as not to trigger any memories of that day.
I’ve kept my eyes shut for most of it, not wanting to see close ups of any gnarly instruments she may need to use.
“Done.”
My eyes whip open. My senses coming alive again as the room comes back into focus.
The smells of mixed herbs and medicinal ingredients.
The slight crackle of the lanterns wick.
The scratchy cotton of the cot against my skin.
And then I feel it. My tongue. It can’t move, not yet, but it’s there, resting against my bottom teeth.
The heaviness of it, of this moment, stings the back of my eyes, my nose sniffles, and my throat thickens.
I slap my cheeks repeatedly to avoid crying but Tes doesn’t look at me with pity.
‘I’m very thankful.’
She reads my note, and nods.
“Do I need to report who did this to you?”
‘It’s something I’m dealing with.’
She doesn’t push for more, just potters around her chamber cleaning up. “Apply the balm twice a day. Eat mushy foods, no alcohol, and read aloud.”
Read? She must see the confusion on my face.
“Yes. Read aloud, no matter how garbled it may sound or strange it may feel,” she says, placing instruments into a bowl of blue liquid. “You need to work the muscle. Think of it as speech therapy. And I want you back for a check-up in a week’s time.”
A week. Did I fool myself into thinking once she stitched the slab back on I’d be good to go. Have my freedom of speech.
I think I did.
I help Tes clean up, then nod my thanks to the pretty healer as she holds her door open for me.
“Rest. Read. Eat. I’ll see you in a week,” she says with a gentle hand on my shoulder.
A week. Got it. I can sacrifice a week. It’s not like I’ve got anyone waiting for me.
Rafe has a wife. And my husband should have received the dissolvement papers by now.
Possibly burnt them in a spit of rage, but if he’s smart, he’ll sign them, especially how I stashed a piece of Taka in the house and outed his intentions with the monarchy vaults in a letter to the Chief Enforcer.
Currently held by the dear postal clerk, an elderly dwarve, and if she doesn’t receive the signed dissolvement by Friday afternoon, she knows to send my letter to the castle.
She restored my faith in humanity when she refused my coin.
A part of me wanted to return to him, say what I had to say, maybe scream and shout at him, use sharp words to cut him open instead.
But you see, we never win with men like my husband.
Closure doesn’t exist with them. So peacefully I will leave him; if he allows it, if not, may his death be swift and painless.
Soon, I’ll either be an ex-wife, or a widow; I’m content with either one.