Chapter 63
Thealina
“Uh.. mus… houg.. uh.. at..”
Yeah, that sounds nothing like ‘the mouse caught the cat.’ I want to fucking die. My coin has almost dried up, meaning the only book I could afford was a fucking children’s book that makes no sense to me no matter how many times I read it.
The morning after Tes stitched it back on was dreadful.
Agonising. My tongue had swelled, it was hot and weighty, and I could barely eat.
Two days later I could manage milky mash and soup.
It’s still a struggle to swallow, my tongue only capable of the smallest of movements, but with each day passed my hope increases.
“Uh… at…”
Oh, this is bullshit. The book lands with a thud against the wall, tumbling to the floor.
I fall back on my bed with a huff, bouncing on the soft mattress.
It’s a plain room, but clean and nicer than what I thought The Bellyache would offer.
Don’t judge a book by its cover and don’t judge a tavern by its name will be my new motto.
Supper will be served soon, and if I want my usual table in the dark corner I need to leave now.
Patrons’ grumbles and cheers get louder and louder the closer I get to the main space. Heat of the fire adds a vibrant note to the smell of boar soup and my stomach rumbles. I plonk down in my shadowed corner, only embers of the fire cast a slight glow on my space.
From here I see much of the tavern. It’s busy tonight. Townsfolk, healers and soldiers mingle and cheers to surviving another day. Some even dance to the flutes being played at the far back.
They’re joyful today, yesterday not so much after a few deaths from a nearby battle.
“Soup of the day, ma’am.” A bowl thuds against the sturdy wooden table, some soup spilling over the side. Bernard places a plate with a hunk of bread and butter. I give him a warm smile before he darts back off into the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel that rests over his shoulder.
He does that often, I’ve no idea why, his hands are always clean.
The boar soup is a little spicy. Ok, a lot spicy.
The tingles on my tongue make me chuckle in surprise, until the back of my throat tickles.
I struggle to cough through it, my cheeks redden by the second and my eyes water with the remnants of a sneeze brewing in my nose until a thud shakes the table.
A cup… of milk.
My eyes follow from the fingers encasing the cup, up the buff arm of a burly hooded male in a soldier’s black uniform.
I swallow. Then lunge. Not caring I let out the most embarrassing sound trying to say his name.
“HAM!”
The tickle in my nose, the heat of the spice, the strain of my throat all disappears as I embrace Sam. He squeezes me, his large hand coming to the back of my head keeping me nuzzled to him.
My heart leaps and my stomach somersaults. I never knew I needed a friend as much as I do right now.
“Thea, fuck. Where’ve you been? What’re you doing here? You say my name?”
I chuckle at all his questions as he finally lets me go. He pulls his chair to me, pushing me the milk. “Gets spicier the more you eat.”
I chuckle again, taking a gulp. Gods, this is the freshest milk I think I’ve ever tasted. It’s too good not to take another sip, the fire on my tongue now simmering to embers. I moan into the cup and Sam chuckles. It’s so good to see him.
And judging by his blinding smile, he’s happy to see me too.
“Tell me everything.”
So, I do. From the moment I said goodbye to him in 830, to discovering him with Rafe and Ava on the streets that day, to right to this moment, burning my tongue off with spicy boar soup.
We never really did get to catch up properly after we got back from jumping to his heartbreaking time with Aurelia. Something I don’t ask him about… yet.
“Fuck me. You think it’ll work?”
It must. If it doesn’t, then I’ll live with what I have.
Because of him. Because during my sleepless nights of pain after having my tongue reattached, I’d realised if I go back to re-write time, I rewrite Sam’s too.
It had never registered before, but that’s the reality of time travel, and the intricacies of it.
It’s a weaved tapestry, delicate, ready to unravel with just a simple change of time. He’d remain dead in 830.
So, although I chose myself, ultimately, I choose the privilege of the memory of Rafe and what love truly looks like. Feels like.
How could I ever erase that.
I choose Sam’s life, I choose freedom. Autonomy. Liberation. And all that is worth the sacrifice of my spoken words.
‘I hope—’
Sam places a hand on mine, stopping my scribblings. “Why don’t you try to say it. The healer said it’s like therapy for the tongue. You should try.”
My cheeks are seconds away from going up in flames. My gaze darts around the tavern.
“No one’s watching. No one cares. Come on, Thea.”
I shake my head. I’m not ready. Not like this. He’s put me too on the spot with the brightest lantern shining over my head for all to see.
As I’m about to write I spot a figure at the far end of the bar. Bright blues filled with darkness watch me and Sam. My body freezes, but Sam follows my line of sight, his body stiffens too before he lifts his middle finger, sending Jack a rude gesture.
I hide a smile behind my cup, but my skin still prickles and itches like a thousand biting beetles gnawing at my flesh. I shudder, refusing to look toward Jack again.
Jack.
Here. Seedy, slimy, Jack who I met in 830. Jack who hides many dirty secrets.
In the very town both me and Sam find ourselves in.
Sam stands, stalks to the end of the bar and grabs a tray, loading up my soup, bread and milk.
“Let’s eat in your room. There’s much I need to fill you in on.”