Bea
Several days have passed since I asked Brennen to share a meal with me, and since then, he’s hardly looked my way.
I try not to let it bother me when he stays by the fire, completely ignoring me as he either reads his journal or works on his bird carving.
A bird I've seen him dismember, mutilate, and decapitate at least a dozen times.
It always starts out fine, his hands working the wood in an expert manner, but for some reason, he doesn’t maintain that temperament. He grows frustrated as he carves, and always, without fail, he ruins it. And each time, I wonder why.
I almost ask him, but something in his posture stops me, even though I can hardly stand the silence. It's worse than the quiet of being alone. Different, and filled with tension. Filled with meaning, although I don't know what it is.
I’d thought it’d been kind of me to offer to share the fish.
He'd cooked it after all. And I’d hoped maybe we were developing more than just a tolerance to one another.
A sort of friendship, even. He'd opened up to me more than I ever expected upon our first meeting, telling me about his siblings, and he’d really listened when I’d told him about my own childhood.
He slices into his carving again, and the bird’s wing snaps in half.
“Mallachd!” he says, throwing the block of wood into the fire.
“Is everything alright?” I finally ask, breaking the silence. His head snaps up, almost as if he'd forgotten I was chained here. He stares at me for a moment too long, but I don’t allow myself to shy away.
“Fine,” he says, picking up another piece of wood in his calloused hands.
Frustration buzzes inside my chest, but I’m not sure if it’s his or mine.
“Then why do you keep snapping the wings off your birds?” I ask pointedly, unable to handle his avoidance any longer.
His jaw clenches, and he picks up another block. “Because I can't get the bloody thing right.”
My dàn of truth flares, but I don’t call him out on it. “Are you sure it’s not because you're angry?” I ask.
He makes a deep, harsh slice. Then another. “Who said I'm angry?”
I let my silence be his answer.
He glares at me, and I sit up taller. This has gone on for too long; his inability to look at me. To move without fury and frustration.
“Well, aren’t you? You’re angry I asked you to eat with me.
You’ve hardly said a word to me since. I didn't mean anything by it.
Only that I had food and was willing to share.
I know I'm your prisoner, and that you're going to kill me when the time comes.
But, can't we at least be pleasant with one another in the meantime?”
He freezes. “Have I no been pleasant?" he asks, eyes flashing with darkness. “Did I no bring you a new dress? Give you a blanket? Twice?” He presses the edge of his blade against the block of wood, about to slice, but stops himself, his nostrils flaring. “Did I no save your life?” he asks, his voice rough, as if doing those things for me wasn’t pleasant for him at all.
I shrug, equally frustrated with him. “Well, not really the last one, seeing as I cannot die.”
I see it then, the moment his shroud of anger cracks. He's not smiling exactly, but his lips tilt up the slightest bit, and the darkness in his eyes shifts to something akin to mischief.
“You were close enough to it,” he grumbles, leaning back with a sigh.
I exhale, my shoulders lowering as the layer of ice between us thaws a bit. He makes a few far gentler slices.
“I'm no angry with you. Or,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I dinnae ken. Maybe I am.” He corrects himself before my dàn can alert me of his lie. He stares into the fire, his jaw working as if he’s considering what to say. How much more to tell me.
Just say it. My heart begs. Say anything.
“It's alright if you're angry at me, you know. I can handle it,” I say softly, and he closes his eyes, almost like the words hurt him. But they’re the truth. I’m not naive enough to believe he’ll disregard his duty for me.
Not this man, to whom justice matters more than anything else, and who follows simple rules as if they’re law.
I do not need him to betray himself for me, but it would be nice if we could be something at least akin to friendly until the time comes when he must do what’s required of him.
Hopefully I can complete the spell before then, and that day will never have to come at all.
A rustling sounds in the woods, and Brennen jumps to his feet, hand on his sword.
“Announce yourself!” he says, and I wonder how he knows it's a person. All I can hear is a vague shuffling, easily explained by an animal, but Brennen is tense. Does he have a dàn for sensing danger, perhaps? Maybe enhanced hearing?
“It’s only me,” a deep voice says, and Brennen visibly relaxes.
A man walks into the glen. He's handsome. Strong, with short hair and bright brown eyes. He looks familiar, and I try to place him. There’s a kindness about him, and I warm to him immediately, even as a sharp pinch of pain flashes through the dàn on my leg.
“Theo,” Brennen says, his brows drawing together as he stands. “Is everything okay? Has something happened?”
The man Brennen called Theo raises his hands. “No. Everything's fine. I received a letter for you a few days ago, but you havenae been back to restock on supplies. I thought I should bring it to you, in case it was important.”
He steps forward, handing one of the two satchels in his hands to Brennen.
The feeling that I’ve met this man before gets stronger, but I can’t place him. “I know you,” I say, tilting my head. He turns to me and smiles.
“Aye. We’ve met before. I was just a wee lad then.” He holds a hand out to about hip height. “Though I dinnae ken how you could remember me from so long ago.”
“She has a dàn of memory. Stole it from me, you know,” Brennen says, opening the satchel.
“Stole it from you?” Theo raises his eyebrows.
“Dinnae ask,” Brennen says. “She—”
“I remember,” I interrupt them, unable to hide my smile as the memory of a young boy with curly hair and dimples flashes through my mind.
“You came here because your parents hid your sweets. You wanted to know where they were. Did you find them, then?”
His answering smile is as bright as my own.
“Aye.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “I found them, alright.”
I clap my hands together in delight. “I'm glad. Though I hope they were worth risking coming to see the Washwoman for. You got quite a fright, didn’t you?”
He laughs. “Aye, I did. And I suppose it was a risk, but I'm a good judge of character. The village may be afraid of you, but even when I caught you and asked my question, I didnae fear you. I never have.”
My eyes flick to Brennen, but he’s shuffling through his bag, seemingly distracted by its contents, and I relax.
“I think I like you, Theo,” I say with a broad smile.
He gives me a half-bow. “It's an honor to meet you again.” He holds out the satchel. “I brought you something, too.”
Surprise flits through my belly as he hands over the bag.
“For me?” I ask, opening it. There's a container inside, and it's warm in my hands.
“Food?” My mouth waters, but I force myself not to rip it open and devour it.
If I’m going to be treated like a lady, I’d like to behave like one.
I crack it open, the delicious scent of thyme and rosemary wafting through the air, and wonder how my fortune seems to have changed so drastically since Brennen arrived.
I now have a sturdy dress. A dàn of warmth, and a fire to sleep beside.
A blanket and food. Company, even if it's begrudging.
All of those things, I have because of Brennen.
Was he a gift from the goddess, or is it just luck? Either way, I am grateful.
“It’s just stew,” Theo says, “but with it being so cold, I thought the two of you might do well with something hot in your belly.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I haven’t brought you something before.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. It smells delicious.”
“Aye, it does,” Brennen says, his container already open. “Would you like to join us?”
“No.” Theo raises his hands. “I’ll need to get back to the tavern. I’m teaching Anna the ropes. She’s a natural, but she’s not quite ready to be on her own for long.”
“I’m glad to hear that. So she willnae need new lodging, then?” Brennen asks.
I tilt my head. Who is Anna, and why was he finding her lodging?
“No. She’d like to stay. Billy’s friends are here, after all. I’ll exchange lodging for help at the tavern.”
Brennen shakes Theo’s hand, and something passes between them, but I can’t place the emotion. Camaraderie, perhaps? If they’re speaking of Billy’s mother staying at the tavern, it must mean Brennen helped them with whatever was causing their predicament.
Theo starts to turn, then pauses. “By the way. Harold's been asking after you. I told him I’d pass along his message to find him next time you come to the village.” He nods. “Washwoman.”
“Bea,” Brennen says, and I whip my head toward him in shock, but he's too busy inspecting his stew to notice. A lump forms in my throat, surprise rippling out of me until I feel like I’m glowing as bright as the moon, but somehow, Brennen doesn’t seem to sense how much that correction means to me.
Doesn’t realize he’s only giving me more evidence to believe he no longer views me as a monster.
Theo looks at Brennen, raising his eyebrows. “Bea, then,” Theo says with a kind smile.
“Thank you!” I call after him as he disappears, my heart lighter than it’s been since before I was sentenced here.
Brennen settles by the fire.
“Let's eat then, before it gets cold.” He pulls out a spoon, crossing his legs. I try to hide my smile at the invitation as I do the same.
We eat in comfortable silence, and it’s nice, this piece of normalcy. Even if it won’t last forever.
“Guess you're not afraid to share a meal with me after all,” I say before I consider what those words could do.
He stops his spoon halfway to his mouth, and I hold my breath, afraid he will put it back down. Afraid he will make an excuse and leave. But slowly, never breaking eye contact, he takes a bite.
“No. I guess I’m not,” he says. The words scrape across my skin, a pleasant warmth following behind them.
He clears his throat, then looks away, poking his spoon around in his food. He finds a piece of carrot, scooping it up, and I do the same.
“What are you always carving?” I ask, testing whether this meal might not include just company, but conversation as well. “I know it's a bird, but—”
“A robin,” he says, short and to the point as always. I sit up straighter, excited he actually answered me this time.
I peer closer, and the fact that it’s a robin becomes more obvious. It’s small and round, with a short, delicate beak. How did I not see it before?
“Robins are beautiful birds. Are they your favorite?” I ask, prodding gently.
“Something like that,” he answers tightly, taking a chunk of wood off near the foot.
I sigh wistfully, ignoring his obvious continued tension. “I should think, if I were a bird, I'd like to be a skylark. Robins are beautiful, but I love the way larks sing as they take flight. How high in the air they’re able to soar.”
He pauses his carving to take another bite, but doesn’t look up at me, and something pinches in my chest.
Talk to me, I silently beg.
“If I were a bird,” I continue softly, “I would fly far away from here and never look back. See what's beyond the mist.” I picture myself soaring over the black fog to another kingdom. Another realm, where there are no Fates to curse me. Where I could begin again.
“I’d still have to catch you,” he says, and my lips quirk into a smile.
“You could try. But I’m very quick when I’m not chained,” I tease, and he looks at me. His eyes are dark, swirling with emotions I can’t decipher. He stares at me intently for a long moment, and my heart sinks. There’s a war waging somewhere deep within him, spilling into his expression.
“Don’t worry,” I say, rubbing my sternum as an ache forms there—a need to eradicate whatever it is threatening to pull him back into his mind. “Lucky for you, I am not, and will never be a bird,” I say, sorrow swelling in my heart for this man.
He meets my eyes, his expression tight, but for just a second, his mask of control slips. His shoulders fall, just a fraction, and he squeezes his knife tighter in his hand. “I wish you could be,” he says, so quietly, I almost wonder if I imagined it.