68. Mine

The gods took pity on me.

My occupation took me away from the object of my misplaced affections.

I spent the next ten days away from the city at the home of orchardists, a two-hour ride south of Pikestully.

Hazel and I and a young acolyte of about nineteen winters named Tuck traveled there on horseback on the first day of the work week that followed my begging my husband not to injure himself any further.

We had lain together in the bed that night and he had thanked me for my care.

I had whispered, without thinking, “you are easy to care for.”

He had not replied and a part of me had withered inside.

When Hazel approached me at breakfast the next morning, a day of rest, asking if I would join her the following day, I had grasped at her hands, saying “oh, yes, of course,”

like a fool.

The property consisted of plum, cherry and walnut orchards.

The family was welcoming and eager for our assistance, for their entire plum harvest had suffered from an invasive type of vine, likely brought here from one of The Flavored Three.

The vines grew at an almost visible rate.

When pruned, they regrew overnight.

They were full of hooked thorns and it was arduous work to remove them, which had despaired the family to see them reformed every morning.

They feared the vines spreading to the cherry and nut orchards on their property.

In the mornings, they fed us fried eggs and toast with preserves from their harvests.

Then Hazel and I tied back our hair, belted our sagarises onto our waists, bled onto the axe blades with our pricked right hands, and pulled on long leather gloves that went up to our elbows.

It was a grueling labor.

We hacked at the vines and once they were limp around the trees, we pulled them off.

Tuck was behind us, collecting the felled pieces into a basket for burning.

He would often throughout each day prick his palm and bleed over our axes, continuing our communion with the goddess.

Hazel reminded me to ask Mother Earth for her blessing, saying out loud that we reclaimed the orchard for this family and after the first few days, I found myself naturally joining her and Tuck thanking the goddess, asking her to bless the plum trees and the orchardist family.

We made a merry threesome, cheered by the simplicity of the labor.

We were rewarded at dawn by bare tree trunks.

The work was a refiner’s fire for my soul.

The crick in my neck and soreness in my back and arms at the end of every day was a perfect distraction and at night, sleeping in the hayloft of their stables, I watched the stars through the loft’s window and was too tired to even miss my husband’s warmth next to me.

I put my heartache out of mind and spoke more and more with my deity out loud and in my head.

I thanked her for her mercies, for guiding me as I was taken from a life I knew to a life I did not.

I thanked her for knowing me before I knew her.

I thanked her for all nine of us surviving.

I thanked her for meeting people like Cian and Hazel.

I thanked her for the food in our bellies.

I thanked her for the renewed life in Helena’s eyes.

I thanked her for my niece still having her girlhood, still finding joy in things like kittens.

I thanked her for Catrin’s sisterly bonding with Maureen.

I thanked her for every time Mischa had made me laugh.

I thanked her for River and Quinn being together when they were taken.

I thanked her for Bronwyn’s contentment and comfort late in life.

I prayed Eefa’s child would be borne with ease.

However, one night, bathing without shame in front of each other in a nearby creek, trying to slough off the dirt and sweat of the day before we slept, Hazel said she missed her husband.

I asked his name and what he did.

She told me his name was Gordon and he was a farrier and they had pledged their love to each other forty winters past when they were children.

I had authentically smiled as she spoke, but after, under dazzling starlight through the window, I thought to myself that I could not openly refer to my spouse the way Hazel referred to hers, with much love and a little ownership.

And I could fight the self-pity no longer.

Trying not to wake Hazel or Tuck, I bit back tears and turned my face to the stars asking Mother Earth why him? Why must he be the man to whom I was married? Why could not Perch have been the captain of the Procurers? Or Thatcher? I liked both men but would have been in no danger of losing my heart.

Why did it have to be the lean-limbed man who never smiled and spoke rarely? Why did he have to be so devastatingly beautiful to me? Why did watching him cross the training yard feel like a dagger to the chest? Why did his monotone voice sound like a line of music? Why did it have to be him?

And then she spoke.

That crone croak of hers, at first sarcastic, at second helpful, was this time as a mother’s, caressing, settling, close.

Again, I heard it at the shell of both my ears.

Who do you be? Without a man or a babe? I will tell you.

You are mine, girl.

And my tears truly poured forth.

“I love you,”

I said back to her.

And I you.

The final day of our time at the orchards, we revisited each tree to inspect its progress in regaining itself.

We had emerged entirely victorious and watching the family walk through their unshackled plum trees was one of the proudest moments of my life.

My little bit of earth magic had had some effect.

Hazel had assured me it was not just her blood and Tuck’s but mine also that had had sovereignty over the vines.

We rode back into Pikestully at the dawn of that week’s day of rest, all three of us exclaiming over how refreshing a true bath in hot water would feel.

Tuck and I offered to take Hazel’s mount back to the keep’s stables, for she only walked to the temple every day and ate her breakfasts and lunches at the keep, but spent most nights with her Gordon.

She took us up on the offer and me and the boy rode up to the plateau, her horse tethered to his.

As we dismounted, I heard Alric’s voice.

“Edith?”

My heart sank.

I stared into the black hair of my mare’s mane, combing my fingers through it.

Could I have no reprieve? I had not thought about seeing him again after a week apart.

I had only craved a bath.

Our last conversations had been perfunctory and informative after I had said those dauntless words.

You are easy to care for.

But then I remembered that an actual god had told me they loved me.

I remembered that I stared up at the stars and heard her tell me I was hers.

I put my hand on the top of my sagaris hanging at my hip.

It laid perfectly along my right thigh when in the saddle.

I had placed it, in its scabbard, along my body in the hayloft, like a companion.

I am yours, I prayed to the goddess in my mind.

And I be here, she said.

I turned to face him, smiling and blinking against the sun in my eyes.

He stepped closer.

“I did not realize this would take a week.”

I held up my right hand to shade my eyes, his person only shielding me somewhat from the sun.

I tried to better see his face, but yet again, the light was behind him and shining on me.

He smelled like he had only just bathed.

His shortsleeved tunic was a fresh one.

It was tucked into what looked like new breeches.

This reminded me I had been wearing the same black cotton dress and shift for ten days.

I stepped back to unbuckle the small satchel I had taken with me, containing Gareth Pope’s journal, my copper comb and chew sticks.

“Good morning to you too,”

I teased, holding the bag to my chest.

“You did not tell me this would take ten days and nights, Edith.”

I could never read his words.

Was he angry or had he missed me? Was he angry that he had missed me? I found myself not caring.

Love him, I surely did, but I wanted a bath, to soak my beleaguered muscles in warm water.

I wanted to wash my hair.

“Is that thinking before we speak, husband?”

He gave me a quizzical look.

“I could not know how long the task,”

I explained.

“Could you not greet me instead?”

There was a minute quirk on one side of that dreadfully kissable mouth.

“I apologize.”

“You are forgiven.

And yes, it was a long trip, but a successful one.”

I waved farewell to Tuck and started to walk toward one of the keep’s entrances, pulling away, shaking my head when Alric offered to take the bag.

I needed to hold on to something.

“Let us deposit your things in our room and we can walk down to the city—”

I laughed.

“No.

I am bathing, washing my hair and soaking my tired bones.”

“Oh,”

he said, his tone almost dejected.

I turned to him.

“Was your week a good one?”

He did not answer me until we reached the stairwell closest to our room.

“It was fine.”

He opened our door for me and I entered.

“We are now in the second phase of the trials.

No more man-to-man combat.”

“That is good,”

I said brightly, setting the bag on the desk, fishing out the comb.

I opened up the top drawer of the desk where I had left the skeleton key.

It was empty.

“Here,”

he said, stepping next to me, key in his extended hand.

“I hope you do not mind.

I used the bath while you were gone.

I replaced the linens and the soap.”

I turned to him to take it, surprised.

“Why would I mind?”

“Well.

It is your room.

And you did not seem to want to show it to me the first time.”

“I worried you would scold me for having stumbled upon something I should not.”

He shook his head, his eyes on my face.

“I know you do not like to be told you look tired, but you look tired, Edith.

Cian works you too hard and I do not like to see it.”

I smiled up at him.

“Firstly, I had a truly productive week.

I will tell you of it, if you wish.

Secondly, the bath can be our room.

We’ll keep the key in the drawer and if one of us sees it gone, we know why.

I am sure you, like me, would wish for some privacy.

Us neither have had to share a room with anyone in some time.”

“I do wish,”

he said, over my last words.

“I do wish you to tell me.”

I moved around him to collect a fresh shift and stays and my teal green fall dress with its long sleeves to shield against the cooler breezes that began and ended the days.

It was thin enough to weather the sun at the height of the day and I knew the color brought out the auburn in my hair and made my gray eyes bluer.

I moved towards the door with these over my left arm.

I turned to him and said, “Perhaps I will see you tonight?”

“Can I come with you?”

he said, quickly for him as his words were usually so measured.

“To the bath?”

I was taken aback.

He blinked and then said, “I will turn my back.

I just want to talk to— I am tired of speaking to men and boys and talking about either card games or how we are on the brink of war.

I am particularly tired of talk of war.”

The words ‘I missed you’ went unsaid, but I heard them.

I fought down the fluttering in my breast.

“Alright.”

I considered telling him he was not allowed any peeking, but I felt that to be flirtation and I knew it was safer to engage in nothing but friendship.

He sat with his back to me, forearms resting on his knees, in Gareth’s Pope bath, at the bottom of the steps.

I soaked for an hour, washing my hair and body, languidly telling him of our conquering the vines.