She drinks the tea in three gulps, and I find myself relieved that I checked the temperature, no concern in her for whether it scalds her tongue. She swallows without pause and the liquid only lingers in her mouth long enough for the taste to truly take hold before she's swallowing it down. The whole cup is drained in a matter of a heartbeat.
“The taste is a little bitter but the notes of fruit ease some of that and the crushed bloomery aids the slip of the liquid.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline.
I don't bother attempting to hide my facial expression; her own gaze hasn’t once lifted from the space between us that my hands move in. I gave her the task of testing to ensure she drank the tea, not to testherfor skills, but even as hurriedly as she’d downed the brew, she’s assessed it to perfection. The notes of the bloomery are so minuscule that hundreds of other well-trained healers would have missed such a thing.
Her palate is incredible.
“The princess doesn’t mind a bitter taste. She’s well versed in tea drinking. Thank you for your assistance—have you done much testing of teas and tinctures before?”
Her eyes flick from side to side, just a little—the only reaction she has—and her face remains carefully blank. Her gaze never truly lifts or lowers, just moves from one hand to the other, and yet it’s the first sign of movement from her. She barely blinks, the rise of her chest with her breath is suppressed, every basic function smothered as though she’s hoping that by taking on a statue-like form, she can cease to exist in my mind.
“I have worked for a kitchen before, and I am adept at such tasks, Mistress. I know many plants and poisons. I can test your food for you if you are concerned. My constitution is good, and you will not lose my work at such testing.”
I keep my own mug clasped in my hands and prop my elbows on my knees in the picture of casual. My shoulders are relaxed and my stance is languid, open and reassuring, but none of this eases her. Small steps forward, the path ahead a long one.
When I lean down to place my cup on the small table, she doesn't flinch, simply waits with the illusion of calm until my hands begin to move once more. “That is a very useful skill to have. Brewed poisons are difficult to detect.”
Hands flying before her in a frenzied jumble of explanation, as though she speaks without thinking, her reassurances build before me.
“I know that dusk-adder venom doesn’t have a taste, but a feel in the mouth can detect it, and the roots of the bronbutter plant will always spark along the tongue, no matter how they are prepared, and that enough of it would kill a high-fae male should he consume it. I know of dragon's blood and how to disguise it, that if a drink is too sweet, it masks many horrors within, and that a brew burned and offered with apologies is often hiding a bitter friend. Mistress, I’ll do your bidding even if this is the task that you require. I swear to you, I’ll do whatever I need.”
My hands move slowly before me once more, carefully but emphatically, a stark change from her harried movements. I hope my message to her comes through with that calmness clearer than any wording I could choose.
“You’ll stay in these quarters, with me, for as long as you choose. No fae folk may enter without my permission, and I’ll grant it to none but those who you find acceptable. My protections of you are complete and unquestionable, and any who offer you threats of violence will be dealt with by my hand.”
My words may be hollow to her for now, without any experience or trust between us yet, but I give them to her regardless. I can’t prove myself to be honest and true without first expressing my intentions to her.
“My name is Rooksbane Eveningstar. I am the Mother of the Ravenswyrd Coven, a Favored Child of the ancient forest and a Witch of the Woods. The Fates have burdened me with a great purpose, one that has led me far throughout the kingdoms. My protection of you is absolute, and none shall cross it without grave consequences.”
I sign my name to her carefully, first spelling it out and then with the sign I was once gifted by another. My brother, Willow, and I were playing by the river on the edge of our small villagewhen a traveler stumbled upon us both there and collapsed before a single word had passed between us. I didn’t feel fear at his approach; the forest protected us from any who meant us harm, and I’d rushed to aid him.
After long weeks of care from my coven, the traveler left us in good health but not before he gifted me the sign forlittle crowin thanks for my aid. I suspect my dark hair and the wiry nature that I held as a twelve-year-old playing amongst the trees inspired him, but I still hold it in the same honor now as I did then.
“You may address me as Rooke. Can you tell me your name so that we may begin to know one another?”
Finally, her face changes a little as she swallows, and her hands spell in the alphabet first and then the sign, the two forms of her name.
“Thea.”
Nothing else, no clues to which family she may have come from or who instilled such terrors in her. Simply Thea.
“Well met, Thea.”
She ducks her head in a small bow, her gaze dropping back to the floor, and I clear away our now empty cups. Keeping my own gaze close to her huddled form in case she wishes to speak with me further, I can’t help but wonder about the origins of the female and what events led her here, her name compounding the mystery for me tenfold. That she has endured horrors is unquestionable, but someone, at some time, cared for her. I have proof of that.
The sign for her name ischerished one.
SettlingThea into my rooms and reassuring her at every turn is far harder than I was hoping but, after a few short days, we find a peace to work within. My hands move slowly as I speak with her, steady as I attempt to coax more information from her, but it’s slow work and best done sparingly. After the first week, the only success I can claim is that, with every desperate plea Thea offers me, the plan of how best to aid her grows clearer for me.
“I’ll be a good girl, I’ll do anything you want! I’m quick at learning, I swear I’m not stupid just because I can’t speak or hear.”
I meet her eyes with a firm nod. “I know you’re not stupid, Thea, I would never think such a thing. You’re safe here with me. I’ll never send you back to that city, I swear on the Fates themselves. Please sit and rest for a moment, it’s been a long day.”
The furrow in her brow deepens, but I move away from her once more, going about my work and giving her some space to herself. She spent the day cleaning the cupboards and scrubbing the floor, her anxiety easing only after I relented and gave her the tasks. She’s efficient, fastidious, and pauses only if I insist upon it, usually to force some food or water into her.
As always, I keep my gaze close to her in case she wants to speak with me, but she sits calmly in the chair across the room from the workbench, observing my actions as though searing them into her memory. I have no doubt she’ll be able to mimic them with little warning or tutoring required. It’s a useful, if heartbreaking, skill to have, one acquired through trauma.
