Tyra, one of Firna’s most trusted maids, arrives around midday each day with food for us both, and before she leaves today, I request a tub filled with warm water to be brought down for Thea. She still isn’t comfortable leaving the healer’s quarters, and the closest bathroom, the one in which I bathe, is down the hall. A dozen high-fae soldiers stand guard over us both outside the doors, a terrifying prospect she isn’t ready to endure.
Tyra bows deeply to me, her tone polite. “Shall I bring down fresh clothing as well? Princess Airlie has already collected some options for Thea, she’s most anxious to help you both however she can.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, a smile tugging at my lips as a sigh escapes me. I’ve wondered how Roan is faring with his spirited wife and sent more than a few prayers to the Fates on his behalf. Not one to ever shy away from difficult tasks or any issue that troubles her tight-knit family here at Yregar, Airlie must be at her wits end being kept so far away from Thea. No one has disregarded my request for solitude, though, not even the stubbornly impassioned princess.
I’ve spent far too much time considering what to do about that shift, and how deeply it could damage me if this all proves to be a high-fae strategy, as I suspect.
Considering Tyra’s offer for a moment, I shake my head. “I have something else in mind for her for the time being. Please let Airlie know I’ll come and see her soon to discuss my plans for Thea’s care.”
The maid leaves once more, and it's not long before there's a steaming tub in the corner of the room, a select few maids trusted to bring it in. None of them look even a little bit high fae, though I place myself in front of Thea while they’re with us. The maids all bow their heads to me respectfully and with genuine warmth in their eyes, all of them sorrowful at the trembling form of my patient.
When they’ve finished their work and leave us, Thea stares at the tub as though she's afraid a banshee is about to rise from the water and scramble our minds. I move back to my work while I wait her out, small tasks that keep my hands busy and the unintentional pressure of my gaze off Thea. It’s important not to make a fuss or demands on her, but I know the offer of a bath is far more tempting when the water is already sitting before you.
I turn to her and sign, "The clothes you’re wearing are quite lovely and a gift from the goblin people, but they are impractical for a healer.”
Her gaze flies up to meet mine, her hands hasty. “I’m no healer, mistress, I would never tell such a bold lie.”
Hands moving slow and sure, I sign back to her,“You aren’t a healer right now, but you’ll be staying here with me, and there’s always plenty of work to be done. If you’re willing to learn, I’m willing to teach. The Southern Lands are dangerously short on competent healers.”
She shakes her head emphatically. “There’s no good to come from training someone like me in the ancient and sacred arts of healing.”
Another clue to the abuse she’s endured, and I tuck it away for later inspection. Right now my focus must lie in giving her something to focus on, something that feels familiar. Even in her most panicked pleas, she is clear in her abilities to work hard and be useful to me no matter the task assigned. Focusing on that desire to work without causing her harm may be the key to reaching her. Learning how to bind wounds, prevent infection, and correctly identify illnesses is “work” for her to engage in without exploiting the trauma of abusive labor that drives her. In time, she can build on the skills and take pride in her abilities, but for now my only aim is to put her mind at ease so I can build trust with her.
Though I’m careful with my words, I also refuse to lie or mislead the female. “There are certain protections that come with being a healer. You would always have that safety in the future, even if the Fates separate us.”
When her eyebrows pull down tight, panic flaring across her face once more, I reach out to squeeze her hand and get her attention. “If you learn the art of healing from me as my apprentice, then you can care for the household here. It would be a great service to me to know that the fae folk here would have aid even when I’m called away from Yregar for other imperative tasks.”
Indecision wars across her face, and she wrings her hands obsessively, stark fear rolling from her in waves. Watching her, I interrupt only when I’m sure that she’s stuck in her terror of making a misstep and not in fear of the work itself.
“Would you like to keep the dress or swap into the healer’s garb? You may find the extra fabric cumbersome to our work, and I have other, more appropriate clothing for you to wear while you’re here with me.”
Some of the tension eases out of her, and when I don't immediately walk over there and drag her to the water myself, she seems to calm down a little, slowly unfolding from the chair. I've chosen every word with care. It's clear that the only part of becoming my apprentice that she’s balking at is the title of a healer, the respect she has for the work of my kin spurring her rejection.
By framing my offer as hard labor, her clothing as impractical, and any rejection as a trial to me, she becomes more than willing to comply. It pains me to use her traumas in this way, but her safety and comfort are my priority.
Hesitantly, she steps over to the tub, her hands shaking as she slowly pulls the dress away from herself. I wave my hand for a moment to catch her attention and then sign, “I can stepout into the gardens and give you privacy, if you’d like? There’s no need for me be in the room while you’re exposed if you’re uncomfortable.”
She shakes her head vehemently and signs back to me, hands moving swiftly, “I don't want the soldiers to come in.”
I scowl at the door for a moment. The soldiers are there for our protection and haven’t attempted to enter, but if they knock while I’m outside, Thea won't hear it. Stepping out would leave her exposed, even if there were only good intentions involved. Perhaps caring for this female will be enough to convince Soren to allow me a lock on that door and some assured privacy, at least in the short term.
I sign to Thea, ”I can stay here with you and keep my back turned. You can clap your hands if you need my attention. Take as long as you like to have a nice soak and get cleaned up. It was a long and hard journey across the kingdom with the goblin soldiers, and you’ve done much work here with me since you’ve arrived. I'm sure you’d like to be comfortable again.
She looks down at her hands for a moment, splaying her fingers, before she signs haltingly,“I've never been so clean. Have I dirtied myself already?”
A lump forms in my throat but I swallow around it, careful to keep my face blank. Her eyes are pinched at the sides but keen on my face, adept at reading all the silent ways we communicate, not just because of her deafness, but her trauma as well. Any sign of the disgust I feel at her abusers could be mistaken as a feeling I have toward her, and gaining her trust now is imperative to her wellbeing.
“You’re definitely not dirty, Thea, and even if you were, there's nothing to be ashamed of about your situation. Sometimes I enjoy a warm bath, simply for the pleasure of immersing myself, and I thought maybe you would enjoy thesame thing. If you wish to just change from the goblin dress into the slacks I have for you, then we'll do that.”
She glances at the water and the layer of bubbles rippling over the surface of it, her eyes still pinched and distrust shining within them.“I've never had a warm bath before. The goblins tried, I think, but I was too scared. One of the ladies gave me a rag and a bucket to scrub myself with. I was terrified when they washed my hair, but they were kind. Far kinder than I deserve, and I'm very ashamed of how I treated them. I couldn't think clearly, I was so scared.”
It’s the most she’s said to me of her journey here or her own emotions. Hope lights up within me that perhaps I have been able to gain some of her trust. With my face carefully serene, I nod to her and bear witness to anything she might wish to say.
When she finally nods back and begins to strip away the dress, her hands tremble violently and when I offer her my assistance, she accepts. The state of her body is familiar to me in a sickening way, a battlefield of scars not unlike my own, though the war she’s endured was not of her own choosing. Layer upon layer of white lines dance across her pale skin; myriad weapons have been used to carve into her. I recognize the markings of some of the blades used, but dozens of other scars could have been made in a variety of ways.
Bile creeps up the back of my throat at the sight. She's only a few decades old, and yet this is how she looks. Some of Tauron's surly demeanor becomes excusable to me, despite his pigheaded insistence of my guilt. If the Fates gave him any whispers of what abuses his mate would endure before he found her, that knowledge must’ve eaten away at him over the centuries until he became the twisted and vicious male before us today.
Thea lets out a sighing gasp as she steps into the tub, sitting in the water and pulling her knees to her chest as she makes herself small. Without pause, she grabs the cloth and the smallcake of soap and starts washing herself with them, and I wince at the roughness of her manner. Her hands scrub so hard that I’m afraid her skin will split open, red patches blooming in the wake of the cloth as she works over her arms first. The water doesn’t change color—there was no dirt on the female—but still she scours her limbs.
