“I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Walk,” she spat through gritted teeth.
It wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t make her hand throb less. It was going to be all shades of green and yellow in the morning.
The room had one bed, and Rune dutifully settled on the floor. Briar threw a blanket and a pillow at him.
It might’ve been the sight of him arranging them clumsily, or her fingers spasming with pain that made her run to the kitchen and order a huge meal, bring it back up, and slam the tray on the floor so hard that the plates clattered and broth spilled down the sides of two bowls.
“You’re eating.”
Rune froze.
Briar sat with her legs crossed, facing him. Between them – the tray of food. Beef broth, roasted pork swimming in its own fat, a generous pile of sauerkraut, and two bread dumplings. Beer in two stoneware mugs, though most of it had sloshed over. She broke off a piece of dumpling and soaked it in gravy.
“Open up.”
He didn’t understand what she wanted from him.
She reached over, grabbed his jaw, and squeezed until he opened his mouth in surprise. He was confused as to what was happening until she slipped the food past his lips and covered them with her hand to force him to chew and swallow. He pulled away from her and fell backward, bracing himself on his elbows.
“Don’t be dramatic,” she said.
He turned his head as he swallowed.
Briar armed herself with a generous handful of dumpling, pork, and sauerkraut, crawled closer to him and repeated the gesture. Rune protested only lightly before chewing and swallowing.
“Good?” she asked, reaching for the beer mug. She held it to his lips. “Drink up.”
He sputtered, she tipped the mug, half of the beer went down his throat, half down the front of his shirt.
He laughed.
“I’m glad you’re finding this amusing.”
“I can eat on my own,” he said.
“Can you? Because I haven’t seen it with my own eyes, which led me to the obvious conclusion that you cannot feed yourself.”
She shoved a spoonful of beef broth between his lips, the pewter spoon hitting him in the teeth. She didn’t regret it one bit.
“I hope it’s not too hot.”
She pushed, he tipped his head back, most of the broth went into his nose. He collapsed onto his back, laughing.
Briar watched him with a frown and a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She didn’t know what reaction she’d expected from him, but it hadn’t been this. She threw a coarse cloth at him that she’d snagged from the kitchen, and he wiped his mouth and dabbed at his shirt. He was still laughing, for some reason, and Briar found it infectious. Her chuckle turned into laughter as well, she doubled over, a hand on her stomach, but before she could understand what had happened, what had led to it, it all turned to sobs. She braced her hands on the floor and watched her own tears drip onto the backs of them. They poured out of her eyes and she couldn’t stop them. This wasn’t ugly crying, it was more like a dam had broken and the flood was inevitable.
“Briar?” Rune crawled to her, his hand patting the floor to find her. “Why are you crying? Is it because of me?”
She shook her head, though he couldn’t see her. She didn’t have an answer.
His hand found hers, and he covered it with his wide, warm palm.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She sniffed loudly and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. She had one hand trapped underneath his. She didn’t feel like pulling away.
“I will eat,” he said. “I will learn how to use the stick if you still want to teach me. I’ll do whatever you say. Please don’t cry.”
