Maisie had woken less than twenty minutes ago and refused to let me feed her. I had offered. More than once. She’d looked atme with those tired, stubborn eyes and told me she wanted to do something.
So now she stood at my stove, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem of my shirt hanging past her knees. She had to stretch to reach the iron skillet. The sight should not have done anything to me.
It did.
She fried strips of cured goat and warmed slices of fig in the fat. Steam curled around her face, and one loose strand of hair stuck to her cheek. She kept pushing it back with the side of her wrist.
She looked like she belonged there.
In my kitchen.
In my home.
The thought landed too hard.
I looked away.
I wanted to wait on her. To bring her food. Clothes. Anything she wanted. I wanted to make sure she never had to ask for a single thing.
She would not accept that from me yet.
So I sat at my own table, too large for her and barely large enough for me, and let her cook.
It felt like surrender.
It also felt like a gift.
“Will you show me the orchard?” Maisie asked later.
She had a bite of fig between her fingers. Her lips shone with juice.
I looked at my plate.
“Yes.” It was only one word. It still came out too rough.
The orchard wasn’t far from the house. Morning clung to everything, cold and damp. Dew soaked the grass, and mist still hung low against the hills. I led her past the woodshed and the goat pen. Two of the goats lifted their heads as we passed,watching Maisie with more interest than they had ever shown me.
Sensible animals.
We went through the gap in the stone wall, and the trees rose ahead of us in rows. Violet leaves, dark with moisture. Heavy fruit. Gold just beginning to show through the green.
This was mine.
Not given to me because I had fought well. Not tossed to me as a reward to keep me quiet. This wasn’t a cage with prettier walls.
Mine.
I had planted some of these trees myself. Pruned them. Bled on the roots when I was too tired to notice my hands were torn. Watched them survive storms I thought would take the whole hillside.
I had built this.
I had broken many things before. Men. Gates. Chains. An arena.
This was different.
Maisie looked around with wide eyes. “It’s so big.” She glanced at me, and her mouth twitched. “And not just because you’re a minotaur.”
“It’s not even the largest orchard in town.” I bent to pull a weed from the base of a trunk.
