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Pirithous
The growl of her car gave him pause as he carried the stone into the trees. His shoulder ached, but he ignored it, just as he had ignored it when the bandage broke free and blood began to stain the fabric of his shirt. He did not want to give Thalia more pain than he had already, and the sooner he moved the stone, the sooner she would be without the reminder of his presence.
The car door slammed and Pirithous stepped back into the shadows of the wood. He had already removed his things from her house, such as they were, bundling them in his tunic and stuffing them into the fork of a tree. If need be, he would sleep within the branches as well, for he would not impose himself on her generosity any longer. Even the sacred laws of hospitality had their limits, and part of the obligation of the guest was knowing when it was time to leave.
Thalia appeared in the window, looking out from the kitchen. Her forehead creased as her gaze fell on the piles of stone, a good third of it already moved despite his shoulder, but even from this distance she looked tired and worn. Whatever she had done last night, wherever she had gone, she did not seem to have found any joy in it. The desire to smooth the sorrow from her brow nearly drew him into the light, but he forced himself to remain still, his hands balling into fists with the effort it took. She had made her choice, and he must respect it, just as he asked her to respect his decision to remain behind.
She moved away from the window, and he waited several more moments to be sure she had gone, then went back to hauling the stone. Once it was removed from her sight, he would rest, and once he had rested, he would go in search of the centaurs. And then he meant to see them dead.
***
AT DUSK, SHE CAME OUTSIDE, forcing him back into the trees. She was carrying something.
“Pirithous!”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t trust himself to speak to her. Just the sound of her voice already made him ache. She came closer and he held his breath, still as the stone he had been removing all day. Jugs of water. That was what she carried, with the seasoned and dried meat she’d bought their second day together. She set it down on top of the stone bench and squinted into the trees. He stepped behind a thick trunk.
“Pirithous?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “I brought you water and food for a couple of days. I know you’re there. I just want to talk.”
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the bark. He wanted more than just to speak with her. Much more. And he could feel it in her thoughts, too. A brush of her hand against his. That was all he would need to persuade her. But he would become exactly what she had feared him to be, and when it was time for her to leave, it would only wound her that much more deeply.
“Will you at least tell me what you need?” she asked. “A tent for shelter? A bow so you can hunt? You shouldn’t be doing all this with your shoulder hurt.”
He exhaled heavily, her concern twisting his heart. She turned toward the sound, hesitating at the tree line. It was growing dark.
“Won’t you even say goodbye?” she called softly.
It nearly broke him to keep silent in the face of her grief. But if he went to her now, it would only make leaving more difficult for both of them.
Protect her, Father. Give her peace if she cannot have love.
Thalia returned to the house, safe for one more night. Nothing else mattered but that.
***
EVER THOUGHTFUL, THALIA had brought him matches for fire and fresh bandages for his shoulder along with the water in its strange clear jugs. Bread, too, in a pair of sliced loaves, and a hard wedge of cheese. He would eat well for a few days at least, and as long as Thalia remained at the house, he did not think she would let him starve.
In the tree with his spare clothing, he still had the arrows from the centaurs. All but the last from his shoulder, for he did not know what Thalia had done with it. Perhaps he could take the time to build a bow of his own now, for he could not move the stone bench one-armed without alerting the centaurs to his presence in the wood, and his shoulder was too sore and stiff to do much else. He had overworked it.
He opened one of the jugs of water and drank, then poured some on a spare strip of cloth from the tunic Thalia had cut from his body. Carefully, he removed his new tunic and pulled the worthless bandage from his wound. Washing the blood away caused him more discomfort than he liked, and it was a slow process in the failing light.
Thalia’s hands would have made quick work of it, and been gentle besides. Nor would she have resented it if he’d asked for her help, but he did not trust himself to sit beneath her fingers, knowing her love and her desire, without encouraging it to bloom over the pain. It would not be for the pleasure of her body that he acted, but to lessen her sorrow, and still it would be wrong, and when he refused the gift of her kiss and the warmth of her body, she would be stung. Even worse if he could not bring himself to refuse the comfort of her love for one more night.
No, it was for the best that he had left her. She would be safer from him this way, if nothing else.
After he had seen to his shoulder, he waited for full dark, and then for the light in Thalia’s bedroom to be put out before he slipped back into the open and built a fire in the hearth. He gave the gods blood, meat, and bread and prayed that his shoulder might heal. It was beginning to burn, deep in the joint, as though he had been pricked with Apollo’s arrow. He did not have the strength to climb a tree, but Thalia never rose early, so he slept in the grass beside the fire and hoped the centaurs would not come before dawn.
***
“PIRITHOUS?” A GENTLE hand on his arm jostled him awake, the movement searing inside his shoulder. He groaned. “Pirithous, please, you have to get up.”
The panic in the woman’s voice dragged him from the dreams of centaurs charging, clubs raised high, and he opened his eyes. Thalia bent over him, tears leaving damp tracks down her cheeks. He tried to lift his hand to wipe them away, but even thinking it made the fire in his shoulder burn hotter and he clenched his teeth against a cry of pain.
“Thank God!” She pressed a cool hand to his forehead. “You’re so hot.”
He blinked, staring up at her, his mind too slow to follow her words. But her distress washed through him, settling into the pit of his stomach.
“You have to get up, Pirithous.” She grasped him by the arm, looping it around her shoulders. “I can’t lift you.”
He closed his eyes again, gathering his strength. It seemed to have leached from him into the earth, for all he had left, but with Thalia’s urging he managed to sit up, then stand. It jarred his shoulder so badly he moaned.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But you can’t stay out here. I’ve got to get you to a bed, safe and sound inside.”
She was crying still, he realized as she guided him up the stairs. Her voice tight and strained. He wanted to comfort her, to reassure her that he would be well. This was not the first time Apollo had set a fever upon him. But he could not find the words in her tongue to speak.
“Thalia,” he murmured, leaning heavily against her.
“Shh,” she said, pushing him through the door and down the hallway. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to take care of you.”
He half-fell into the bed, and his shoulder flared white-hot. He cried out that time, unable to suppress it.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “You’re too heavy.”
And then he felt her untying his sandals and loosing the belt from his waist. She tugged it free along with his sword and knife, and dropped it to the floor. Her cool hands smoothed the fire from his skin wherever she touched him, and he caught one with his good arm, pressing it to his cheek as she met his eyes.
He could not find the words, but he could share his love, his gratitude. She gasped and jerked her hand free, stumbling away. He was too slow and weak to draw her back, his failure only causing him to grunt with pain.
She pressed her hand over her heart, her eyes wide and her face flushed. “I never—I felt—it was like making love.”
He reached again, and she hesitated. But after a moment, she stepped forward, clasping his hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. Her concern pulsed through him with her heartbeat, and though he had little strength left, he did what he could to soothe her, pouring reassurance through his touch.
And then he dropped back into dreams of centaurs and battles long lost, with a prayer that Apollo might heal him while he slept.