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When Joss finally came in from outside, putting the ax in the large armoire next to the door for safekeeping and the couple logs she brought in by the hearth, she found herself not wanting to check on Aric. Bringing up her family made her more uncomfortable than she wanted to admit, so for a moment she stayed in the open main room, lounging in one of the chairs facing the hearth, listening to the faint creaking of the rocking chair in the bedroom behind her. Henrik was long gone, his absence loud in the quiet house.
Closing her eyes, she listened to the creaking, remembering all the lives who sat in that chair, all the people they had taken in to help. One life, however, stood out in her memory more than the others: Celine, the baby in the family, who would always sneak into that bedroom to play on the rocking chair when she was younger. The bedroom once belonged to their older brother, Flynn, and was only turned into a guest room after he had passed away. Joss tried to recall him, how he would sit at the desk in front of the window that was to the left of her now, learning how to run the household for when their father couldn’t. Her father would be sitting where she was, sharpening the ax for his next job. Celine would be on the opposite side of the room where the kitchen was, helping Joss with the next meal while Henrik kept them company, often being put to work. And Oliver, the second youngest, would be upstairs in his room, either reading or writing his own story, lost in his own world. Despite the fact their cottage was one of the handful of households in the region that didn’t have a waterwheel to capture electricity, it still appeared as a cozy home to her. The lit fireplaces and burning candles added a romantic touch to her memories, and while it was an inconvenience when attending to open wounds she needed to clearly see, her and all her relatives before had made it work.
Joss lingered on those memories until she heard a small snap from the fire in the hearth, and she opened her eyes. The quietness of the house settled back into her as the creaking of the lone rocking chair continued, the only sound telling her that she wasn’t entirely alone. Realizing the sun was setting, she pulled herself to her feet, fixing the fire that had started to grow dim. The nights had been decent, but the wind was picking up again, which meant a fire would have to be attended to in Aric’s room.
Her muscles burned from the earlier exertion as she picked up the two logs and headed for the bedroom. Aric remained in the chair, head back and eyes closed. The only inclination he was still awake was the moving chair, lulling him to sleep.
Without announcing herself, Joss prepared the small fireplace that sat opposite the bed. She had already done the work of cleaning it, a couple logs in place already, so she placed the two extras in the corner for when they would be needed. Grabbing the matchbox that sat in the corner of the mantel, Joss lit a fire, keeping watch as it slowly started off, seeing more smoke than flame at first.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you were a witch.”
Without thinking, she felt her throat tighten. Joss eyed Aric, who kept his back to her. “Do those still exist?” She tried to pass it off, arching a brow. She saw him turn his head, a small smile forming against the shadows of his face.
He continued, his smile evident in his tone. “I’m sure I saw your cauldron in the front room.”
“I guess you’re onto me, then.” With the fire starting up, Joss dusted her hands on her pants as she rose to her feet. She moved around the rocking chair, facing Aric while the fire flickered behind him.
“Herbal remedies. Fires. Lonely cottage.” Aric grinned wider, which was handsome despite the bruising that remained. “You can see where my logic comes from.”
Joss smiled but didn’t reply, befuddled by the sudden topic. She had left him in a somber state, which is what she thought she would have found him in.
“I don’t mean to offend you,” Aric said wholeheartedly, seeing the seriousness in her, the playfulness just a front to be kind. “It’s just... I feel bewitched by you and I don’t know why.”
“That’s only because I’m helping you.” Joss brushed his words off, taking a seat on the bed opposite him. “Given the state we found you in, I don’t think you deal with kind people too often.”
“That I don’t,” Aric admitted, adjusting himself, which caused a small groan to escape. “I’m also normally never this honest,” he added. “What exactly did you put in this drink?”
“Ah, a witch never tells her secrets,” Joss teased, winking at him. He chuckled and then winced at the pain of laughing with bruised ribs.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” she offered, standing up and folding the blankets back on the mattress.
Taking the mug from him and removing the blanket, Joss helped lift Aric up the same way as before, except this time his words got to her. Suddenly she was aware of his form, his height, his build. No one had ever said those things to her, but she knew fever dreams and romantics, and often things slipped out that wanted to be heard but couldn’t be trusted. Although she remained logical about it, a small part of her craved the attention, wishing that just once those words would mean something. Nevertheless, she shoved it away, remembering all the others they had helped, knowing once this stranger knew of her profession he’d bolt as well.
Pivoting Aric, she helped lower him onto the bed, laying him back against the pillows. She made sure his legs were comfortably in position before laying the blankets back over him.
“I stand by what I said,” Aric spoke up.
Joss placed the last blanket on him, staring down at him in curiosity. A strand of hair slipped from her tie, which she quickly discarded behind her ear.
“There’s not a lot of people out there like you,” he went on, enjoying the simple gesture he had witnessed. “You’re captivating.”
“I’m flattered you think so,” she replied, hoping it really wasn’t the tonic talking.
“Good, you should be.” Aric closed his eye briefly, resting for a second before fixing his gaze back on her. “I have a feeling you receive as much kindness in the world as I do, which isn’t very much.”
Joss swallowed hard, the only inclination he was right. “Good thing we don’t have to worry about that now.” She smiled knowingly at him.
Aric grinned in a sleepy kind of way. “Good thing,” he echoed. “I’m from Aselian, so that means a lot right now.”
Joss froze, her smile fading into shock. “Aselian,” she said out loud.
Aselian, the kingdom where the ruling family reigned conveniently from their thrones so many miles away; the same royal line that tarnished her family’s name, forcing them to be Galmoor’s executioners. Her ancestors all tried to be pardoned and failed, every king denying the plea. Even her father tried, hoping to at least save his children from taking on the burden, which the current king ignored. They were the reason she took up the executioner’s duty, the last heir in a line of tragic circumstances.
“You’re a long way from home,” she said, attempting to wake up the stranger who was in the beginning stages of slumber.
“I am,” he murmured. Even deliriously sleepy, he couldn’t tell her more, his natural instincts protecting him from revealing anything to do with himself.
Seeing she wouldn’t get too much more out of him, Joss let him rest. She added more ointment to his wounds, using the thymelock this time on the more serious ones, including his bruised eye and nose. But instead of leaving afterwards, she positioned the rocking chair so it faced both the bed and the hearth, watching the fire and hoping the man would wake up long enough to tell her more.
