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The fields were sun-kissed by the late afternoon as Joss rode next to Henrik and the wagon back to the cottage. Neither said much about the private trial, too consumed with the eagerness to be home. The storm they caught sight of was an ugly one—black clouds rolling in a grand splendor of beauty and terror—which meant they would have to make quick preparations for it, each one going over in their mind what needed to be done. The next executions were on standby until the storm cleared and the gallows dried out. History taught the town how a good wind and rain could push even the most seasoned executioner off his mark, especially since the scaffold would become slippery in such conditions.
Bringing the horses down to a walk, they entered the courtyard, finding a sense of comfort in the quietness of the shaded trees. Dismounting, Joss walked Drakon to the barn, directing him into his stall. Releasing him from the saddle and bridle, she stored the tack away before returning to the wagon. As usual, Henrik expertly maneuvered it next to the hay, pulling Bluebelle from her harness and escorting her to her own stall next to Drakon’s.
Swiftly the two worked, Henrik attending to the horses and double-checking the security of the gates while Joss secured the wagon and grabbed the paper-wrapped meats and cheese they received at the market on their way home. That was the one benefit to her employment: the regular vendors had to allow her to take a portion of food for free, a perk of working closely with the law. In the past, a couple vendors had tried leaving behind spoiled produce or molded cheese, but for the most part the rest were accommodating, only doing what the law required of them. No eye contact or small talk was ever made, making the exchanges quicker and less noticeable for the other vendors.
Seeing Henrik had finished, she waited for him to grab the basket filled with produce and herbs before heading inside. As they walked, she took note of the sky, the blue being invaded by the gray as the trees swayed overhead, a once steady breeze becoming more violent as time passed.
Entering the dimly lit dwelling, Joss’s gaze immediately went to Aric’s room. She assumed he would be resting in bed as usual, but a double take showed he sat on the edge of the bed, the silhouette of his frame slightly hunched over against the light of the window. His breathing was labored as his head turned her way, illuminating half his face against the blonde of his long hair.
“I’m all right,” he assured her with a slight smile. “My stamina isn’t what it used to be.”
Stepping forward, she closed the door behind Henrik, who hastily went to the table to set the basket down. Facing Aric again, she readjusted the meat and cheeses in her arms, seeing how his eyes picked up on the movement like a reflex. He was still very aware of his surroundings, she assessed, noting it was an aspect of him that remained consistent, even at his worst.
“Seems better than what it was,” she reassured him. “Do you need anything?”
“Water, when you get a chance,” he said, though in the back of his mind the rum was very much a second choice, if still available.
“Okay,” she replied. Moving to the table, she sat the meats and cheese down, glancing over to find Henrik storing the basket in the small underground cellar. Grabbing a cup, she worked the small indoor water pump until fresh water poured from the spigot. Satisfied, she started back to Aric’s room.
Joss didn’t realize she was smiling until she happened to glance out the window to check the progress of the storm and saw the roll-top desk. Her smile diminished as she came to a stop. The shutter was lifted just enough to show it hadn’t locked properly, backtracking to show a gap. Joss noticed the abnormality, keenly aware that she purposely made sure to fully close the desktop before leaving. Henrik also knew the proper way to close the desk despite avoiding its presence most of the time.
There was only one person in the cottage that didn’t.
Joss grimaced. It seemed he had become a little too aware of his surroundings. What made her more uneasy was the fact he was still there, a trait none of the other guests had exhibited. Most fled; he clearly hadn’t.
Feeling something heavy weigh against her chest, she continued into Aric’s room, feigning a weak smile when she saw that Aric had moved to the chair on the other side of the bed stand, rocking with his eyes closed. Upon hearing her footsteps, his eyes opened, finding the cup in Joss’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” he replied, taking the cup and enjoying the refreshing cool water.
“Of course,” Joss murmured as she moved towards the hearth. Stacking a couple logs and some kindling, she was only half paying attention to her work while she kept her ears open to Aric, who continued rocking in the chair.
“So how many people did you heal today?” he asked.
Joss continued to rearrange the logs, fighting an urge to shake her head at how he wanted to keep up the charade. “No one, actually,” she replied, standing up to grab the matchbox. “You want to know a tidbit?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued. “When you close the lid to the desk, you have to hold it down for a second longer to make sure it locks. Otherwise it tends to lift up on its own.”
Shit. Aric swallowed hard as Joss struck the match, bending on one knee to hold the flame against the kindling.
As the flame took hold, Joss rested the match on a log before standing up to put the matchbox back. “So,” she said, turning to face Aric, her hands now resting easily in the pockets of her pants. “What do you really want to know?”
She’d done this before; he saw that in the way she held herself, how unconcerned she looked. “I’m sorry I pried,” he said, shame edging into his tone.
“You’re not the first,” she assured him. “But you’re the only one who’s stayed.”
“I’ve met with worse,” Aric smiled, though it faltered when he shifted his weight to get comfortable, sending a sharp pain to stab his side. “You told me your name was Jocelyn, though,” he commented. “Is that what you want me to call you, or do you prefer me calling you Joss?”
Joss toiled with it a bit. “Jocelyn,” she admitted. “Nobody calls me that anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It’s considered too feminine for what I do.”
Aric hummed in thought, finding the notion ridiculous but justifiable, given the type of society they were in. He tried to tease her, though part of him really wanted to know. “Do you tell this to all your strays?”
A small smile graced the corner of her lip, catching the jest, but there was a sadness that kept the rest from being exposed. “I normally don’t tell anyone my name.”
Aric’s smile crept up, but he tried to stifle it so his enthusiasm wouldn’t show. “Was anything you said about your family true?” he asked, figuring it didn’t hurt to keep the conversation going.
Joss moved to the bed, sitting down on the edge, her hands now folded lightly across her chest to rest. “Everything I told you was true. I just didn’t embellish on it.”
Aric lifted an eyebrow in the silence that followed. “Please don’t leave me in suspense, milady,” he coaxed, trying to make light of something dark he knew was coming.
Joss held back, even though she was curious to tell him. No one ever asked about her family and being asked a personal question like that made her feel seen, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“I come from generations of men who’ve had to learn the human body in order to kill it. But in those studies, they’ve also learned how to heal; what herbs to use, what methods to take. I’m just following their lead.”
“In all matters,” he corrected her.
“It’s better than the alternatives.” Joss shrugged.
Aric knew of those alternatives all too well. “And Henrik couldn’t step in? They didn’t try to make an exception and have him take the role?”
“I didn’t want this burden placed on him,” Joss explained. “He’s been kind enough to stay and assist me. That’s all I can ask for.”
“I’m surprised this town still allowed you to go through with it, though,” Aric stated, sitting back. “I’m sure someone put up a fight; the church, maybe?”
“The church said nothing,” Joss replied.
Aric hesitated, taken aback by the comment. “I take it you glare at them all from your seat every Sunday.”
“Actually, I’m not allowed in. Social rule.”
Aric’s face fell. “What?” he breathed out, unexpectedly.
“Executioners aren’t allowed to set foot inside churches. The town isn’t comfortable having us there, so we have to do our services at home.”
Aric could see why she kept it a secret. “Would you have ever told me who you really were?” He couldn’t help asking, a small part of him wanting to know if she thought of him as different from the others.
Joss considered the question, realizing she had never been put in a situation to confess who she was. They always knew before she could explain it. “Yes, I would have,” she admitted out loud. “I just... wanted a little more time.”
“For...?” Aric leaned in, wanting the answer.
“To be looked at as normal.”
“Have I given an indication that I look at you as if you were a monster?” Aric asked.
“Not yet.” The words were soft, and he barely made out the tease of a smile on the curve of her lips, but the words still stung. She didn’t quite trust him, and despite the fact that in all logic there was no reason for her to trust him at all, he wanted her confidence. He wanted it because, in retrospect, he already trusted her with his life.
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t see you as one,” he confided, “and I know what monsters look like.”
Joss eyed him, eventually matching his sly smile, which he drank in. He could see her mind tinkering, though, knowing she had her own questions to ask. “So what parts didn’t you embellish on in regards to your family?” he asked, trying to keep her focused on her past so she wouldn’t focus on his.
She couldn’t deny that she was relieved he still wanted to talk. “A lot of parts,” she admitted.
“Tell me them,” Aric replied, sitting back more in waiting.
Joss stared at him, and when she found he wasn’t looking away, wasn’t repulsed by her background like she thought he’d be, her words came out soft but flowing.
“My family didn’t want to become executioners. It was bestowed on us generations ago. Even if I wasn’t the town executioner, my bloodline dictates I’d have to marry into an executioner household. It’s an inescapable future.”
“So love is out of the question, I take it?” Aric eyed her.
Joss decided to bypass the sentiments. “Children of executioners become executioners,” she answered plainly. “The only way to stop that dance is to stay seated.”
What a waste, Aric thought before shushing himself, trying to stay focused on the conversation. “I assume your older brother would have fit the role first?”
“Yes. Flynn.” Joss smiled in memory. “He was a gentle giant and so responsible, but he just couldn’t stand living this life. He developed a bad habit of drinking too much to try to forget what Father was teaching him to do. The law for executioners is that we only have three tries to get the death right before we ourselves are punished or killed, depending on how badly the deed is botched. In the beginning, Flynn was professional, acted so studious, but after a short while it got to him. The more he participated, the more he drank until, during one beheading, he wasn’t sober enough...”
She stared at the floor then, remembering that day, a resemblance of what happened to Master Hellis. She remembered her father trying to stop him, remembered how they all pleaded his case. She specifically remembered how his body looked after the torture, lying in the wagon as they took him to be buried.
He died in an accident, Aric remembered her saying. He saw the pain there, knowing the results without having to hear it.
“Our father wasn’t quite the same after that,” Joss admitted.
“So that’s why you took up your father’s sword, so to speak,” Aric reasoned.
“I took up my father’s sword,” Joss corrected, “because my younger brother, Oliver, disappeared.”
She grew still then, staring at the ground with tears sparkling against the firelight.
“There was no warning,” she said to no one in particular, Aric realized. “I feel like there should have been, but there wasn’t. We were talking about the garden and how he was going to help me get the ground ready since Father wouldn’t and Celine had a cold at the time. We made plans; I relied on him. And that next morning, he was just... gone.”
Joss’s gaze rolled up to meet Aric’s, who stared at her in sympathy. “I found out from the tavern keeper that he had been planning his escape from us for weeks, had stored supplies there for when he was ready. He lied to me every day, said he would be here for us and that he wanted this life. And then he left. No goodbye, no explanation. Just gone. Like it was nothing; like we were nothing.”
Aric sat back, feeling almost cowardly for the man he was hearing about. He had done the same, had left through a window, an unlocked door, in the dead of night. Granted, most often it was before he could develop relationships with those he left, but still; he knew it would have been easy for the boy to leave, could imagine all the ways possible, which only made seeing Joss weigh heavily on him.
“So now we don’t exist to each other anymore,” she finalized, batting away the tears threatening her vision. “He doesn’t even know about Celine.”
“Your sister,” Aric murmured, which Joss nodded to. “You said she died of a broken heart.”
“I’m not ready to tell her story yet,” she confessed, looking burdened by the thought of sharing it. “Maybe another time for that one.”
“Of course,” Aric replied quickly, knowing he overstepped.
She smiled gratefully to him. “A storm is coming,” she said, her tone changing as she stood. “I need to gather some more wood. I’ll let you know when supper is ready. Henrik is working on it now.”
All Aric could do was nod before he watched her move out of the room. Not wanting her to leave in such a way, he offered, “He might still come back.”
Joss came to a stop at the doorframe, turning just enough to see him. “Not everyone who leaves comes back,” she replied. “Sometimes the silence is the goodbye.”
Aric sat with that as Joss left, listening to her voice as she talked quietly with Henrik before slipping out the front door. Uncomfortable in the silence, Aric lifted himself from the chair, grunting as his muscles moved to get him to his feet. He limped round the bed and over to the window, peering out at the rustling bushes and trees, a clear sign of an encroaching storm. Among the greenery, Joss stood out, a solid figure in a world that swayed and almost tumbled around her. He watched as her short hair tried to come undone from its tie, how there was already an ax in her hand. His eyes followed her around the barn, and he found himself straining to keep her in sight as the overgrowth started to hide her.
“She’s not going to tell you about her sister.”
Aric jolted. The whistling of the wind against the windowpane deadened Henrik’s footsteps. He eyed the lad who remained standing in the doorway, realizing the previous conversation had been overhead. “When she’s ready, she might,” Aric stated, moving back to sit on the bed, a deep rooted exhaustion settling into him.
“She won’t,” Henrik insisted, moving closer in.
Aric arched an eyebrow, but was unable to bring himself to ask, feeling like he was treading on a secret he had no business knowing. He stared as Henrik stood against the mantle of the fireplace, worry invading his shadowed face as the light of the fire illuminated his back.
“Celine was a very sweet, happy girl,” Henrik started. “She was obsessed with nobility and believed we should all have manners. Celine was the one who kept this place—and all of us—in order.”
Aric cradled his side as he looked back out the window, Joss’s form lost in the gusting wind. “So how did her heart get broken?” he asked, drawing his attention back to the lad.
Henrik hesitated, and Aric realized this was the part that was uncomfortable. “We picked up a man off the side of the road, much like how we found you. He turned out to be a nobleman’s son who had a brawl with the wrong people. By the time we learned who he was, he and Celine were fixated on each other. Of course, when his family found out, he was yanked away, but he found ways to meet with her and keep their affair alive.”
Typical fashion, Aric thought.
“I’m not sure who came up with the idea first, but one night they ran off together. I personally think it was Celine, seeing that disappearing into the night worked wonders for Oliver. Unfortunately, the nobleman’s family had connections, and the pair was tracked down in less than a day. To save their son’s reputation, they blamed Celine, saying she bewitched him with herbs and potions. A lot of people knew she was the one who gathered the plants for the medicines we make, so it was easy to make the assumption. His friends also got involved, accusing her of the same things, even though they never met her. And once the word ‘witch’ was used... well, it blew through the town like a wildfire.”
Aric swallowed hard, realizing he was no better in his assumptions, even if his intentions had been much kinder.
“The Brevyn family has a good reputation, but there was just too much discord in town, and the nobleman’s family had deep pockets. Celine was tried and sentenced to death by hanging because of the allegations. It’s the lowest ranked death because of how long it can take for someone to die. It’s not often sudden.”
“They had her father execute his own daughter?” Aric balked, his eyes growing wilder at the thought of Joss having to watch such a scene.
“No.” Henrik shook his head. “Joss executed her.”
“What?” he breathed out.
“The council wasn’t going to have Gerold perform the execution because it was his relative. They hired an executioner from another town, considering that their act of kindness towards the Brevyn family. Joss went to the council and pleaded that she would perform the execution, as long as it was done by beheading and that the Brevyn name would be cleared of all allegations. She was trying to save everyone; her sister from suffering, her family from being more dishonored.”
“And they agreed?” Aric almost growled.
“Since they wouldn’t have to pay extra for her like they would an outsider, they agreed. Joss beheaded her, the council announced it was an isolated incident, and the majority of the town believed the Brevyn family had redeemed themselves by ending one of their own, though some still have their opinions. Seeing that Joss could perform the execution also made it easier for her to take her father’s place when he started to fail. The council didn’t have to question her ability.”
Aric stared at him before his eyes lingered back to the window.
“She saved me that day as well.” Henrik drew closer to Aric, pulling his glove off. Despite the five-fingered glove, there was only a thumb and two disjointed fingers, the signs of a cleft hand. The glove itself was rigged to help hide it. “Believe me, if I could take her place and save her from this, I would have. But my hand won’t let me. I wouldn’t have lasted long if they made me take her father’s place instead of her.”
Aric raised his gaze, looking at the man pointedly. “You’re devoted to her. That’s why I found it strange you hadn’t stepped in.”
“Well, now you know,” he mumbled, pulling the glove back on. “I’m only telling you all this so you understand the situation. She’s the closest thing I have to family. So if you try to hurt her in anyway, then respectfully, sir, I’ll show you exactly what kind of executioner I would have been.”
If it had been anyone else, Aric would have laughed. He would have made it a point to laugh, to show how little of a chance an inept man had against his own years of skill. However, he didn’t see a threat in the lad’s eyes; he saw a promise, and he understood that promise very well, even respected it.
“That has never been my intention, but if it happens regardless,” Aric conceded, “then I’d die willingly in your care.”
Henrik blinked down at him, stunned by the confession. Nodding in agreement, he started for the doorway.
“The nobleman. Did he love her?” Aric asked.
Henrik came to a stop, and looking over his shoulder, said, “He hanged himself about an hour after the execution. So, I’d like to think he did.”
Aric watched Henrik leave before facing forward again. Looking down at his leg, then at the stitches in his shoulder, his gaze lingered again on the window, the setting sun darkening the atmosphere that continued to thrash around. Rain began to strike the glass as he heard the front door close, seeing Henrik as he went to check on Joss. Aric felt the darkness more as he sat with both conversations milling around in his mind.
Villain to villain, a voice spoke up inside him, mimicking a different conversation he had, one that was making him more uncomfortable now.
Don’t stick around here too long...
His throat tightened, a sensation he very rarely felt.
Or you’ll find yourself complicating things...
Aric closed his eyes, his head hanging as he began to realize nothing good was going to come out of this situation. Because in the end, Joss wasn’t the monster.
He was.
