7
Offerings
They set out at dawn. A cool breeze brushed their cheeks, and the ripe scent of fish wafted from the basket rocking between them. Danae stole a glance at her mother. Eleni looked as terrible as she felt, her eyes bloodshot, ringed by puckered purple skin. It had been three weeks since Arius’s arrival, and none of them had slept for more than a couple of hours at a time. Despite being such a small creature, his lungs were like a pair of hunting horns. Alea had lost so much blood during the birth, she barely had the strength to nurse him, her milk drying by the day. It took all Danae’s resolve not to break at the sight of her sister, withering with each turn of the sun.
“What do you think he’ll give us?”
Her mother glanced down at the basket of scaly bodies. “I don’t know,” she said tersely. “As long as we get enough for Alea, that’s all that matters.”
“She needs meat,” Eleni had said before they left the hut. They’d already been forced to sell the goats to a family from a village on the far side of the island, but they still barely had enough coin for grain. So, her mother had taken a portion of Odell’s morning catch and was hoping Myron, the butcher, would be willing to trade.
They did not speak again until they reached the village. The square was quiet. Only a couple of awnings were out, unfurled by early-rising shopkeepers. Her mother quickened her pace toward the butcher’s hut, and Danae had to stride to keep up. Eleni had insisted they visit the butcher before his stall opened, as their family had been banned from doing business in the village, and Myron was unlikely to trade with them under the hateful eyes of his other customers.
Her mother raised a fist and rapped quickly on the butcher’s door. A few moments later, the door creaked open, and Myron peered out, his face still crumpled with sleep. Before he could speak, Eleni grabbed the basket of fish from Danae and proffered it to him.
“We have no coin, but we need meat. Goat, chicken, whatever you can trade us.”
The butcher’s gaze slid from their faces to the square beyond.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered.
“Myron,” Eleni’s voice trembled, “my daughter is near death, and her child will starve if she does not recover. If you have a bone of compassion in your body, please...help us.”
Danae felt as though there was a fist around her throat as Myron twisted his hands, his eyes darting everywhere except their faces.
Finally, his shoulders sagged. “All right.” He took the fish. “Wait here.”
As he disappeared back inside his hut, there was a burst of laughter behind them. Danae turned. Three farmhands, likely on their way to the inland fields, were crossing the square. One of them shouted, “Give your whore sister a kiss from me!”
In a heartbeat she was pacing toward them.
“My sister is not a whore.”
“That’s not what Davos says,” the boy sneered. “He said he had her for a stale lump of bread.” He laughed again. “She couldn’t wait to open her legs.”
“Liar!” Flames of fury licked over Danae’s skin. Her mother was calling her name, but she paid no heed as she planted both hands on his chest and shoved. The lad stumbled back, then a nasty grin spread over his face.
“Want some too, do you?”
He lunged for her. But Danae was quicker and dodged out of his way. The farmhand might have the physical advantage, but she had years of brawling with her tall, strong brothers in her arsenal. And she had rage. She pivoted, throwing all her weight behind her fist, and punched him square in the face. His nose cracked, spraying them both in a shower of ruby droplets. She roared and hit him again, thumping his flesh with her fists, elbows, knees. It took both the other two farmhands to drag her off him and throw her bodily to the ground. The boy lay on his back, whimpering through broken teeth.
“Get away from her!” Eleni’s voice rolled like a tidal wave across the square.
The boys rounding on Danae backed away as her mother advanced, holding a leg of cloth-wrapped goat meat like a club.
“Animal,” one of them spat at Danae as they helped their battered friend to his feet.
Eleni grabbed Danae by the scruff of her tunic and yanked her up. It was only then she noticed how many people had come out of their huts. Some were holding sticks. A couple had knives. She stumbled as her mother pulled her into a run. She did not look back.
As they sprinted back along the coastal path, she was suddenly aware of the intense throbbing in her hand. She glanced down and saw the skin had split across her knuckles.
Her mother would not slow until they reached the path leading up to their hut. Danae finally braved a glance at her. The anger she’d felt in the square paled in comparison to the rage radiating from her mother.
“Ma—”
“No.” Eleni’s voice was an iron blade. “You do not get to speak.”
She knew she would pay dearly for what she’d done, and it was unlikely Myron would help them again. But even as her hands trembled and her body ached, she did not regret it. After everything that had happened to her family, it had been worth it—even just for a moment—to feel powerful.
