“Too hot?” Her eyes went wide.
“No, no…” And that’s when I realized the soup was shockingly good. Something about this simple act of someone making something for me was messing with my brain and heart.
“So? How is it?” she asked, her voice eager.
I suddenly wanted to walk away, to get out of here. What was happening to me? Something inside of me was… healing. I was being fed, not just physically.
“It’s…” I was so distraught and delighted by these new feelings, it became overwhelming. “It’s very good, Malia.”
Before she could respond, there was a knock on the door, as if someone knocked in haste. Instinctively, I grabbed the hilt of the dagger and stood in front of her. “I’ll get it.”
She nodded and followed me.
I opened the door. A woman stood there, eyes wide. For a beat, she just stared.
Then,“Is the witch here?” she asked, frantic.
“I’m here,” Malia said, brushing past me. “Samantha, right?” How did Malia know the woman’s name?
Then it hit me.
She cared about others, knew about the people in the village. But they only shafted her.
It made my insides seethe with anger, and all I wanted to do was prove to everyone that Malia was not a bad person. She wasnotthe villain.
The woman clutched a basket. “Yes. I don’t have coins, but I brought these.” She lifted the lid, revealing baked goods, fruits, and vegetables. Her hands shook. “I’ll pay what I can later. Please?—”
“What’s wrong?” Malia’s voice softened. Like she’d done this before. Probably had.
“My son. He cut himself on the reef a few days ago. Now he’s burning up. The doctor said there’s nothing more wecan do.” Her voice cracked. “Please. I don’t know where else to go.”
“Wait here.”
Malia slipped past me into the kitchen. I followed.
She moved fast, already gathering bottles, tins, small cloth-wrapped bundles of herbs. “I’ll be back soon,” she said over her shoulder. “The soup’s nearly ready. Just stir it now and then. Let the fire die low. Eat something. Rest.”
There was something in her tone. A motherly gentleness that I hadn’t felt in years.
Felt like family. And maybe something more.
It twisted something in my chest.
She loaded her basket quickly, then paused and looked up at me.
There it was again—that strange way she saw me. Like she wasn’t quite looking at me… and yet, somehow, she was.
“He likely has an infection,” she said. “If I get this to him fast enough, there’s still a chance.”
“Wait,” I said, grabbing her arm. “Those twins are out there–”
“Alaric.” She slipped her arm away and squeezed my hand. “I’ll be fine. You need to rest. We can talk later.”
And then she was out the door, her words trailing behind her like wind. She talked to Samantha as she walked, explaining things to the woman who hurried to keep up.
I stood there, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. Watching her. The way she moved. Purposeful, calm, certain.
They called her witch.
