Page 22

He was already blaming himself enough. I didn’t want to add to it.

“I knew someone like that once,” I murmured. “She was called Myrine. She made pottery. She used to bring bowls to the shrine, and complain we broke them faster than she could fire them.”

Eryx turned toward me, and I tried to remember the last time I’d spoken about Myrine. At the shrine, everyone knew what had happened. I’d never needed to explain who she’d been before she came to us for help.

“Her daughter came with her sometimes. Myrine let her decorate the cups. There was one with a bird on it that looked more like a beetle, and we all had to admire it.” I forced a small smile. “Myrine said she’d have to start charging more, now that there were two of them making things.”

I’d used that cup for years, tracing the little creature with my thumb as I drank. Eventually, I stopped finding the drawing funny. I was afraid of breaking the cup instead.

“When she became ill, her husband brought her to us. Their daughter stayed with her grandmother. Myrine didn’t want her to see the roots. The Thorn-Sickness.”

At first, I’d been thankful the child wasn’t there. I was frightened of the roots myself, the way they moved beneath Myrine’s skin. Now I wondered if her daughter remembered that last morning at home. If she’d known she should say goodbye.

“She kept asking how soon she could go home,” I continued. “Then the pain grew worse, and she stopped asking about anything except how to make it stop. Finally, one of the priestesses tried to heal her.”

I’d stood beside the bed with clean cloths in my arms. The woman who stepped forward had taught me how to bind a broken wrist. She’d guided my hands through my first healing, patient even when I was afraid to draw on the current. When she placed her hands on Myrine’s chest, I was relieved. Surely she would know how to help.

“The sickness took the magic?” Eryx asked quietly.

I nodded. “It grew so quickly. The priestess pulled away almost at once, but the roots didn’t. Myrine was still trying to tell us where it hurt.”

I paused, suddenly unable to face him, and looked at the leaves at my feet. “She died. The priestess stayed beside her afterward, holding her hand. Someone had to break the news to her husband.” I drew a slow breath. “I gathered up the unused cloths. I was glad of the excuse to leave before he came in.”

Eryx moved closer, sheltering me from the breeze through the woods. I leaned against his coat, grateful that he didn’t tell me I’d only been a child. I knew that. I still wished I’d been brave enough to stay.

“Her daughter brought us cups the next spring. She came with her father, and she carried the basket herself.” I could still remember how carefully she’d held it, both hands wrapped around the handle. “She was so pleased to be continuing her mother’s work. The priestess bought every one of them.”

For years, I’d watched that woman mend bones and ease fevers. She’d gone back to that work after Myrine died. I didn’t know how many times she’d remembered that bed before laying her hands on someone else.

“When Kallisto brought Damon, I thought of Myrine,” I admitted. “I knew the spore would grow faster if I tried to heal him. But he was struggling to breathe, and Kallisto was looking at me as though all I had to do was touch him.”

“And you held back.” His voice softened. “That isn’t easy when someone’s asking you for help.”

“I wanted to reach for him anyway.” It was easier to confess that here, with his coat against my shoulder. “Then you came in with an answer. Once you’d stopped the poison, I could finally help. You’ve no idea how glad I was.”

Eryx wrapped his arm around me. It was a simple gesture, but one he’d never made before.

“I wish someone had brought Myrine a cure I didn’t understand,” I murmured. “I’d like to think I would have listened.”

Eryx’s hold on me tightened. “Ianthe told me what he was doing. I wouldn’t listen.”

“But you listened to me when Damon came,” I said. “And I listened, too. We helped him together. That matters as well, Eryx.”

He leaned closer. For a little while, neither of us spoke, and I let myself enjoy being close without wondering when he would pull away. We worked together and shared meals now. I still found reasons to linger when the others left the table, hoping he might stay too. Surely I could admit that much to myself.

“We’re trying to heal a different wound now, aren’t we?” I asked.

I’d been angry when I first came here. I still was, when I thought of Father and those weeks spent deciding my future without me. But I didn’t want Eryx to hear that anger and mistake it for a wish to leave him.

“I didn’t want to come here, Eryx. I wanted to stay at the shrine. When Father told me what they’d arranged, I could hardly bear to look at him.”

Eryx tensed, but I continued before he could tumble into another apology.

“I’m still angry about how they did it,” I admitted. “But I think coming here was the right thing to do.”

Tomorrow, there would be patients, Kallisto complaining about someone missing a meal, Eryx at his table with some remedy I hadn’t yet learned to prepare. I wanted to be here for those things. I missed the shrine, but the thought of leaving Petrion hurt too.

“I think you know it was right for us to meet,” I continued. “You just won’t let yourself believe it. I wish you would. I’d like to think you’re glad I came.”