I hold my breath; the weight of his hand feels like a ballast and I have to fight to not lean into it. I’ve never been able to figure out how I feel about him; sometimes he infuriates me, other times … I know that sometimes his voice does strange things to my stomach if I’m not braced for it. I know I’ve spent far too much time looking at his mouth, and not because it was the only way to read his feelings before I saw him uncloaked. I’m sure that the mysterious man in my dreams is my mind’s attempt at creating a more responsive version of Silas, which is so humiliating.
Because I know the real Silas has no feelings for me. Not like that.
Four weeks after we began our strange working relationship, I went to his cottage to deliver an order, a harmless camphor and mint rub. Nothing special.
I was tired to the bone; between my strange dreams and my mother’s first transformation, I was sleepwalking through the days. I’d been consumed with trying to take care of us both and make sure no one in the village had seen our weakness, going to the woods and gathering, making endless potions to try to break her malaise, treating the scratches on her arms, foraging for food and trading where I could. From dawn until midnight I worked, never stopping, pushing Lief and Papa far from my mind, knowing I couldn’t afford to break down too.
But as the moon approached I’d noticed her eyes following me around the room, her fingers curling into claws. And then I’d accidentally locked her in overnight, and saved my own life. I’d already endured two long and increasingly traumatic nights broken by her cursing and scratching and slamming, only for her to fall silent and lifeless when the sun rose. I’d been poring over the old stories in the book from the moment we knew the Sleeping Prince had returned, so I’d known the name for what it was that she was becoming, with red eyes and a vicious tongue. I’d recognized it.
I hadn’t fully believed it until she’d knocked me to the ground and chipped my tooth.
So when I took Silas his ointment, I wasn’t in my right mind. It’s not an excuse; I was scared, and exhausted, and grieving. In the last two moons my entire world had changed, and so when he’d offered the smallest kindness, I’d … I’d misunderstood.
He invited me into his cottage, as he always did, and as ever he held out his hand for the small jar, and I did the same for the coin. I noticed from our very first meeting that he always wore his gloves and his hood, and that he went to pains not to touch me. So I was surprised when his fingers reached under my chin to tilt my face up towards his.
“You look tired,” he said, the rumble of his voice stirring something inside me.
“I’ve been busy.” I tried for a smile and his fingers tightened on my jaw.
“What happened to your tooth?” He peered at the chip in my front tooth and I closed my mouth, trying to keep it covered when I replied.
“I fell.”
“Into a door?” His voice was dark and angry.
“No, Silas, a floor. A real one. After a real fall.”
“At home?”
“Yes.” I pulled my face from his hand, unnerved by his questions and by my own strange response to being so close to him. I was aware of him in a way I hadn’t been aware of anyone before, and I was aware of myself too, aware of how tall he was, how angular compared to me. How close he stood. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face when he spoke. I could smell him, a faint scent of mint and old incense.
He chewed his lip, his head tilted. Then he spoke again. “You would tell me if someone hurt you, wouldn’t you?”
At that I burst into tears. I couldn’t stop myself, couldn’t cope at all with this small kindness. He was still mostly a stranger, a customer, but he was the first person to be nice, or what had passed for nice, to me in moons. I threw myself at him, burying myself in his chest and sobbing. Then, miraculously, he folded his arms around me and held me. He kept his arms loose, but he held me until I stopped shaking,