Page 16

16

ROLFO

I can't sleep. My mind keeps replaying those bounty hunters in the market. Every time I close my eyes, I see their cloaked figures circling closer to this house—to Aurelie and Sephy. The thought has me jerking up every few minutes, casting protections and prowling the house to make sure they are safe.

Dawn breaks, painting my bedroom ceiling with soft golden light. I've made a decision during these restless hours. I roll out of bed, muscles stiff from tension rather than sleep. My bare feet make no sound on the floorboards as I check the nursery first.

Sephy sleeps peacefully, her tiny hands curled into fists above her head. Silver-blonde curls frame her face like a halo. Something in my chest softens at the sight of her. How quickly I've grown attached to this little one. I reach down, my large hand hovering over her small form before I gently adjust her blanket.

The scent of meadowmint tea reaches me before I enter the kitchen. Aurelie stands at the counter, her back to me, auburn hair flowing loose down her back. She's wearing one of my old shirts again, the fabric hanging nearly to her knees. Something primal stirs in me at the sight—her wearing my clothes, in my kitchen, moving through the space as if she belongs here.

"Morning," I say, keeping my voice low.

She startles slightly but doesn't drop the mug. Progress. A week ago, she would have jumped a foot in the air.

"You're up early," she says, turning to face me.

The morning light catches the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. There are still shadows beneath them, but fewer than before. She's healing, slowly. She would be fine by now if she wasn't starved and feverish when I found her. But her body had so much more to recover from.

"Couldn't sleep," I admit, moving to pour myself some tea. "You?"

"Same." She cradles her mug between her palms. "Sephy actually slept through the night, but I kept waking up anyway."

I take a sip, studying her over the rim of my cup. Her shoulders are tense, her eyes constantly darting to the windows, the doors. She's still afraid. Still doesn't feel safe.

"I want to teach you something today," I say, setting my mug down. "If you're willing."

Her brow furrows. "Teach me what?"

"How to fight."

Her eyes widen. "I'm not... I don't think I could ever?—"

"Not to hurt others," I clarify quickly. "To protect yourself. And Sephy."

She sets her mug down, fingers tapping nervously against the ceramic. "I'm not strong like you."

"Strength isn't everything." I lean against the counter, giving her space. "It's about leverage, balance, knowing where to strike. Even someone small can incapacitate someone larger, if they know how."

She considers this, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. The sight distracts me momentarily, my eyes lingering on her mouth before I force them away.

"Would it... help?" she asks finally. "If something happened?"

The uncertainty in her voice tears at me. She shouldn't have to ask these questions. Shouldn't have to fear what lurks around every corner.

"Yes," I say firmly. "And sometimes, just knowing you can defend yourself changes how you move through the world."

She meets my eyes then, something resolute forming in her gaze. "Alright. Show me."

The morning unfolds in golden tranquility. We set up in the backyard, private and enclosed by the tall wooden fence I built years ago. I position Sephy's portable bassinet in the shade of the porch, where she continues to sleep soundly.

I line up a row of empty jars and sticks along the edge of the yard, makeshift targets for later. Aurelie stands awkwardly in the middle of the grass, her arms wrapped around herself, uncertainty written in every line of her body.

"First," I say, moving to stand beside her, "stance is everything. Your feet need to be solid."

I demonstrate, positioning my feet shoulder-width apart, weight balanced evenly.

"Like this?" She mimics me, but her balance is off.

"Almost."

I hesitate, then gently place my hands on her hips to adjust her position. The contact burns through me, even through the fabric of her dress. I feel her tense beneath my touch, but she doesn't pull away.

"Feet a little wider," I murmur, my voice embarrassingly rough. "There. Feel how your weight is centered now?"

She nods, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "It feels... steadier."

"Good. Now, make a fist."

She curls her fingers inward, thumb tucked inside.

"Not like that," I say, reaching for her hand. "You'll break your thumb that way."

I uncurl her fingers and reshape them, positioning her thumb outside her fist. Her hand is so small in mine, soft and warm. My callused fingers dwarf hers, and I'm suddenly painfully aware of every place our skin touches.

"Wrist straight," I continue, forcing my voice to remain steady. "You want the force to travel through your arm, not bend back and hurt you."

She attempts a practice punch and winces immediately. "Ow."

"You're turning your wrist at the last second." I move behind her, aligning my arm with hers to demonstrate the proper form. "Like this."

My chest presses against her back, her body fitting perfectly against mine. Her scent fills my senses—meadowmint and something uniquely her, something that makes my heart pound against my ribs. I'm too close. This is too much.

I want all of it and I hate myself for it.

She follows my movement, punching the air with better form. "Like that?"

"Better," I manage, stepping back before I do something stupid like bury my face in her hair. "Again."

She practices the motion several more times, growing more confident with each attempt. There's something mesmerizing about watching her—this woman who's been treated as property learning to claim her power.

"Now try hitting one of those targets," I suggest, nodding toward the jars.

She approaches cautiously, assumes the stance I taught her, and swings. Her fist connects with the jar, sending it tumbling off the post. A startled laugh escapes her—a sound so rare and beautiful it catches me off guard.

"I did it!" Her face glows with genuine delight, and something in my chest constricts painfully.

"You did," I agree, unable to keep the warmth from my voice. "Try another one."

She moves to the next jar, swinging with more confidence. This time when she connects, she doesn't wince or pull back. Progress.

"Good," I say, and mean it. "Your form is improving already."

She turns to me, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "This feels... I don't know. Different than I expected."

"How so?"

"I thought learning to fight would make me feel more afraid. More aware of the danger." She flexes her fingers, examining her knuckles. "But it's the opposite. It's like... reclaiming something."

Understanding washes through me. This isn't about turning her into a fighter—it was never about that. It's about giving her back what was stolen: control over her own body, her own safety.

"That's exactly what it should feel like," I tell her. "The goal isn't violence. It's choice. The power to decide what happens to you, as much as anyone can."

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but they're different from the ones I've seen before. These aren't born of fear or pain.

"Thank you," she whispers.

The morning light catches in her hair, turning it to living flame. Sweat glistens on her collarbone where my shirt has slipped to reveal her skin. She's breathtaking—and completely oblivious to the effect she has on me.

I want her. The realization isn't new, but the intensity of it stuns me anew. I want to pull her against me, to taste her lips, to show her that touch can be gentle, respectful, wanted. The desire burns through me like Amerinth, and shame follows quick on its heels.

She's vulnerable. Traumatized. Seeking safety, not whatever confused tangle of protection and desire I'm offering. I have no right to want her this way. No right to imagine her hands on me instead of those targets.

I clear my throat and step back, putting necessary distance between us. "Ready to try something a little more challenging?"

I walk Aurelie through a few more defensive moves—how to break a hold on her wrist, where to strike if someone grabs her from behind. By mid-morning, she's sweaty and breathing hard, but there's a new confidence to her movements that makes pride swell in my chest.

"That's enough for today," I say, noting how she's starting to favor her right side. "You're doing well, but we don't want to push too hard."

Sephy stirs in her bassinet, making those small grunting sounds that precede full-blown cries. Aurelie immediately moves toward her, motherly instinct overriding everything else.

"She probably needs changing," she says, lifting the baby into her arms. "And it's laundry day."

I nod, glad for the distraction from how her shirt clings to her skin with sweat. "I'll help."

An hour later, the backyard clothesline sways with freshly washed linens. The breeze catches them, making them billow like sails. It's a strangely domestic scene—one I never thought I'd be part of. My life before was solitary, focused on work and survival. Now there are baby clothes and soft blankets dancing in the wind beside my shirts.

Aurelie works methodically, shaking out tiny garments before hanging them. Sephy lies in a basket beside her, gurgling happily at the patterns of light and shadow playing across her face. She's wearing only a diaper, her chubby legs kicking at the air.

I exit the back door carrying a stack of folded towels I'd taken from the previous load. "Where do you want these?"

"Just on the table is fine," Aurelie calls over her shoulder, not turning.

I move toward the small outdoor table we use for folding, when suddenly a rogue gust whips a drying sheet directly into my face. The fabric wraps around my head like a shroud, blinding me. I stumble, arms flailing, and drop one of the towels into the dirt.

"Mother—" I bite off the curse, remembering Sephy's presence just in time.

Just as I extract myself from the sheet, a tiny sneeze erupts from the basket. I look down to find Sephy staring up at me with wide violet eyes, a string of drool connecting her gummy smile to my now-damp shirt sleeve. Perfect timing.

"Betrayed," I mutter dryly, eyeing the infant with mock suspicion. "By my smallest housemate, no less."

The sound that breaks from Aurelie's throat startles us both—a full, unrestrained laugh that rings through the yard. It's musical, unrehearsed, and completely genuine. I turn to stare at her, towels forgotten.

Her head is thrown back, auburn hair catching the light. One hand presses against her stomach as if to contain her mirth. Her entire face has transformed—eyes crinkled at the corners, dimples appearing in her cheeks that I've never seen before. She looks younger. Unburdened.

Beautiful.

When she finally catches her breath, she meets my gaze. Something shifts in her expression as she studies me—surprise, maybe, at what she sees.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing, it's just..." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I swear I see something in her eyes as she studies me—something like longing, though I'm sure it is only wishful thinking. "I've never seen you smile like that before."

I hadn't realized I was smiling. "Like what?"

"Like you're not carrying the weight of everything." She lifts Sephy from the basket, cradling her against her chest. "You looked... happy."

The word hangs between us. Happy. Such a simple thing, yet it feels foreign on my tongue. When was the last time I felt that?

"Maybe I am," I admit quietly, picking up the dropped towel and dusting it off. "Right now, at least."

Her smile softens, turns intimate in a way that makes my chest ache. "Good. You deserve that."

She can't possibly know how those words land—like a blow and a caress simultaneously. No one has ever concerned themselves with what I deserve.

Later, I'm in the kitchen preparing dinner—nothing fancy, just a stew with dreelk and zynthra from the market. I've managed to acquire flour for bread, a luxury I rarely bother with when it's just me. But Aurelie mentioned once how much she missed fresh bread, and the memory of her face when she said it was enough to send me searching through the market stalls.

I'm concentrating on kneading the dough when I hear her enter the kitchen, Sephy strapped to her chest in the sling I fashioned from an old shirt. The baby has fallen asleep, soft snores emanating from her tiny form. I can feel Aurelie's presence behind me, but she stays silent.

When I finally turn, curious, I find her pressed against the counter, lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

"What?" I ask, looking down at myself. Did I spill something?

A small giggle escapes her, quickly muffled by her hand. "You, um... you have flour..."

She gestures vaguely at her face. I reach up, feeling the telltale powder coating my cheek and forehead. Probably my nose too, based on her expression.

"Baking is messy business," I defend, trying to maintain my dignity while feeling increasingly ridiculous.

She loses the battle with her laughter then, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry," she gasps. "You just look so... so..."

"Dignified?" I suggest dryly.

"Like a pastry ghost," she finishes, eyes dancing.

I shake my head, but I know that if I keep getting to hear her laugh, I'll do anything.

And maybe that should be concerning, but when it comes to these two, I'm starting to accept I'm already a goner.