Page 29 of Maneater

The bar was finally clean. The dining room was in order, the dishes from supper done.

I wiped down the bar top one last time and removed my apron, sighing.

I was drained. The past two days had worn me thin, and I hadn’t meant to be gone so long.

Worry over my job at the inn already weighed on me, but it was the thought of my parents that tugged harder. I hadn’t checked on them in two days.

Not that my father would’ve noticed. But my mother… she was different. She’d had better days, though her mind seemed to grow foggier with time.

I tucked the leftover bundle of bread Griffin had set aside for me under my arm. For all his grumbling, the big guy wasn’t so bad.

I passed the hallway where Caz was staying, his room tucked at the end, but I didn’t stop. The thought of my mother pulled me in another direction. I needed to check on her, needed to make sure she was alright.

Outside, the night air hit me with a crisp bite, the cold settling into my cheeks.

It was dark enough that I had to step carefully along the uneven road home.

I only lived a quarter-chime from the inn, and usually, the walk was something I enjoyed.

It gave me time to clear my head. To gather myself.

And more often than not, my thoughts wandered to what awaited me when I got there.

Most days, I found myself hoping my father was off drunk somewhere, passed out in a tavern or slumped in front of the hearth. It was easier when he lacked the ability to speak or think at all. I also hoped my mother would be level enough to care for herself.

Over the months, I’d done what I could to keep us fed, bringing home leftovers from the inn whenever possible.

Once, when Griffin asked me to help run the place for a few days, I ended up staying there instead of going home.

During that time, I found out my mother hadn’t eaten a single thing.

She’d spent those days wandering the woods, lost in her mind, speaking in circles.

I had barely taken fifty paces down the road when I heard Caz call out, “Odessa! Wait up!”

I turned to see him hurrying toward me.

“Caz?”

“I wanted to catch you before you left,” Caz said, breath quick from his brisk jog. His shoulder still looked sore. “I wanted to give you something.”

I blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Well, I went to the market with Bell this evening,” he said.

“I was hoping to find a stall with books, or at least a merchant who could order one, but I was sorely mistaken. You mentioned there wasn’t much need for reading in Brier Len, but I didn’t expect there to be no books at all.

” He chuckled awkwardly. “So I spent some time making this for you.”

He handed me a rolled-up piece of parchment tied with twine. Nestled between the strands was a dried wildflower.

I took the parchment and carefully unrolled it, tucking the wildflower away for safekeeping. Caz’s handwriting stretched across the page in neat lines. I wasn’t quite confident enough to try reading it in front of him just yet. It would take me ages to sound out every word, and there were so many .

Instead, I looked up at him and smiled. “Another reading lesson?” I teased.

Caz’s face fell a little at my words. “Oh, no, not at all,” he said.

“Well, it could be a reading lesson, I suppose, since you’re still learning.

But no... this is just a poem, something for you to enjoy.

I wanted to get you a book like I said, but I couldn’t find it.

Instead, I wrote a poem down for you. It’s from a collection of works from a few well-known poets in the eastern part of the realm. ”

“Is that so?” I said with a smile, my fingers tracing the neat script. “Thank you. I can’t wait to read it. It may take me a little longer than I’d like, but I’ll give it a try tonight.”

Caz’s eyes brightened. “It’s from an anthology called Sunshine & Hare ,” he explained. “This particular poem always stood out to me. I drafted it from memory, so I’m sure I didn’t get everything exactly right, but it reminded me of you.”

His gesture was more impactful than I expected, and the thoughtfulness behind it made my heart swell. The feelings I’d been pushing down for Caz surged back, and I couldn’t look at him without my eyes revealing what I felt inside.

What was I meant to do with these emotions?

Caz seemed to feel the same pull, his eyes filled with a longing that echoed my own.

Once again, we stood at the edge of something delicate, caught between want and restraint.

He stepped toward me, careful and slow, as if testing the air between us.

My skin tingled, recalling the last time we shared a moment like this.

I closed the space between us with a single step, until we stood chest to chest. Staring up at him, my breath hitched as my eyes fell to the soft curve of his lips.

Caz lowered his head, gaze steady and intent, like nothing else in the world existed but this.

Strands of his golden-brown hair brushed his brow, and his eyes, half-lidded and deep as shaded moss, held me captive .

I slipped my arms around his neck, rose onto my toes, and kissed him.

He sighed into the kiss, his good hand rising to cradle my cheek, his fingers brushing the curve of my neck.

Our lips met gently, slowly, like we had all the time in the world.

He tasted of warmth and hope, of something precious I hadn’t realized I needed.

His hand found my hip, pulling me closer in a way that made my thoughts scatter.

There was nothing more tempting than falling into his bed, losing myself in the labyrinth of him, but I pulled away, trying to temper the tide of desire.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, slowly slipping my arms from around him.

“See you tomorrow,” Caz echoed, his words as sound as a promise.

I came home to the sharp scent of body odor and the sour stench of cheap ale.

My father was slumped in a chair near the hearth, the amber bottle dangling loosely from his hand.

His head hung forward, and his indolent eyes stared blankly ahead, only snapping wider when the bottle nearly slipped from his grip.

He didn’t acknowledge my presence as I entered, and I doubted he even had the capacity to see me, let alone speak.

I shook my head, suppressing the familiar wave of disappointment and resentment. Feelings I’d carried for years. And I buried that childish longing for something more, for a family that felt whole.

I started my usual routine, placing the leftovers from the inn in the kitchen for my parents to nibble on whenever they remembered to eat.

I shrugged off my cloak and straightened my boots at the front door.

As I did, my gaze swept across the room, skimming over the corners, a doorway, and out toward the back. My mother was nowhere to be seen.

Whenever she disappeared, it could’ve meant a number of things. Was she wandering outside, lost in her songs? Was she in some kind of danger, injured somewhere I couldn’t find her? Or perhaps she’d been taken away by the neighboring widower, the one I couldn’t stand.

He was a bastard, and one day he’d pay for his wrongdoings. That day just hadn’t come yet.

I looked over the cottage again, as though a second sweep might uncover some clue I’d missed.

My mother had to be around somewhere. That small flicker of hope began to fade as I approached the back door, already unlatched.

Her shoes were gone, along with the shawl she always wore, even on warm summer nights like this one.

I knew where she was, but my mind couldn’t rest until I saw her with my own eyes.

The walk to the neighbor’s cottage took about a quarter-chime.

As much as the walk home from the inn helped me unwind, this one only wound me up tighter.

When I neared the small home, I saw the hearth blazing, smoke curling from the chimney.

I crept up to the window and peeked through the curtain.

Clothes lay strewn across the floor in disarray.

A bottle of wine was emptied. And there was my mother, sprawled out on the couch, our neighbor on top of her.

I tried to block out the image, knowing I couldn’t carry that weight. I nearly charged through the door, ready to storm in and drag her home.

But I was just a girl. A skirtsfolk. Nothing more.

Even in Brier Len, women held little sway. If I tried to fight it, no one would care. If my neighbor made me vanish, not a soul would blink.

So I stormed home, tripping over roots, leaves scraping at my skin, anger and frustration burning inside me. All of it almost too much to bear. Did Mother know what she was doing? Was her madness just an act? Did she realize her choices were putting us both in danger?

Why? Why was she doing this? Had she even noticed my absence at all? There had come a point when she stopped being my mother, but I still couldn’t accept it yet.

When I finally stumbled back home, I collapsed onto my cot, my face wet with tears. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the fragile roll of parchment, along with the dried wildflower. I unfurled it, holding Caz’s neat handwriting in my hands like it was the only thing keeping me afloat.

I read the words again and again. At first slowly, stumbling through the sounds, then more easily as I found comfort in their rhythm.

I murmured the lines under my breath, over and over, like a lullaby, until everything blurred and sleep pulled me under.

Love forms a bridge,

Stretching through time,

Connecting two hearts,

In rhythm, in rhyme.

Each step, each glance, a story unfolds,

Hand in hand, through moments of gold.