Page 6 of The Maiden and Her Monster

A fortnight into the Paja’s stay, Malka was certain they would never satisfy the tithe.

Every time they came close, a fevered hunger overcame the knights, and they would eat and eat until their bellies ballooned and they left Yahadi cabinets ravaged.

Her days assisting Imma grew longer as more Yahad fell ill, often never leaving the cramped room in their house where they treated patients.

Hands slick with thyme oil, Malka fell back against the hard wood of her home’s exterior, tucked under the side awning shading her from falling snow.

Imma’s workspace had been hot and stuffy with sickness, causing her to sweat despite the deep winter.

When a soft breeze rustled through the air, she welcomed the sting.

Minton’s hand, despite Imma’s fastidious care, had become infected.

That morning, he had come to their door with Masheva at his side, the creases of her forehead drawn taut with worry.

He was hot with fever, hand swollen red and oozing yellow pus.

Asked to prepare a disinfectant oil, Malka had dutifully gone to the kitchen, muddling thyme into paste with a stone, and heating it in oil while Danya put a cool cloth over his forehead.

When she began to apply the salve to Minton’s hand, she had faltered.

The feel of his wound reminded her of the blade splitting his skin, tearing flesh and bone.

When Malka swallowed, it had tasted metallic.

“Go, Malka , ” Imma had said when she noticed Malka’s shaking hands. “Danya and I can handle this.”

Malka was not new to injury. She had stood by Imma while she treated burns, helped when childbirth required extra hands. She washed blood from her hands like clockwork. But this injury…

She breathed deep, the scent of healing herbs and burning fire centering her. She began to walk, something that had always helped her clear her head, despite the cold stiffening her legs.

Hoping to avoid any knights, Malka chose to walk along the edge of the village, closer to her house and farther from the shektal.

It was barely past noon, and the sun held at its zenith.

Though a block of houses still separated her from the cusp of the forest, the handful of hours until nightfall were a comfort.

Her village didn’t know how close women had to be before Mavetéh lured them, so they erred on the side of caution, marking the last row of houses as the border for women to venture.

Across the road, Malka caught sight of a group of Paja members lounging against a tree stump, felled in desperation when Mavetéh’s trees could no longer provide for them.

Malka attempted to shrink herself so they wouldn’t notice her, but one of the men caught her gaze anyway.

He had bronze hair and bright gold eyes.

The same Ozmini man, Malka noted, that had winked at her during Father Bro ? ek’s speech.

He called out, and Malka darted her attention anywhere but at the tree shading them. He shouted again, and Malka’s stiff legs moved toward them before she could think better of it.

“Peace and light,” she said, the traditional Kra ? -Yadi greeting rolling off her tongue.

The man smirked. “Peace and light.” His Kra ? -Yadi was softer than it should’ve been, words muddling together. He switched to Kra ? ki. “I remember your face in the crowd, that first night.”

“Are you going to introduce us to your friend, Aleksi?” The woman sitting next to Aleksi punched him teasingly.

She was beautiful. Her eyes river blue, hair like the forest’s shade.

She had a pale, rounded face, and it fit well around her smirk.

Her decorated apron was much more intricate than Malka’s, the vermillion embroidery peeking out from her hefty wool cloak.

“I caught her staring at me during Father Bro ? ek’s speech.”

Malka flushed. “I was not staring.”

His smile grew, slightly crooked. “I think your blush says otherwise.”

She fought the heat pooling to her cheeks again, but it was fruitless.

“What’s your name, girl-who-didn’t-stare?”

Malka thought about leaving without another word, but she knew the consequences of disobeying the Paja.

Aleksi’s smile exaggerated his rounded, well-fed cheeks.

“It’s Malka,” she said finally, lengthening the vowels of her name to better suit his mother tongue.

Satisfied, Aleksi leaned back, bottle dangling between his fingers like a loose fruit from a tree. A scar ran up his arm, still pink around the edges. “Malka, this is my little brother, Bori, and our friend Rzepka. Of course, I’m Aleksi.”

Bori appeared only a few years younger than Danya, and a copy of his brother, but youth still tugged at him, rounding his cheeks and lightening his voice when he greeted her.

“Pleased to meet you, Malka,” Rzepka said. She nabbed the bottle from Aleksi’s hand and held it toward her. “Want some?”

Malka shook her head.

“Maybe it’s against her religion,” Bori said, shrugging.

Aleksi flicked Bori’s head but raised his eyebrow. “Is it?”

“No.” She regarded Aleksi. “You’re drinking at noon, and that does not sound particularly pleasing.”

“Then stay until evening,” Aleksi said, a grin spreading across his face. “Are you not curious to learn the life of those of us in the Order? We have travel tales that would blow those wool socks off your feet.”

“I get my fill of travel tales from our Yahadi merchants.” She did once, anyway.

“Ah, yes, your market made for people too lazy to venture to Valón for their goods in the first place. The Yahad, middlemen as always. Tell me, Malka, do they hike the prices as high as they say for those southern travelers? It’s all anyone talks about, how the Yahad get rich from usury.”

“Perhaps she’d be more interested in stories of Valón, Aleksi,” Rzepka suggested. “After all, the Yahadi merchants only know the marketplace. That is, if they ever glance away from their shiny Ordon coin.”

Malka gnawed on her lip. She thought of Baba’s death, which took his tales of the capital city with him, of the merchants like Micah who no longer shared their stories.

Perhaps it would not be so bad, to hear what they knew. To get a taste of that sweetness again.

“I can’t stay long.”

Her answer pleased Aleksi. He draped his arm around Rzepka, plucking the bottle from her hands and taking a swig. “What bad company we are! Come sit, Malka. Enjoy this wonderful view of the forest canopy and watch how the snowflakes dance.”

The snow soiled her cloak as she settled on the ground, the thin woven blanket already damp. The umber embroidery on her own apron darkened as it wetted.

“Hard to believe we’ve been here a fortnight.” Aleksi raised the bottle. “Thank Triorzay’s Grace for wine to keep the boredom at bay.”

Rzepka stole the bottle from Aleksi’s grip. “You are always bored, Aleksi, if your throat doesn’t burn with alcohol or your mouth isn’t on some woman’s neck.”

Aleksi clutched at his chest. “Rzepka, such insults before noon?”

Rzepka rolled her eyes. “So, Malka, how do you keep yourself entertained around here?”

“Imma and I are healers. As you can imagine, we have enough people to tend to that our days are filled.”

“My mother is a healer, as well,” Rzepka responded. “In fact, she’s now the royal healer.”

Malka straightened. “Really?”

“Yes. Have you heard the story of King Valski’s son, Ev ? en, and his miracle birth?”

Malka knew the Ordobavian prince’s birth was special, but not why. Only that it warranted a city-wide festival each year. Eskravé’s merchants had long given up any trips to Valón the week of the celebration, since most vendors sold out of their goods before Eskravé’s traders could purchase them.

“I haven’t.” It was only half a lie.

“Well,” Rzepka began. “When Ev ? en was born… let’s say it was a terrible birth.

He came out of the queen with his cord wrapped around his neck.

His face was so blue, many thought him already dead.

He could not be roused from slumber, even with the most potent herb under his nose.

My mother, pregnant with me, was a miracle healer in Na?ka Slova.

People made trips through the northwestern mountains to be healed by her.

King Valski had heard of her abilities and brought her to Ordobav’s palace.

After an hour with my mother, his eyes opened wide. ”

“What did your mother do to save him?”

“She healed him as she would’ve anyone else… only, she heard a whispering in the room, and a hand guided her own as she fed herbs to the prince.”

“Saint Celine guided her,” Bori added. “She wanted Ev ? en to live. And that’s why we have the Lé ? rey celebration every year on the prince’s birthday, to commemorate the miracle of his birth and the blessing of a saint on the continued Valski rule.”

“Another blessed day with wine and dancing,” Aleksi said, stealing the bottle from Rzepka and taking another swig.

“We live in the New Royal Palace now. It is where I was born, after the king offered my mother employment,” said Rzepka.

“I don’t understand. If you live in the palace, why are you here with the Paja?”

Rzepka smiled. “It is my duty. Triorzay’s guidance of the Ozmini Church has given me so much. When Archbishop Sévren asked for me to join the Order for a few years, it was something I felt called to do.”

“You’ve been away for years?”

“It is not as bad as you think. The road has become a home of its own.” She motioned toward Bori. “He has grown up on these missions.”

Rzepka lifted her sleeve to scratch at her wrist, revealing a scar along her forearm. Curiously, in the same location as Aleksi’s puckering scar.

“And this is my last tour with the Paja before I go back to Valón,” Aleksi said proudly.

“What will you do after?” Malka asked.

“I am open to what the world has to offer. Maybe I’ll take up the mandolin and entertain. I’ve always been good with my hands.” Aleksi smirked suggestively.

“You are too free willed for your own good,” Rzepka admonished.