I was counting bottles in the healer house when the door banged open, and I already knew it was him.
Twenty-three bottles on the shelf, and only one of them mattered. The last fever tonic, the one with Niall's name on the tag.
Mavis: You've counted those three times, girl. They won't turn into four.
Mavis didn't look up from her mortar. She knew why I counted. Counting was the only thing I could do for him.
Then the door opened and the cold came in, and Caelan filled the frame with his dark coat and salt-stained boots.
Behind him was a woman I hadn't seen in two years, honey-blonde and neat, holding a small boy by the hand.
Caelan: Avery. The last tonic. Give it to Miles.
He didn't say hello. He didn't say my name like it was a person's name. He just pointed at the shelf like I was part of the house.
Avery: That's Niall's. It's the last one, Caelan. He's been coughing since Tuesday.
Caelan: And Miles is four years old and thin as a stick. I don't give a shit about Tuesday.
Rosalind pulled the borrowed shawl tighter and looked at the floor, and somehow that made it worse. She looked sorry for me. I hated that more than anything.
Rosalind: It's all right, Caelan. We can wait.
Caelan: No, they can't. Avery, hand it over.
Caelan: And remember what you are in this house before you open your mouth at me again. Don't make me take it off the shelf myself.
My face burned. Mavis's mortar stopped dead.
Mavis: Alpha, that tonic is for her brother. You know it.
Caelan: I know what I said. Are you refusing an order too, Mavis? Because I can find another healer by morning.
I put the bottle in his hand before he could finish. My fingers didn't shake, which surprised me.
Miles drank it in three swallows and made a face, and Caelan laughed and ruffled his sandy hair.
Caelan: Good lad. That's it.
Rosalind touched Caelan's arm and thanked him, soft and quiet, and he looked at her like she'd hung the moon over the salt pans.
Nobody thanked me. Nobody asked about Niall.
I stood there with an empty shelf and my heart going small and stupid in my chest.
Two years I'd kept his ledgers and his house. Two years I'd slept in a room he walked past. And this was what I got. What did I think I was to him?
Later that night I was in my nightgown, braiding my hair, when the door opened and Caelan came in smelling of cold water and salt.
Caelan: Don't look at me like that.
Avery: Like what?
He kissed me. Mouth, hard, his hand at the back of my neck, and I kissed him back because I was weak and because I wanted him and because some part of me still thought want was the same as love.
His other hand went under my nightgown, up my thigh, over my hip, and then his palm was on my breast.
His thumb dragged over my nipple and my whole body woke up for him, wet and warm and stupid, and I made a sound into his mouth I'd never admit to.
Caelan: You always come apart so easy for me.
Avery: Then don't stop.
He pulled me closer and said my name, and then he said hers.
Caelan: Rosalind was never this soft.
Everything in me went cold at once. I put my hands on his chest and pushed.
Avery: Get off me.
He stepped back. His mouth was still wet and his chest was still heaving, and he looked annoyed, like I'd spoiled something for him.
Caelan: What? You were enjoying it. Don't get fucking shy on me now.
Avery: You had your hands on me and her name in your mouth. That's what I was enjoying.
Caelan: It slipped out. Don't make it into a thing, Avery.
He said it like I was the one who'd done something wrong. He always did.
He left and pulled the door shut, not even hard, like nothing had happened.
I sat on the bed and pressed my hand over my mouth, and I could still taste him, and I hated that I could.
So this was my marriage. A status arrangement, a debt paid with my body and my days, and a man who'd take my brother's medicine and then touch me while he thought of someone else.
Will I still be here when he does it again? That's the question I have to answer. And I'm scared I already know.