Augusnippets Day 20: Homemade Meal
cw: implied past abuse, chronic pain
By the time Cerus returned to the shared cottage at the edge of town, dusk had cooled the day to something pleasant. Often his work was complete long before sundown, but the village was readying for the midsummer festival, and he'd taken to staying later, assisting where he could with preparations.
How odd it was, to labor alongside others and not feel the shadow of resentment, hatred. To them, he was only another helper, a set of hands no one scolded or faulted or beat when his pains kept him slower than the rest.
Tansy was already home when he arrived, stirring a pot of something that made his mouth water with the smell of it.
“The hour’s late. What kept you?” It was more concern in their voice than anything accusing; the village had been kind to him, but they hadn't been here long. There was still the feeling that someone could decide he was no longer welcome here, and Tansy was still just as wary of it as he.
“I was helping the baker sort her lists. She has surprises at the ready for the festival.”
Tansy nodded, spooning broth into a bowl. “I did wonder who it would be today. The apothecary is still asking after you.”
Cerus carried dinner to the table one bowl after the other, cupping them in such a way it did not hurt his hands. The stew warmed his stiff fingers. “Tell her I am considering.”
He nodded, taking a seat and stirring at the golden broth. Soft grains and root vegetables swirled beneath its surface, along with something purplish he did not recognize.
“Maisy gave us some violet blush. It's a sort of wheat, I think.” They sat across from him. “Why are you still considering? You know healing.”
What did it matter what he knew? The people could never accept medicines from one who was a tyrant. Could they?
“It was long ago,” Cerus replied.
“My hands won't allow for such fine work.” It was a partial truth. The healing arts he'd studied so long ago—before he was shaped into a king, before he lost everything—required precision. Even harvesting vegetables from the abbey garden was difficult on some days. Certainly he could shift his methods, help by studying and perfecting new remedies, or evaluating patients…
No. Even then, it could never be. The village would turn on him, accuse him of some wicked scheme. Why else would he seek to create new potions, to dabble in something near to alchemy? Why else would the shadow king help anyone?
He shook his head. “Their trust in me is fragile,” he said. “Who's to say they'll want me there?”
“Cerus, she asked for you. Someone already wants you there.”
“Why?” His mind insisted it was only a trap; a method to trick him into some crime or foul act, a way to remove the protection he'd been granted. But was that truth speaking, or only history?
“She's seen the interest in your eyes when you bring her herbs. And she knows you were given a king's education.”
They raised an eyebrow. “Among other things. She's been looking for a helper. Why not you?”
He could not deny a part of him wanted it. Could this not be good? He'd caused so much harm, was healing others not a form of penance?
“I am…” Afraid. “And what if I agree? Would the people accept remedies touched by me?”
Tansy sighed, taking their bowl to the washing basin. “I do not know. But they trust Phaedra, and she wants to trust you. Will you give her the chance?”
Cerus stared into his own half-eaten bowl. It did all come down to that; trust and chances. He could shy away from them, hide forever, or he could venture into the sun, take the risks, live, even if he still wasn't certain he deserved it.
“Perhaps I will,” Cerus said quietly. “Perhaps I will.”
