Page 84 of The Knucker King

“Drink up, Lord.”

Trewoofe melted at the gesture. He was delighted that she would be happy to accommodate him in such a simple way. He knew then that she understood, because he was not in his normal body, some things would be more difficult for him.

“You are wonderful,” he purred before taking a sip.

The mushrooms had thickened the broth and added a taste that reminded him of Autumn. He closed his eyes and groaned.

“Wonderful? Why?”

He opened them to see her looking up at him, her bowl resting on her chin, and her plump lips open as though the question was still on her tongue.

“Because you allow me to be myself. You understand that I may find some things more difficult, and it is not a problem for you,” he explained before taking a second slurp.

She scrunched her face. “It is simply what I wish was done for me.”

Empathy radiated off her in waves, and he stared in awe at her. “It is a gift you have given me, along with your friendship and my life. To be understood.”

He realised he had struck a nerve in her as he watched tears pool in the corner of her eyes.

She blinked them away. “I have spent most of my life wishing to be understood, and understanding those who – like me – do not fit in.”

Trewoofe cocked his head. “Can you explain further? I wish to know you better.”

Avice sipped and rolled the broth around in her mouth before swallowing. “Bramble and Ashling understand me. My mother and great-aunt understood me, but they were also witches. I thought John understood me, but he did not defend me.” She took a breath as she placed her empty bowl onto the furs. “I do not fit in with humans, Trewoofe. I do not match with what Christendom says is the perfect woman: meek, obedient, virginal, then married and a mother. I tried to follow these ideals, but they betrayed me. What worthiness is in it if it has failed me? Why should I try to be good if it does not keep me safe?” She tucked her chin to her chest and ran her fingers over her pendant.

He swallowed his mouthful before stacking his empty bowl into hers. “May I—”

“Yes, Lord,” she chuckled through her stifled sob. “You may touch me.”

Trewoofe wrapped his arms around her and tugged her into his lap. He scented her hair – honey and lavender – and fought down the flush that threatened to colour his throat. He longed to lick away the tears from her cheeks, to take her pain and bear it as his own. Trewoofe stopped himself, he knew that sometimes you just needed to feel and let it out. Nature knew he had done it enough over his many turns of seasons.

She sighed into his chest, and he squeezed her tighter. “Do not break another stitch,” she mumbled into his bandages.

He chuckled and tucked her head under his chin. “I will make every effort not to.”

Avice?

She turned to her familiar. “Yes, Bramble?”

Are you well? he asked, tail wagging weakly.

She sat straight in Trewoofe’s lap, wiggling against him in a way that made him bite his tongue to stifle a moan.

“I am better now.” She reached forward to rough his ears. “Has everyone finished eating?”

“Yes.”

Yes.

“Yes.”

Answered her all at once.

“Pudding always makes me feel better,” Avice asserted before bouncing from his lap and onto her feet.

The movement had his heart racing, and he pressed his palm to his chest, willing it to settle. “What is ‘pudding’?”

Ashling drifted over and landed on his horn. “You will enjoy it; it is sweet.”