Today’s blog post is a short story.
The cottage door opened and shut as Selenna bent over her mother’s sleeping form. She felt her mother’s forehead—cool and dry— before straightening to find Maera, her lifelong friend, standing before her with a frown.
Maera lifted an eyebrow. “The elders said you returned. I called them liars.”
Selenna crossed the small room to the steaming kettle on the hearth. “I’m happy to see you, too.” She poured hot water into a teapot.
With a snort, Maera crossed her arms over her chest. “Why did you come back?”
“This is my home.” Selenna brought the teapot to the table. “And my mother is sick.”
“Your home is in Atalar,” Maera snapped, “and your mother is dying.” But at Selenna’s reproachful glance, she winced. “I’m sorry.” She gathered spoons from the sideboard and brought them to the table. “It’s only that the poorhouse over in Kelmarsh would have taken her in. You finally have the apprenticeship you dreamed of. You didn’t need to give up your life to care for someone who—” She stopped, but it was too late.
Selenna met her gaze. “Who never wanted me.”
The words hung in the air between them. Maera’s eyes shone bright with tears and she shook her head. “I don’t want this for you. She’ll be gone in a month or two. She’s not worth it.”
Silence fell, and Selenna spooned tea into the pot and set about fetching the teacups and a small cake she had baked. She finished her preparations and glanced at Maera with a faint, wistful smile. “I don’t hate her, you know.”
“I do.”
Her sudden, blunt reply elicited a moment of shared laughter. It faded, and Maera brushed away more tears. “After everything she’s done to you, she doesn’t deserve your kindness.”
“I—” Selenna released a slow breath and studied her hands. “I visited the Temple after the elders sent word about Mother. I didn’t find answers, but—it’s so peaceful there.” She trailed off as though caught in the memory, then focused on Maera. “I think something dreadful happened to her, long ago. Something involving my grandfather.” She had faced her own dreadful, in a time far removed that some days still felt like yesterday. “We say people can change if they want to, but sometimes they can’t.” She glanced back down. “Sometimes it’s too much.”
“She made her choices.” Maera stepped forward and took her hands. “You’re nothing like her, Lenna.”
“Only by grace,” came Selenna’s scarce whisper. “I should be so many awful things.”
“But you’re not, and you didn’t have to come back to prove that.”
Maybe. Selenna hugged her arms. “I don’t know why I came back.” Guilt. Longing. Her gaze fell on her mother, still asleep. “Maybe she’ll finally love me. Even if I am a girl.” She wouldn’t, of course, but the impossible hope lingered in her unshed tears. She looked at Maera. “If we only love those who deserve it, how are we different from our enemies?”
“I don’t know,” Maera whispered. More tears came to her eyes and she stepped forward to fold Selenna into her embrace. After a long moment, she drew back. “I’m always happy to see you, by the way, but don’t think this means I won’t try to convince you to leave at every opportunity.” She released her. “Now let’s have tea.”
Selenna smiled even as tears fell from her lashes, and she pulled her friend into a fierce hug. “Thank you. And tea sounds good.”
J. L. Rowan dwells where her imagination takes her and is rarely in a hurry to leave. She has a passion for learning and for mastering fields that capture her attention, which has led to more than 20 years of study, both academic and practical, of the medieval world. She infuses her stories with this passion and strives for excellence in her craft. When not working or writing, she enjoys recreating authentic medieval recipes, practicing medieval illumination, and raising Monarch butterflies.
