Theudifara: The Adventurer's Ambition is to Become the Empress

Without me realizing it, several hours had slipped away. My arms ached from taking care of Mom and scrubbing sheep, so I sneaked outside to slump under the walnut tree. But summer storms move fast here-one minute blue skies, the next, clouds black as Old Gudrun's cauldron. I couldn't relax any longer; my laundry and Fleda's needed to be brought in before the rain came pouring down.

Raindrops stung my neck as I yanked the laundry line. Shirts and britches slapped my face in the wind, smelling of lye soap and panic. I barely made it inside before the sky split open. As soon as I stepped back into the house, the rain began to pour heavily, drumming against the roof like a thousand tiny feet.

Earlier, I had told Mom to rest in her room. Coincidentally, I had placed my laundry basket in there. I needed to retrieve it. Who would have thought that my laundry would lead me back to Mom? Just like our previous encounter, there was little to no exchange of words between us. Mom's room is as still as a rock. Nothing had been moved from its original position since she came. She sat exactly where I'd left her, staring at the wall like it held secrets.

"'Scuse me. I'm going to take the laundry basket," I said, trying to sound flat, even though my heart felt heavy.

I didn't expect a response, but it still felt unsettling. Whatever, better just ignore her completely.

"... Yes." Her voice-raspy and wrong-made me jump. The basket clattered. Rain drummed louder, as if cheering her first word in months. It was even more shocking than the sound of a thunder.

"Did you just... talk to me?" I asked, my brows furrowed. But in my haste, I quickly left the room, clutching the basket tightly.

Outside, the rain, which had already been heavy, intensified even more. The inside of the house was dark, even though it was still noon. I had to light a candle earlier than usual, the flickering flame casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Suddenly, it hit me-we hadn't had breakfast yet. I remembered there were some baked potatoes left over from last night in the kitchen. Perfect, I thought. Since it was raining outside, I might as well make some hot herbal tea. That would surely lift my spirits on this gloomy day.

I fled to the kitchen. Three servings worth of potatoes huddled in the ashes of last night's fire-charred lumps even the pigs would snub. The tea kettle's whistle drowned out Fleda's sniffles through the wall.

"Fleda?" I knocked softly. "Got tea and..."

"... Just leave it at the door, Sis."

Her voice sounded weak and distant. I could picture her curled up in bed, probably still feeling the weight of her tears. The doorknob felt colder than the locket. I set down a chipped mug, watching steam curl toward the ceiling cracks.

Now, it was time to offer breakfast to Mom. I wasn't sure if she would accept it. If she refused, I could have a double portion for myself. That didn't sound too bad, I thought with a small grin.

"Here, breakfast."

The words felt stiff as dried corn husks. I set the charred potato and steaming mug on her bedside stump, careful not to touch the frayed ropes still circling her wrists. Fleda's warning buzzed in my ears-Don't make her mad, don't look her in the eyes-but Mom just stared past me, hollow as a gutted pumpkin.

I thought that after responding to me a moment ago, she would say something else. But I was wrong. She remained silent, her mouth tightly closed, even after I placed the potatoes and tea in front of her.

"Need... need help eating?" I blurted.

Seeing her stay quiet for several minutes, I decided to offer my help, though it's because I realized it would be annoying if she starved to death and made me clean up her corpse.

Again, if she still didn't want my help, it seemed my breakfast would be larger than usual. I would just give her dinner later; not like she'll die after not eating breakfast once.

Her head tilted slow akin to an owl spotting prey. "No." Mom's voice was so low I could barely hear her. She looked at me with those empty eyes again, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I didn't know what to say.

"Okay. I'll just... be in the other room," I backed away, boots squeaking on the warped floorboards.

I walked to the dining room, my heart heavy. I had intended to eat my breakfast in my room with Fleda, but unfortunately, she wasn't in the mood for company right now.

Rain didn't stop hammering the roof, its steady tap-tap-tap smoothing my jagged edges. In the kitchen, I spread my feast-two potatoes, blackened worse than last week's bread, and tea that smelled akin to an herb garden.

The first bite crunched like autumn leaves. I closed my eyes, pretending the bitter ash taste was cinnamon. Outside, the storm sang its wet song-drops dancing on cabbage leaves, gurgling through the rain barrel, whispering secrets to the thirsty soil.

A drip found the leak above Dad's old chair. Plink. Plink. Plink. I counted each one, matching them to my chews. Then, a cool breeze wafted through the house, bringing a cool, pleasant air that was neither too hot nor too cold. Twenty-seven drips later, my plate was clean.

The tea burned going down, but in a good way-like when Uncle Theo let me sip his ginger brew. I curled my toes, watching steam curl toward the ceiling cracks. For a heartbeat, I almost forgot about Mom's empty eyes, Fleda's locked door, the locket's constant chill against my skin.

"Haa..."

I sighed, feeling a little better. Paired with the cool air and the heavy rain, these were the moments I cherished the most. It was just me and nature, peaceful, without anything to disturb the tranquility. Lastly, I licked my plate clean, savoring the char, and wondered if storms tasted different in places where mothers didn't stare at walls.

The rain was relentless, but it felt like a cleansing force, washing away the heaviness that lingered in our home. I hoped that one day, the sun would shine again, not just outside but within our hearts as well.

***

Half an hour had slipped by since I finished breakfast. The rain still drummed on the roof, steady and unrelenting, as if the sky itself were grieving. I lingered outside Fleda's door, staring at the empty plate and mug. She'd eaten. She'd actually eaten. My throat tightened-relief, guilt, exhaustion all twisting together.

"Fleda?" I knocked softly, my voice cracking. "Can I... can I come in?"

Silence. Then, so quiet I almost missed it: "...Yeah."

The door creaked open. Fleda lay curled on her bed, face buried in a pillow damp with tears. Her hair stuck to her cheeks in tangled knots, and her fists clenched the sheets like they might anchor her to this world. The plate and mug sat clean on the floor, a small rebellion against the chaos.

I sank onto the mattress, the springs groaning under me. "How was the potato?"

She didn't move. "You burned the last batch," she mumbled into the fabric, her voice raw. "At least mine didn't taste like charcoal."

A weak laugh escaped me. "True. I'd probably poison us both if I tried."

"You did poison us. Last week." She finally turned, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. "That stew tasted like donkey hoof."

"Hey!" I nudged her leg, feigning offense. "I followed Aunt Isla's recipe!"

"Aunt Isla's dog wouldn't eat that slop."

We fell quiet, the rain filling the space between us. Her gaze drifted to the window, where rivulets of water blurred the world outside.

"Your tea wasn't terrible," she said finally, picking at a loose thread on her blanket. "For once."

I leaned back against the wall, studying her. "High praise."

"Don't let it go to your head."

Another silence, heavier this time. I watched her small shoulders tremble, the way she chewed her lip raw.

"Fleda..." I hesitated, twisting the locket chain around my finger. "Do you... do you ever wonder why Mom came back?"

She stiffened. The thread snapped in her hands.

"No." The word came out sharp, brittle. "I don't care. I don't want to care."

"But-"

"She's not Mom anymore!" Fleda lurched upright, tears spilling anew. "She's just... just a thing that stares and hurts people! Why do you keep trying?!"

Her shout echoed off the walls. I flinched, the truth of it slicing deeper than any knife.

"Because..." My voice faltered. "Because if I stop, who will?"

She crumpled, fists pounding the mattress. "I hate her! I hate her, I hate her, I-!"

I pulled her into my arms before the sobs could devour her. She fought me briefly, small fists striking my ribs, but then collapsed against my chest, dampening my shirt with tears.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

We stayed like that until her breathing steadied, until the storm outside softened to a murmur.

"You're the only family I need," she mumbled at last, voice muffled against my shoulder. "You and... and Fram."

I blinked. "Fram?"

She jerked back, cheeks flaming. "Not like that! Gods, you're so weird!"

"Oh? So you don't want to marry him?" I teased, poking her side.

"Ew! No!" She swatted my hand, but a hiccupping laugh escaped her. "I just... I want him to stay. Like... like a brother. So it's not just... just us."

Her smile wobbled. I saw it then-the unspoken plea.

So I'm not alone when you're gone.

I tugged her close again, my chest aching. "He's not going anywhere, sprout. Neither am I."

She sniffed, burrowing deeper into the hug. "Promise?"

The locket burned cold against my skin. "Promise."

We fell asleep like that, tangled in her too-small bed, the rain weaving its melancholy song. For the first time in months, her breaths came slow and even, her fists unclenched. And if my own tears soaked the pillow silently, well-some storms are better weathered in the dark.

***

By late afternoon, the rain hadn't let up. Uncle Theo arrived as promised, his boots squelching with every step. He shook water from his coat similar to a wet dog, filling the room with the smell of damp wool.

"Afternoon, ducklings," he greeted, his deep voice a comforting rumble. "Brought some firewood. Figured you'd need it."

Fleda perked up immediately, dragging him to the hearth to help start a fire. I lingered in the doorway, watching them. Uncle Theo had a way of making everything feel normal, even when it wasn't.

With the fire crackling, we settled around the table. The rain made training impossible, so we talked instead-about the weather, about Fram's latest antics, about nothing important.

At one point, Uncle Theo leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, Adele, I wouldn't mind if you and Fram stuck together forever. He could use someone sensible to keep him in line."

I laughed, though my cheeks felt warm. "I think Fram's beyond saving."

Fleda giggled, her earlier gloom forgotten. "Sis's just mad because Fram beat her in the last sparring match."

"He did not!" I protested, though we both knew he had.

The conversation flowed easily after that, the kind of easy that only comes when you're surrounded by people who feel like home. For a little while, the weight of everything-Mom, her belly, the uncertainty-felt lighter.

***

As the evening wore on, the rain finally began to ease. Uncle Theo stayed until the last drop fell, his presence a steady anchor in the storm. When he left, the house felt quieter, but not empty.

Fleda and I cleaned up in silence, the rhythm of our movements familiar and comforting. By the time we finished, the fire had burned down to embers, casting the room in a warm, golden glow.

"Sis?" Fleda's voice broke the quiet.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think... do you think things will ever go back to normal?"

I hesitated, staring into the dying fire. "I don't know," I admitted. "But maybe normal's overrated. Maybe we just make our own."

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I like that."

We sat there for a while longer, the silence between us easy and unbroken. Outside, the first stars peeked through the clouds, tiny pinpricks of light in the vast, dark sky.

For the first time in a long time, I felt something similar to hope.

***