Page 74 of Apples Dipped in Gold
My thoughts were shattered instantly when something sharp sliced me. I gasped and pulled my hand out quickly to find a cut along my palm. It bled heavily and stung as soon as it was exposed to the air.
“Oh, pretty thing, look what you did!” said the witch.
Her horrible hand latched onto my injured arm. I bit my tongue, wanting so badly to scream no as she dragged me from the sink. She brought me near the hearth and retrieved a canister from the mantel, smearing something jelly-like over my palm. I thought it looked like honey, but it smelled sour. When she was finished, she wrapped it with a piece of linen she pulled from her pocket.
I squeezed my fingers into a fist, my stomach churning, both from the pain and the anxiety of what exactly the witch had used on my wound.
“The water is boiling, pretty thing,” said the witch. “You must add the meat and potatoes.”
I did as she said and finished the dishes, even with my wounded hand, then added the carrots and mushrooms before scrubbing the floor.
By the time I was finished, the sun was setting outside.
The witch was at the hearth, ladling stew into a bowl, which she placed on a tray along with a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine.
“Take this to your beloved,” she said. “Be sure he does not leave a drop, and when you return, you may have some of your own.”
I was suspicious of her instructions but relieved at the same time. I took the tray and carried it to the door. The smell of the stew made my stomach turn. Saliva gathered in my mouth, and I knew I was going to vomit. Thankfully, as soon as I was outside the cottage, the cold air washed over me, and the feeling lessened. I paused on the rotting step and took a deep breath before following the cobblestone path from the garden.
Lore was no longer in the field. I found him in thestables, having just spread a blanket on the hay-covered floor. He was still shirtless, still sweaty from his work in the field. He had tied his hair back, and the angles of his face looked just as fierce as his eyes, which raked down my body.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, dropping my gaze to the tray. “I know Fox said not to accept food and drink,” I said. “But the witch instructed me to bring you dinner. I thought perhaps we could share what food we already had.”
“Of course,” Lore said.
I set the tray down on a nearby barrel. When I turned to face Lore again, his eyes were on my hand.
“I thought you said you were okay,” he said.
“I am,” I said. “Mostly.”
He crossed to me and took my hand, unwinding the bandage. He bent to smell the salve.
“I don’t know what she used on it,” I said.
“Nothing that will heal, certainly,” he said. “Sit, and I will dress it.”
I obeyed, only realizing now how badly my feet hurt. Lore retrieved the satchel and then came to kneel in front of me.
“How do you think Fox fares in the forest?” I asked.
“I am sure he is fine,” said Lore. “Hold out your hand.”
I did as he said. He scraped away what remained of the witch’s medicine and then pulled the waterskin from the satchel and poured fresh water over the wound, squeezing it until it bled.
The pain was almost like being cut again, and I inhaled a breath between my teeth.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just want to make sure it is clean.”
“I know. It’s okay,” I said.
After he seemed satisfied with the cleansing, he placed his hand over a patch of ground, and beneath it sprouted a green stem with pointed leaves and berries that looked almost like black tomatoes.
“What is that?” I asked.
“It is called deadly nightshade,” said Lore.
