Chapter 725 HEALER

The walk home was quieter.

Not because I had suddenly become well behaved.

Mother simply refused to speak to me after my encounter with Aston.

I walked beside her carrying baskets of herbs while humming softly to myself, occasionally swinging our joined hands just to annoy her further.

It worked.

“Ruby.” She sighed tiredly.

“Ma?” I asked innocently.

“You shouldn’t have embarrassed him that way.”

“He embarrasses himself naturally. I simply help the process along.”

Mother didn’t seem too pleased so I kept my mouth shut.

The path to our home curved away from the crowded marketplace and toward the quieter side of the village where fishermen, healers and craftsmen mostly lived.

Small homes lined the road with herbs hanging from windows and smoke curling from chimneys.

The further we walked, the cooler the air became from the sea breeze.

Our little house sat near the edge of the forest.

It wasn’t large.

One side of the roof needed repairing and one of the shutters refused to close properly during storms, but mother kept flowers blooming around it regardless.

Wild vines curled around the wooden fence while herbs dried beneath the porch roof.

I loved it.

It felt warm.

Alive.

Mother pushed the gate.

Before we could step inside, the front door burst open suddenly.

“Penelope!”

A woman stumbled out so quickly that mother’s teasing expression vanished instantly.

The woman looked terrified.

One side of her face was swollen badly and dark bruises wrapped around both wrists. Her lower lip had split open and dried blood stained the front of her dress.

My smile disappeared immediately.

“Please,” she whispered shakily. “Please help me.”

Mother dropped the baskets from her arms at once.

“Oh goddess,” she breathed softly. “Martha.”

The woman burst into tears.

Mother hurried forward and caught her before she collapsed while I quickly pushed the door open wider.

“Inside.” Mother urged gently. “Quickly.”

Martha stumbled into the house.

The familiar scent of dried herbs, lavender and smoke wrapped around me instantly as I shut the door behind us.

Our home was small but comfortable. Herbs hung from the ceiling beams while shelves lined the walls completely, crowded with jars, roots and healing mixtures.

Mother carefully guided Martha toward the chair near the fireplace.

“What happened?” I asked quietly even though deep down I already knew.

Martha lowered her eyes.

“He was drinking again.”

Anger twisted violently inside me.

“That bastard.” I hissed.

“Ruby,” Mother warned softly.

“No mother.” I snapped. “Look at her.”

Martha flinched at my tone and immediately I felt guilty.

I knelt beside her chair carefully.

“Sorry,” I muttered more gently. “I just hate men like him.”

Martha gave me a weak smile through swollen lips.

Mother moved around quickly gathering cloth, bowls and herbs while I remained crouched beside Martha.

“Can you lift your chin for me?” I asked softly.

She obeyed carefully.

The bruising along her throat was worse up close.

My stomach twisted.

Mother returned with warm water and began cleaning the cuts carefully while Martha hissed painfully.

“He said I embarrassed him,” she whispered shakily. “Dinner wasn’t ready when he came home.”

I clenched my jaw so tightly it hurt.

Mother remained quiet but I noticed the anger behind her eyes too.

She hated injustice.

Always had.

Martha winced sharply as mother dabbed her split lip.

“I’m sorry,” Mother murmured.

“It’s alright.”

No it wasn’t.

Nothing about this was alright.

Without thinking, I reached forward and took Martha’s trembling hand into mine.

“It’s going to heal,” I whispered softly.

Warmth spread instantly through my palms.

I froze.

The feeling rushed through me quickly, strange and familiar all at once. Like sunlight pouring beneath my skin.

Martha gasped.

Mother’s head snapped upward instantly.

I looked down in horror.

The bruises around Martha’s wrists were fading.

Not slowly.

Quickly.

Too quickly.

The deep purple marks lightened beneath my fingers while the swelling around her cheek visibly eased.

Martha stared at her arm in disbelief.

“What…”

Mother moved immediately.

“She’s been practicing healing techniques with infused herbs,” Mother interrupted quickly. “It’s an old method.”

Martha looked stunned.

“I have never seen anything like this before.”

Neither had I.

Not this strong.

The warmth intensified suddenly and I quickly let go of her hand.

My emerald necklace burned lightly against my chest beneath my dress.

Mother saw it too.

I knew she did.

Because for one brief second, fear crossed her face.

Then it disappeared instantly.

Mother forced a calm smile.

“Ruby has gifted hands,” she explained smoothly while continuing to crush herbs into a bowl. “Some healers are simply born more sensitive to treatments.”

Martha touched her cheek shakily.

“The pain…” she whispered. “It’s almost gone.”

I swallowed hard.

The room suddenly felt too warm.

Mother quickly handed Martha a small cloth packet of herbs.

“Use these tonight,” she instructed firmly. “And stay with your sister for a few days.”

Martha’s eyes filled with tears again.

“Thank you,” she whispered brokenly. “Thank you both.”

I helped her stand carefully.

Before leaving, Martha suddenly hugged me tightly.

“You have a good heart Ruby.”

My chest tightened painfully.

After she finally left, silence settled inside the house.

Mother locked the door carefully.

Then she turned toward me slowly.

I already knew that look.

The serious one.

The dangerous one.

I looked down at my hands uncertainly.

The strange warmth had faded now.

“I don’t know how,” I admitted honestly.

Mother approached slowly and took my hands into hers.

“You need to be more careful. Until we figure you out.” She told me.

“I know. I just…..”

“Ruby. You did good. But we need to keep this undersheets for now. Okay?” She asked me.

The way she said my name made me finally look at her properly.

She looked frightened.

Not of me.

For me.

Before I could ask anything else, loud crashing came from the back room.

“Father’s awake,” I muttered.

Right on cue, heavy stumbling followed.

Then his voice.

“Penelope!” he slurred loudly. “Where’s the damned ale?”

Mother closed her eyes briefly in exhaustion.

The warmth of moments ago vanished instantly.

I hated when he drank this early.

Mother squeezed my hands gently before letting go.

“We’ll talk later.”

And just like that she walked toward the back room.

I remained standing there alone.

Confused.

Uneasy.

My fingers brushed against the emerald necklace resting against my chest.

For a brief second, I could have sworn it felt warm.

Like it was alive.