Amalfi

Chapter Six: Borrow a Name, Wear It with a Smile

"Οὖτις ἐμοί γ᾽ ὄνομα: Οὖτιν δέ με κικλήσκουσι
μήτηρ ἠδὲ πατὴρ ἠδ᾽ ἄλλοι πάντες ἑταῖροι."
"My name is Nobody. Nobody I am called by mother, father, and by all my comrades."

- Ὅμηρος (Homer)

Chapter Six

"That type doesn't roam anywhere near here," he pressed further. "Such beasts should be lands away."

Amalfi breathed slow, meeting his gaze again with a tight expression. "We do not know," she said shortly. "Yet, the tyrant is not the first challenge to give us a visit as of late."

Frustration was leaking into her words, and her chin rose again, but she did not say more.

He, however, had the feeling there was much more to that story, plenty she was keeping withheld behind tense lips and teeth. He would surely risk fingers if he tried to pry from her bite. He wondered if it would be worth it.

"It seems all we've done for weeks is fight beasts that should be lands away," Pistacia snapped, drawing his eyes. "Or shouldn't exist at all outside of legends, or the damn pits of Tartarus! That's why we should—"

"Taci, enough."

His head wouldn't stop spinning. Something about that felt familiar, some tidbit of knowledge that used be there but was gone. He stayed quiet, warily watching, wondering about the great plains of empty space in his memory. He observed Amalfi again as she yanked back the control they'd let slip; she looked away with a scowl as sharply carved as his had been.

Silence treaded on nimble feet to cast her spell. Silence pressed delicate kisses to his shoulder, his jaw, to Amalfi's hair and nose; silence held them close. But only for a few moments, because the third in the grotto was impatient and temperamental. Silence could not woo her.

"What is your plan, Amalfi?" Pistacia's arms were crossed; she still looked at him like a wounded animal better put down. Her words were spat and pulled tight. "He could be dangerous. He has no memory of who he is—for all we know, he was being pursued; for wrongdoing, for the sake of his life. Or, he could be faking his amnesia! You trust too easily."

"Pistacia—"

"She is right," he said, cutting in with a shrug. He wasn't afraid to admit her reason. "I could be running, or being pursued. I can't tell you otherwise; I have no idea who I am. Yet, I can promise I hold no ill will towards you. Rather, I..." He cleared his throat. "I am indebted to you."

His jaw had tightened like taut bowstring, but still he forced the words out, and pretended it wasn't. It pained him to admit a debt; he could tell how much he hated the burden without needing to truly know himself. Of the rest, he spoke the truth. He held no ill will or intention. Not that he knew of. And certainly not towards Amalfi.

Of course, there was little positive to assure of, either. Amalfi had saved his life, and still continued to offer him kindness, but his gratitude extended only to repayment. He wouldn't be swayed by another beautiful woman.

Another?

"You won't be going anywhere," Amalfi scoffed.