Painted Blade || sihtric

36.

"HAS she spoken to you yet?" Finan questioned Sihtric, his voice hushed and quiet as they stood side by side, watching Bemia and Beocca stare at the remaining clouds of thick smoke rising up from Thyra's charred house.

"Nothing," Sihtric dreadfully admitted, his heart heavy for his wife and what had happened. "She didn't even wince when I applied the bandages."

Finan exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand over the top of his head. "Perhaps you should carry her back to the Inn. She'll need some rest and some food."

"I know." Sihtric cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from Bemia to set them upon Finan. "Can I ask you a question?"

The Irishman turned to him with a raised brow. "You've never asked to ask a question before. Are you okay, brother?"

Sihtric nodded, leaning back against the pillar behind him with his arms crossed over his chest. "It's Bemia," he started, watching Finan worriedly glance at the young woman for a second. "Have you noticed any changes about her?"

"Changes?" Finan almost snorted at that. "Before last night, Bemmi was still Bemia. Unless you're talkin' about her snappy mood and always stealin' my damn food." A small chuckle came out with that.

But Sihtric's face remained blank. "Hild told me something," he admitted and Finan's face turned serious with a hint of worry. "She, uh..." He cleared his throat, truly not knowing if he should believe the possibility. "Hild believes Bemia could be with child."

Instantly, Finan's jaw dropped, his hands falling slack at his sides. "Truly?" he breathed, blinking hard at Sihtric's shallow nod. "I—Sihtric, this is a blessin'!" he exclaimed and then cringed, taking another glance over at a silent Bemia and Beocca. "Well, I mean—"

"I haven't told her," Sihtric interjected with guilt laced in his tone and Finan's excitment disappeared. "I was planning to take her to Hild last night but..."

"Yeah," Finan sighed, crouching down with his hands resting on his knees. "How could you even tell her now?"

"That's my problem." Sihtric turned his body back toward his wife. "How could I tell her something joyful when she just lost her sister?"

Bandages stuck to wounds, soaking in the blood and puss from Bemia's burns as she silently sat on the ground, her eyes near vacant and her breathing shallow.

Beside her, Beocca was in the same state, but his hand tightly held hers, the two of them grieving the woman they loved as much as the other—in their different ways.

There were no words to assure Bemia that everything would work out. Gods knew how hard Finan and Sihtric had tried that. All they got in response was the blink of her eyes.

The woman sitting before them was numb, completely broken, and shattered at their feet. And this time they knew she wouldn't be able to piece herself back together.

"Sihtric?" Osferth whispered, standing behind him with a pale face. The latter nodded, keeping his eyes on his wife. "Can I check on her?"

Sihtric furrowed his brows in confusion, arms tightly crossed over his chest. "Why are you asking me?" He finally looked back at him. "You know you don't need permission, boy."

"I..." Osferth trailed off, his voice feeling as small as he felt as he looked at Bemia. "She won't take her anger out on me?"

"What?" Sihtric breathed, his face falling. He turned around, placing a hand on Osferth's shoulder. "Osferth, you're the only one she has never raised her voice at. You're the only one she has never ever taken her anger out on. All because she loves you like the son she sees you as." He squeezed his shoulder with a sad smile. "I believe that right now you're the only one out of us who can comfort her. That's why I fetched you."