Rosa had the good sense to stop prying for a little, and Sasha couldn't help but be grateful as she finished peeling the potatoes. She wasn't sure if the woman didn't care anymore, or if she simply thought Sasha was making excuses, but it didn't matter either way. The sword burned a hole where it sat in its scabbard. She had to get rid of it soon, before anyone else caught her with it.

Rosa's eyes were elsewhere while she pushed the pot she was stirring to the back of the stove, then placed a pan on the burner and tossed in a smal dollop of butter.

"Put the potatoes on to boil," she said, pointing at the other burner. "There's water in the pump in the corner, and an apron in the drawer if you want it. Don't make a mess."

Sasha kept her head down while she unbuckled the sword from her belt and placed it into the corner, as if leaving it there would minimize the fact that it existed, or that she'd stolen it. She tried not to look at it as she pulled a worn, linen apron from the cabinet and fastened it around her waist. 

The pan hissed, and the smell of roasting garlic filled the air. The heat of the oven pressed against Sasha's skin. She remembered the warm hearthfire of the inn, the beads of sweat that slid down her mother's cheeks as she worked. She remembered the quiet companionship of peeling vegetables and pretending that nothing was the matter, that her mother's face wasn't bruised, that Damien wasn't gone. 

A lump rose in Sasha's throat, but she pushed it back down while she retrieved the pot from the stove, trying not to meet Rosa's eye as she filled it from the hand pump and sat it back on the burner to boil. Her lungs filled with smoke from the oven's belly and she coughed. Rosa reached up with one lithe hand and undid the window latch, sending a burst of cool air into the room.

"You're used to a kitchen," she said as she stirred the garlic around. "Where did you come from?"

"Horizon," Sasha mumbled as she climbed back into the stool next to the counter. She'd felt better when her hands had something to do. It distracted her from trying to dodge Rosa's questions until she gave up.

"Why'd you leave?"

Sasha shrugged and didn't answer for a moment, because it was a complicated question. "I didn't like it there anymore."

"Ah," Rosa replied. She fished a hunk of meat from a hook near the ceiling and threw it into the pan. It landed with a loud hiss and an explosion of steam. The smell made Sasha's mouth water. "Family?"

Sasha blinked and traced the wood grain of the countertop with her finger. No family that actually mattered anymore. "My brother. He died a few years ago."

Rosa made a humming noise as she seasoned the meat and turned it over onto its other side. "No parents then, I take it. Or at least not ones that you want to talk about. You're young to be wandering around the woods by yourself."

"I'm twenty one," Sasha said with a shrug. "And I'm not by myself." She watched Rosa as she worked. The woman didn't look much older than her, though she was taller and carried herself differently. Her back was less stiff, and her eyes hard, like she had seen too much and didn't care to look anymore. She didn't bother trying to cover the brand that snaked its way up her arm, but Sasha didn't feel like asking about it.

"Oh, right," Rosa said, as if it were an afterthought. "That boy you came to rescue. I can't say I'm impressed, but to each their own, I suppose." She turned and grabbed a plate without looking, then slid the meat onto it and placed it on the countertop. "Eat.You look like you don't do enough of it."

"Thanks," Sasha said, trying to keep the sarcasm from sliding out of her mouth. She gave Rosa a suspicious glance before moving her eyes down to the plate. The meat glistened with fat, and smelled of the butter and garlic Rosa had used to season it. She looked around for a fork for a moment before Rosa set one down next to her.

"It's hanger steak from yesterday, I'm not trying to poison you." She tapped her fingers on the counter. "It's probably chewy, but Pirya won't miss it. I can't imagine you're used to fine dining anyway."

"No," she said, cutting into the meat with the side of her fork for a bit before Rosa ducked to the other end of the room and returned with a knife. Sasha's stomach roared. She'd forgotten how hungry she'd been as she cut a piece of the steak off and shoved it in her mouth. Rosa was right, it was chewy, but it also tasted a thousand times better than squirrels cooked over a fire.

"That boy didn't take very good care of you, if he had to steal to do it," she said, going back to the pan she'd left sitting on the back of the stove. She pulled it forward and rested it back on the front burner. "Men are silly like that. Think they know everything."

Sasha's face flushed. Her fork scraped across the plate as her eyes darted to Rosa, a well of anger rising up her neck. "I don't belong to him. We're just traveling together, I can handle myself."

Rosa laughed. The sound was rough, like she'd inhaled a lungful of smoke and was coughing it back out. "Sure. And I don't ever get stared at in town. People don't come to rescue their traveling partners." 

She put emphasis on the last few words, like they were the funniest part of it. Sasha's face burned. She recalled the look on his face and the way he'd recoiled after she'd kissed him. She wouldn't be surprised if he never looked at her again. A rock sat heavy in her stomach, and she swallowed to force it to stay down there. 

"I'm not rescuing him, I needed a job."

Rosa's eyebrows rose up her face, and the corners of her mouth warped into a smile. "Are you afraid of me?" she asked.

Sasha shoved another bite of the steak into her mouth as a distraction, not even caring that she needed to talk around it. "No. Why?"

It felt like a lie, coming out of her mouth.

"I have a lot of power here. I could turn you into the constable," she said, pointing to the sword Sasha had left propped in the corner. "Everyone knows you stole that. I know, Mantu knows, probably everyone who saw you come into the island knows. But did you notice anything?"

Sasha swallowed hard. Her mouth felt dry, all of the sudden. "No."

"You're sitting in my kitchen, and no one's come to cart you off to jail yet," Rosa replied. "If I were you, I'd ditch that sword outside somewhere, keep your head down, and do your job. And if you claim one more time that you found it, so help the Gods I will go fetch the constable myself."

Sasha's face grew hot again, but not with anger. She stared down at her dinner plate. The steak was half-gone already, and somehow she wished there was more of it already. She propped her elbow on the table and poked it with her fork.

"He said no, already," she said. Her voice was whisper over the crackling of the fire in the belly of the stove."

Rosa looked over at her and frowned a bit. "Pardon?"

"He said no," Sasha replied. She sawed at her steak without taking a bite. "We aren't anything because he doesn't want it. So please. Just--"

The rest of the sentence died as it came out. They hadn't been anything to begin witih, and yet it still felt like she'd lost something she couldn't put her finger on. It still ached like a hollow hole in her chest. 

"Mmm." Rosa wiped her arms on her apron and rested her back against the counter that sat behind her. Sasha glanced up for only a second, but her eyes didn't seem so harsh anymore. "Kind of funny then, that you're coming all this way to save him."

Sasha shrugged. "I owe him."

"For what?"

Sasha's eyes watered a bit. How could she possibly explain what he'd done? How could she explain the sort of hell he'd saved her from? How could she explain nightmares and locked doors and the feeling of something constantly chasing you from over your shoulder? 

The woman wouldn't get it, even if she did, so Sasha just stayed silent.

Rosa sighed deeply. "It's usually easier the faster you let go. They'll keep you around forever if they think they can benefit." She turned back to the stove and sprinkled a pinch of spice into the broth she'd been stirring. "You do what you like, though."

Sasha wanted to snap back that Rosa didn't know him, that he wasn't that kind of man. She wanted to say that it wasn't his fault, it was hers. It was all the things she couldn't be or do or offer. But she couldn't get the words to come out of her mouth. Instead she ate another bite of steak and tried desperately to keep her breathing even.