The Maiden's Moon

17

Rusalka shuddered as she washed Heinrich's back, glancing at the door every so often, wishing the ale would just finally take him. He grumbled that she was scratching him, so she let her fingernails out to do a bit more damage. He turned and jerked the washing cloth from her hands, cussing at her. Soiled water splashed out of the basin onto her nightgown, drenching her right side, but she was relieved to be unburdened of the chore. She shuffled to the fire and used the hem of her nightgown to protect her hand as she lifted the lid of the roasting pot. The potatoes and carrots were cooking nicely; a strong odor of scrumptious food escaped the pot.

She turned her attention to the skillet of meat and stirred it, but her thoughts were on Sterling. She had pushed the fear of him being dead out of her mind so many times, she had begun to grow weary of fighting it. Her only hope was in him finding her, and she couldn't afford to let fear take that hope, or she really would end up marrying Heinrich.

"I would like to have a proper funeral for Sterling." She said the words, but she didn't mean them. Her heart tumbled around inside of her, telling her to run, but she steadied herself. A loud splash told her that Heinrich had either turned back around or tried to stand and failed.

"Yeah we can do that. But no one would come. People don't go to funerals for dogs," he replied, snark and distaste painted his words.

"It doesn't have to be for anyone but me, Heinrich. He was mine, and I think he deserves at least a decent burial." Rusalka was making small talk, trying to pass time as the meat cooked. "I mean, if you really did kill him." Her words were intentional. She needed proof that Sterling was alive, and if Heinrich couldn't produce a body, she would know he was lying to her. She slowly stirred the frying meat and let the splatters of grease kiss her skin, barely feeling the sting. Her body had grown numb of feeling as her heart grew heavy with grief and fear.

"It might be a bit hard to have a funeral without a body then, wouldn't it?"

Rusalka turned to look at Heinrich, noticing he had retrieved the skin of ale and was taking a swig from the uncorked spout. His words puzzled her. Was he testing her? She couldn't tell what he was thinking and had no idea what he meant.

"If you killed him, there would be a body. Right?" She stood from her kneeling position by the fire and crossed her arms over her chest. With her eyes locked on his, she examined his facial expressions. If he was hiding something she wanted to know.

"Well, if you eat the body, there is no body to bury."

His comment made her instantly sick again.

"What do you mean, eat the body?" She felt her stomach lurch and pressed her splayed palm flat against her belly. "What do you mean eat the body!" she demanded, raising her voice slightly.

"What meat do you think I brought for our dinner, woman?" Heinrich laughed a deep, rich, full laugh. His shaking blubber caused the water in the basin to jostle, sending waves over the side of tub to the floor beneath. Rusalka held her hand over her mouth and gagged on the vomit that pressed against her tonsils. She glanced at the frying pan and back at Heinrich who still laughed heartily. A hiccup interrupted his cackles, but they soon returned.

"You couldn't... It isn't... You didn't...." she stuttered, not believing for one second the meat he had given her to cook was that of a wolf. The oddness of the size of cut, the strange sickly-sweet scent of the meat as she sliced it—it made sense. Terror clawed at the back of her neck.

"I did." Heinrich's tone changed immediately. He tipped the skin to his lips and drank it empty, holding it upside down over the water, one single drop of the ale dripped into the water with him. "I did, exactly like I said I did. The wolf is dead, and you've just cooked him up for our dinner." His eyes thinned, and he looked through the slits at her as his shoulders swayed back and forth.