Artemis Rising

by Cheri Lasota

  She motioned to him as the footsteps came closer, the quiet sound of bare feet—Isabel again? At the last moment, Tristão backed away from her as if she were a pariah. Then Diogo appeared at the door. The look on his face would have amused her if she didn’t know him so well. He actually leaned against the doorjamb to steady himself.

  “Arethusa.” It took him a moment to find the breath to say her name, but, when he did, she felt rather than heard all the accusations he couldn’t muster in words.

  “Cheia,” Tristão said. He did not smile in greeting.

  When Diogo focused his full attention on Tristão, it felt like a weight was lifted from her shoulders. Standing between them was like standing in the shadow of the sun and moon. It was cold in that shadow, but her skin was hot with uneasiness.

  “Why are you in here with her?” Diogo said, not bothering to disguise the insinuation in his voice.

  Tristão did not answer.

  Diogo scowled at Tristão. “Don’t go near her again.” He paused. “I speak for her now.”

  She glared at Diogo. His jealousy was so obvious. Was this the River God coming out in him? She glanced back at Tristão. He was bristling with something like anger or confusion, she couldn’t tell which. His face softened a bit when she caught his gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” she mouthed, hoping her eyes would show him what she could not say. He didn’t betray his feelings, and he was smart enough not to reply to Diogo’s challenge.

  “Arethusa, I will come and see you tomorrow.” He gave Diogo a long, hard look as he rose and walked to the door. “You will be all right?”

  She nodded, trying to muster her courage.

  Tristão nodded and made his way out into the hall.

  “Did that boy hurt you?” He studied her face, as if looking for evidence.

  She shook her head, unsure what to make of his protectiveness.

  “I will tell the nurse to make sure he stays away from you.”

  She shook her head.

  “I am your fate now, Arethusa.” He leaned down until his dark eyes were inches from her own. “The sooner you understand that the easier this will be.”

  THE NEXT DAY, JUST PAST THE SUPPER hour, Arethusa watched Senhorita Jacinta stomp into the infirmary with a sour expression on her face.

  Arethusa sat up. Had Isabel told Senhorita Jacinta about yesterday? But next came Tristão, sauntering in as if daring anyone to stand in his way. He would not look at her. Arethusa was so surprised at his arrogant bluster that she almost missed his arm clutched at his side and his breath that came out in gasps.

  Arethusa pulled away the blanket and slipped to her bare feet on the floor.

  “No.” Tristão waved her back to bed. “It’s nothing.” But she saw the worst of it when he turned to her. His right eye was a deepening shade of pink, and, above his eyebrow, a line of blood dripped down.

  Senhorita Jacinta pushed him toward the cot next to Arethusa and then yanked the cupboard door open and rummaged through the ointments, bandages, and instruments.

  “You know better than this, Tristão,” she said.

  He edged onto the cot, his long legs touching the hem of Arethusa’s smock. He took in a long breath and held it. Arethusa knew he saw the question “why” written all over her face. He gazed at her with a half-hearted attempt at a smile as he exhaled.

  She scrutinized the cut over his eye and subconsciously reached out to him, wanting to wipe the blood away with her fingers. He jerked away. Then she heard the footsteps that had startled him.

  Diogo stood in the doorway now, speechless with fury. He held a fist to his lip, where Arethusa saw that the cut his father had given him had been reopened.

  Senhorita Jacinta pointed Diogo to the bed along the opposite wall and then glared at them both. “Am I going to have any more trouble from you two?”

  Diogo graced her with a haughty stare but said nothing. Arethusa didn’t think Tristão would respond either but, at length, he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  “I’ve said my piece,” he finally said. “I expect he’s said his.”

  “I’ll thank you not to speak for me, Senhor Vazante.”

  “You are both old enough to know better.” Senhorita Jacinta stood in the center of the room, scowling at the two of them. “And Tristão, think of the poor example you’ve set for the younger ones. Would you want Amélia or little Filipe to solve their differences this way?”

  Her reminder seemed to transform Tristão. Guilt crept up his neck and face in light shades of pink and red. He didn’t give an apology, but there was no need. It was evident in the softening of his eyes.

  “Sometimes it takes more than words to get your point across,” Diogo scoffed.

  “And just what was your point, Senhor Cheia?” Senhorita Jacinta said.

  “Senhor Vazante heard it loud and clear, so the matter is closed.”

  Arethusa glanced at Tristão. A hard look passed over his face as he stared at Diogo.

  Finally, he glanced up at Senhorita Jacinta. “Can we get this over with?”

  “We’ll have the sisters deal out your punishment later,” she replied. “Right now, I’ll bandage you up and send you on your way.”

  Arethusa motioned to Senhorita Jacinta that she would be glad to help.

  “Certainly. Just lay out these bandages while I see about this.” She walked to the other side of the cot and pushed Tristão onto his back. He grimaced but didn’t protest.

  Senhorita Jacinta pulled up Tristão’s shirt and watched his breathing. Arethusa wondered if they ever fed the boy. She could see every one of his ribs and muscles rise and fall with his labored breathing. He was strong, to be sure, else he could not have carried her so far, and the muscles in his torso flexed and jerked with every slight movement. She knew she ought to look away, but she stared at the long, protruding bones on each side of his hips. They drew her eyes dangerously down to the top of his ratty pants.

  “Breathe in deep, Tristão,” Senhorita Jacinta said, as she pressed against the red welts blotching the ribs on his left side. He did as she told him and then proceeded into a coughing fit. “Take it easier,” Senhorita Jacinta said, her tone softening. “I don’t think you’ve broken any ribs. We should wrap them tight just in case.”

  “Use this to catch the blood over Tristão’s eye,” Senhorita Jacinta said, holding out a bandage to Arethusa, “but take care not to put pressure on anything but the cut.”

  Arethusa held the bandage over his eye, feeling an uncomfortable sort of guilt, as if Senhorita Jacinta were Artemis and, at any moment, would point a finger in accusation.

  “It’s all right.” Tristão’s eyes reassured her, though his mouth gritted with pain as Senhorita Jacinta poked and prodded at his ribs. “You won’t hurt me.”

  Diogo gave a grunt of derision from across the room. Arethusa ignored him, and with another glance into Tristão’s encouraging eyes, she pressed the rag to the cut. She had to be cautious to avoid the red dots of the bruise that were forming along the full length of his eyelid.

  “I’m sorry about this.” Tristão winced a bit, but his smile grew as he gazed at her.

  She frowned in surprise. What would he need to apologize for? He had done nothing but try to help her since she first opened her eyes to him. And if he truly were Alpheus, then the Goddess had blessed her after all. She shook her head and smiled back.

  Senhorita Jacinta stood back for a moment, and Arethusa felt the nurse’s eyes on them, so she leaned back, not wanting to draw attention to what she felt.

  “Keep it tight against the skin for a few minutes more, and then I’ll have you help me with Diogo.” Senhorita Jacinta moved over to Diogo and hovered over him, examining his face. “Well, you’ll live, but we’d best put ointment on your cut. What’s this other one? It looks recent.”

  Arethusa knew what cut she was talking about, slicing through the lip and down the side, with a gash just about the size of the setting in a ring. His father’s ring.
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  “Nothing important, Senhorita Jacinta.” Diogo laughed, but Arethusa heard the edge of embarrassment in it. “Child’s play.”

  “You are going to have a permanent scar on your lip,” Senhorita Jacinta said.

  Diogo shrugged.

  Tristão watched Arethusa’s face. Her touch seemed to calm him, even with Diogo looking on. Arethusa caught the scent of bergamot on Tristão’s skin again. She wondered if he bathed more than most, or if the orphanage was strict in terms of cleanliness. Perhaps it was just the natural smell of his skin. Whatever the reason, the scent made it that much easier for her to stand over him, hand to head, staunching his blood.

  “You don’t have to help me. See to Cheia if he needs it,” he whispered.

  Something about his expression made her feel that he was testing her. The choice was simple. She shook her head and didn’t move an inch.

  Tristão’s mouth rose into a blinding smile that made her knees feel like water. The sunlight in his skin was seeping into hers, warming her from the inside out.

  “Arethusa, you can come help me now. Take your time and use your crutch, though,” Senhorita Jacinta said.

  Arethusa didn’t want to help Diogo. Senhorita Jacinta would not force her if she refused. Arethusa shook her head. She fiddled with the crutch, trying to convey to Senhorita Jacinta that she still felt unsure on her feet.

  Senhorita Jacinta frowned. “Are you having trouble walking today?”

  Arethusa nodded.

  “No,” Diogo said, as he picked at the lint on the blanket under him, “she’s just scared of me.”

  Arethusa scowled. She should keep her distance from Tristão and keep her mouth shut. That would be the smart thing. But Tristão was looking at her again, and it wasn’t her silence or her novelty that was holding his gaze. Just standing near him made her feel like she was floating in a safe harbor. Did her mother feel the same about her Alpheus? Was she out there now, swimming side by side with him in Angra Bay, like two rivers moving through the sea?

  She looked down at Tristão and saw again the pitying eyes from her vision, pale and translucent, living moonstones in the middle of the sun. She was determined to find out for certain whether his name was truly Alpheus.

  Senhorita Jacinta blinked at Diogo. “Why should she be scared of you?”

  “When she doesn’t listen to her mother’s wishes,” he said, “it gets her in a lot of trouble.”

  Arethusa knew his answer held no meaning for Senhorita Jacinta, but that was his intent. For good or ill, Arethusa wasn’t cowed. She would stay by Tristão’s side until Senhorita Jacinta came back over to bandage his ribs.

  “All right, Senhor Cheia. You’re to go straight back to the dormitory, no supper allowed.” The moment Senhorita Jacinta had finished dabbing ointment on Diogo’s lip, he jumped up from the bed and straightened his clothing.

  “Arethusa, gather the bandages. We’ll wrap up Tristão’s ribs to keep them stable.” Senhorita Jacinta took Tristão by the shoulder and looked him in the eye. “You must keep this bandage in place for the next two days. Understand me?”

  Tristão nodded and tried to lift himself up to a sitting position. His stomach muscles flexed hard and he sucked air in through his teeth, but he sat up against the metal frame of the bed with as much poise as he could manage.

  The moment Arethusa picked up the long strip of cloth, Diogo strode over and plucked it from her hands. Both she and Senhorita Jacinta glanced up at him in surprise.

  “I told you to leave, Diogo,” Senhorita Jacinta said.

  “This girl is impressionable.” Diogo’s mangled lip pressed into a hard line. “She shouldn’t be asked to come near a half-clothed boy, much less dress his wounds. Her father would not have approved.”

  Even with the use of her voice, Arethusa would have been speechless. For a moment, Senhorita Jacinta was too. She and Diogo stared at each other. Then Senhorita Jacinta said something Arethusa did not expect.

  “This is my infirmary, Senhor Cheia. If you want to help me dress these wounds—the wounds you inflicted—by all means.” She gestured toward the bandage roll in his hand.

  Diogo threw the bandage on Arethusa’s cot. “That’s women’s work.” He pointed at Arethusa, his eyes turning black, his words measured. “Help him and you’ll regret it.” He paused at the brink of his anger and waited.

  Senhorita Jacinta was here. Tristão was in need. Arethusa’s anger was roiling up in a tight knot at the center of her stomach. For all these reasons, she picked up the bandages and began to unroll them.

  Diogo’s expression turned to bitter gall, and he stalked out of the room without a word more to anyone. In his absence, the world seemed to right itself again.

  Tristão locked eyes with Arethusa and didn’t seem to want to let her go until Senhorita Jacinta spoke.

  “Does that boy not know his place?” Senhorita Jacinta said, almost to herself. “Does he think we have the luxury to stand on ceremony here?”

  “He’s the son of a marquês.” Tristão gave her a sad smile. “I don’t suppose he’s used to anyone ordering him about.”

  “That may be,” Senhorita Jacinta said, holding out her hand for the bandages, “but while he waits here for his family, he’ll abide by our rules.”

  Arethusa handed her one edge of the bandage. It sounded like they’d already sent word to Diogo’s family. But where was his father? If he were still alive, the marquês would have removed him from the orphanage by now.

  “Tristão, it’d be easier if you’d unbutton your shirt. This won’t take but a minute.”

  He unbuttoned the woolen shirt and sat with a self-conscious smile and sidelong glance at Arethusa. She imagined he was seeing the same sort of expression on her face. “Hold the bandage tight to his side there,” Senhorita Jacinta said.

  Arethusa pressed the cloth to Tristão’s ribs.

  He shivered and laughed. “Your hands are cold.”

  “Come now,” Senhorita Jacinta said, laughing too. “A little cold would do your bruises some good.”

  Arethusa smiled and rubbed her hands together to warm them. When her fingers touched his skin again, he didn’t pull back. Senhorita Jacinta rolled the bandage around his back, and Arethusa took it from the other side. Every tiny touch to his skin prickled through her fingers. She wondered how Senhorita Jacinta could be so blind to what was happening right under her nose. But she seemed oblivious, her trained hands rolling the bandage tight around Tristão, ignoring his occasional grimace.

  “Thank you,” he murmured to Arethusa.

  Arethusa gave him a nod in reply, pleased she could do him a bit of service at last.

  “You’re all done.” Senhorita Jacinta tied the last bit together, and then her eyes grew serious. “What were you two fighting about?”

  Tristão played with the bandages around his middle. “You don’t want to know, Senhorita Jacinta.”

  “I know you. Rather than lie, you just keep quiet. To God, one is just as bad as the other. Did you ever think of that?”

  Tristão bit his lip and buttoned his shirt with hurried fingers.

  “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “Go on,” Senhorita Jacinta said, waving him off in frustration, “but not to the dormitory.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need another fight on my hands.”

  He stood up, his long, lithe body looking impossibly tall again.

  Senhorita Jacinta wasn’t finished. “No supper, no nothing. You’ll go to the chapel room and say your prayers.”

  “Yes, Senhorita.” Tristão smiled. “May I visit Arethusa tomorrow? I still haven’t finished going through the orphanage rules with her yet.”

  Senhorita Jacinta frowned. “You’ll go back to the chapel room at dawn. You’ll say your prayers until midmorning. You’ll do double chores and help all the little ones finish theirs. And those are just my punishments. The sisters will have more for you, I’m sure. After that you can come and see her.”

  “
Consider it done.” Tristão winked at Arethusa and shuffled out the door.

  *

  Tristão strode into the infirmary at exactly half past four. “I made it, as you see.”

  He laughed and Arethusa wished she could laugh with him. She felt the room brighten, and she smiled so hard her cheeks began to hurt.

  Tristão settled into Senhorita Jacinta’s chair by her bed. The red dots around his bad eye had deepened in color and spread into a light purplish bruise. The eye looked much worse, but it only intrigued her all the more. What were they fighting about?

  “So how are you feeling today, Senhorita Maré?” he said.

  She wouldn’t have any of that. She shook her head and reached out to touch the purpling skin below his eye. It felt puffy and soft.

  “You?” she mouthed.

  “Well, I’m not going to lie. My ribs are a bit sore.” He rubbed at his eye. “But this? That’s nothing at all.”

  She tilted her head and frowned.

  “Looks worse than it feels. Honest.”

  Please stay away from Diogo if you can, she wrote on the slate board.

  “He’s got a temper, that’s sure as rain.”

  Why did you fight with him?

  Both pride and embarrassment passed through his face. “Can I ask you a question first?” Tristão paused and rubbed his eye again. “Are you promised to Diogo? He said—”

  Arethusa raised her hands to stop him. She wanted to shout her denial, but surely he saw it on her face. It was in Diogo’s nature to lie for his own betterment, but what would he hope to gain from her? She was penniless. She had no dowry, no prospects, no family.

  One reason made sense, but she couldn’t accept it. He supposed himself to be the true Alpheus, and now he was pursuing her as the story foretold. She thought hard before she answered Tristão.

  At last, she wrote, Diogo thinks he is someone he’s not.

  Her answer confused him. “Someone?”

  I can’t tell you. It’s—