Surrendered To The Lord Of Sin-Chapter 42: Nook

Morning arrived gently, filtering through windows and the hush of early hours. Lucrezia woke to the quiet creak of the cottage settling, and to birdsong drifting faintly through an open window.

For a moment, she did not move. She lay still, suspended between sleep and waking, half-expecting the weight of the forest to press down on her chest. But it did not, as usual.

Instead, there was the bed beneath her, soft linen against her palms, and the lingering warmth wrapped around her feet. The ache was there, dull and persistent, but no longer screamed. Thankfully, it was better than before, and she was able to move around without feeling the ache, or soreness in her muscles.

Two weeks have passed since the encounter in the forest. Two weeks since she last felt the bite of the weather, nor the chill that followed. Two weeks have passed since she received any letters from King Vladimir to inform her of the well-being of her mother, as agreed. Two weeks since she last saw... him.

Time seemed to run deliberately at her stay and torturously fast reminding her of the mission. But all through, Lucrezia couldn’t help but think of her mother and how she was faring.

Was she well? Had she eaten? Had she slept? Was she truly alright? The questions crowded her thoughts, scattering them in every direction, until—as she always did—she forced herself to see through the positive sides. Because as long as she remained focused, her mother remained safe. She didn’t want to think or imagine what would happen if she didn’t, or in a matter of fact, failed to achieve her task within five months, and exhaled slowly, relief loosening her shoulders.

A soft knock came at the door, interrupting her thoughts. "Enter," She called, smoothing her nightgown as though appearances still mattered behind closed doors.

The healer slipped inside, arms folded around a folded dress and a shawl. Her relief was immediate and unguarded when she saw Lucrezia upright, however, failed to erase its sternness. "You’re awake," she said, more words than relief, crossing the room before setting the garments on the chair by the bed. Her gaze dropped instinctively to Lucrezia’s feet. "How bad?"

"Better," Lucrezia said truthfully. "Still sore but... manageable."

She nodded, "Good," She said, though the crease between her brows remained. "Better does not mean healed. We will keep to the regimen,"

Lucrezia smiled faintly. She had learned the woman’s measured, careful, and never indulgent rhythms by heart now.

Then she reached out, pressing two fingers briefly against her ankle, then the arch of her foot. Lucrezia hissed once, then steadied. Even after two weeks, the ache lingered as it seemed she had dislocated a bone while sprinting into the forest.

"Still tender," She murmured, noticing how slow it took to heal. "But the swelling has gone down. You may walk today," she said, then straightened. "I’ve warmed your bath already. By the time you return, breakfast will be ready,"

Lucrezia nodded. "Thank you," She said, and the woman returned the gesture by nodding slightly, before leaving as usual.

A sigh escaped her lips. Lucrezia rose from the bed and slipped into her daily routine—bathing, eating, and keeping herself occupied while focusing on healing as quickly as she could. She couldn’t afford to remain bedridden.

Two weeks were enough to collect her mind, and properly recover, which was why today, she decided to do something different, unwilling to remain idle any longer. After bathing, she dressed and slipped on the shawl the healer had brought, and - after a moment’s hesitation - reached for the door.

It surprised her, how simple the act felt. Two weeks ago, stepping outside had seemed unthinkable. Now, she pushed the door open and let the morning take her.

The air was cool and clean, scented with pine resin and damp earth. After two weeks shrouded in herbs and medicine, Lucrezia had nearly forgotten how the world beyond smelled.

The cottage sat in a small clearing, modest and weathered, smoke curling lazily from its chimney. Beyond it, the forest stretched outward in quiet layers of green, as sunlight broke through the canopy in pale ribbons where a narrow path wound away from the door.

For a while, the memory of her previous ordeal lay dormant, but as her gaze lingered on the trees, it resurfaced without warning. Shadows shifted in her mind, twisting into the shapes of the creatures from her dreams in the forest. They emerged, surging towards her at a speed difficult for ordinary eyes to catch.

Lucrezia’s palms grew slick with sweat, heat blooming across her forehead as the fear returned immediately.

Move, that primal part of her screamed in an urgency that was supposed to haul her feet. Instead, she stood, paralysed, caught in the grip of the memory.

Gradually, her breath became shallow as if the forest might lunge at her once more. Only when a sudden sound cut through the stillness, did she break from her reverie, startled back into the present.

Lucrezia’s heart raced wildly, as she struggled to take in a deep breath. She blinked back the unshed tears, wiping her face quickly and stepping out carefully, posture straight despite the lingering ache. Habit, more than pride.

A soft thrum cut through the stillness and she turned, following the direction it came from. What was that?

Lucrezia’s eyes caught a flicker of movement. It wasn’t the sharp and deliberate type that signified danger, but something measured and repetitive, as though someone were trying to get something right. A pause, a shift, then the faint thrum of impact followed by silence. Practise, and not pursuit, and she hesitated for a moment before moving.

At the edge of the clearing stood a little girl, no more than nine or ten, with her feet planted wide in the grass, and her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. In her hands was a bow clearly too large for her, its wood scuffed and smoothed with use. A small quiver rested at her side, with arrows fletched unevenly but lovingly maintained.

Lucrezia watched as she drew the string back again, arms trembling slightly, and then:

Thrum.

The arrow struck the target—a rough circle painted onto a slab of wood nailed to a tree—with a dull thud, landing just outside the center.

The girl groaned before pouting, "Too far left." And she bent, picking another arrow.

Lucrezia couldn’t help but smile, which touched her lips, and the words that followed suit, "You compensate too early," she said gently, and her eyes widened as she bit her lips the moment she realized.

The girl spun around. Her eyes widened at the sight, clearly not expecting an audience. Though her grip tightened on the bow, she did not raise it.

For a moment, they both stood still. Lucrezia expected her to run. Or perhaps to shout—calling for a parent, or hurling an insult learned too young. That was how it usually went.

In Veximoor, her name had never passed easily from one mouth to another. Witch, they had whispered, as though the word itself might bite. Children had thrown stones, or worse, words sharp with fear they barely understood. She had learned to brace herself for it, to accept that her presence unsettled more than it soothed.

But the girl did neither as she stood her ground, studying Lucrezia with wary curiosity rather than fear. Her fingers still clenched around the bowstring, until after a moment, she tilted her head. "Too early?" the girl repeated slowly, testing the words.

Lucrezia blinked in surprise. She wasn’t expecting anything good or harmless in return, and she cleared her throat softly. "You tense before the release," she said, keeping her voice calm. "If you wait a heartbeat longer, the arrow will fly straighter."

The girl hesitated, then turned back to the target. Lucrezia watched her adjust her stance. She drew the string, those feet planted wide in the grass once more. The bowstring drew back with her tongue caught between her teeth in fierce concentration. Lucrezia couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips at the earnest focus softening the girl’s delicate features, just before she loosed the arrow.

Thrum.

This time, the arrow struck closer to the center. The girl’s face brightened with a mix of triumph and wonder as though she hadn’t truly believed the advice would work—and was delighted it had. She glanced back at Lucrezia, who stood still in awe, with suspicion softened by something new. "You’re... good at this," she remarked.

Lucrezia smiled carefully though faintly. "I’ve had time to learn many things," A few, she thought. Archery was one of the rare things Madelyn taught her.

The mere thought of her brought tears to her eyes.

The girl glanced back at the target, then at Lucrezia again who quickly composed herself. "Show me, then," She added and Lucrezia stilled, clearly taken off guard. "Can you teach me?"

She hesitated for a moment, as her foot reminded her sharply of its limits. She opened her mouth to speak but didn’t know what to say. But still, she nodded, walking towards her.

Lucrezia didn’t take the bow. Instead, she stood beside the girl, adjusting her own posture as a demonstration—straight spine, and relaxed shoulders. "Do not fight the bow," she said, recalling Madelyn’s instruction. "Let it settle. Breathe first. Then draw,"

The girl mimicked her, slowly this time. She drew the string back and held.

"Now," Lucrezia said softly. "Release."

Thrum.

This time, the arrow landed closer, just brushing the inner ring and the girl’s face lit up instantly. "I did it!"

"You did," Lucrezia agreed, failing to keep a straight face and chuckling alongside the girl, who looked at her properly now, gaze traveling from her composed posture to the stitching at the edge of her gown.

"You’re not from here," She noticed. "I haven’t seen you before,"

"No," Lucrezia agreed, feeling naturally open to the girl.

"Are you a lady then?"

Lucrezia smiled, not the polite smile she used out of habit, but something warmer. Lady? She thought, feeling its weight. Once, she had been called the Witch of Veximoor, until her betrothal to the Lord of Dreadwyn, yet the title had always felt borrowed. It belonged to her step-sister. "Yes," she said, inhaling softly. "I am."

The girl considered this, then nodded as though it made perfect sense. "I’m Elia. Miss Eldriselle lets me practice here so I don’t hit anyone’s chickens," She ended with a soft huff.

"A generous allowance," Lucrezia said, biting back a giggle.

"Show me more," Elia said, her eyes bright with determination. "Teach me how to do it better!" She bounced slightly on her feet, bow clutched tightly in her small hands.

Lucrezia hesitated only for a moment, glancing down at her ankle. The ache was still there, yet the thought of teaching the girl made her forget it almost entirely. She nodded, "Very well. Let’s continue."

For the next hour, they moved through the clearing together. Lucrezia guided Elia patiently, correcting her stance, her grip, and the angle of her release. Each time the girl faltered, Lucrezia’s encouragement was soft but firm, and slowly, the arrows flew truer, landing closer and closer to the center of the painted target.

Elia laughed with each success, a sound that made the corners of Lucrezia’s heart ache with something sweet and fleeting. The two were caught in a rhythm—draw, release, adjust, repeat—and for the first time in weeks, Lucrezia felt the heaviness of her worries lift, replaced by focus and a quiet sense of satisfaction.

The sun climbed higher, then began its slow descent, and the forest grew golden with the warmth of evening. Elia groaned dramatically, dropping to her knees with her bow clattering to the grass. "I need to practice,"

Lucrezia smiled, offering her hand to help the girl to her feet. "That is enough for today," she said. "Even the strongest must rest,"

Elia pouted but nodded, letting herself be led toward the cottage. "Tomorrow, we’ll do more, right?"

Before Lucrezia could respond, a calm yet authoritative voice drifted through the clearing. "That’s enough, Elia. You’ll tire the lady,"

They both turned to see Eldris stepping into the clearing, her long cloak brushing the grass. Those stern eyes softened when they landed on Lucrezia for a fleeting moment, "Though I see you’ve made quite the progress."

Elia groaned, lowering her bow reluctantly. "But I wasn’t tired! I could do more!"

"You can," Lucrezia said gently, "but you must learn patience as well as skill," She smiled at the girl naturally, who scowled in mock indignation. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion.

Eldris moved closer, taking the quiver from Elia and inspecting the arrows with meticulous care. "I will check your form tomorrow," She said to the girl, "But today, you rest. Practice will not leave your arm stronger than your mind. I should return you home before your mother looks for you,"

She glanced around at the forest beyond, and for a fleeting moment, her expression darkened, as though recalling dangers unsaid. Lucrezia was quick to catch the look, noticing the subtle tension in the air.

Then she forced a small smile. "Come. Both of you. Time for a proper meal before the sun sets fully,"

The three of them walked back toward the cottage. Elia ran ahead, laughing and skipping lightly over the mossy ground. Lucrezia followed more slowly, feeling the ache in her muscles ease with each step, and Eldris trailed behind, ever watchful.

By the time they reached the cottage, the sun had dipped lower, painting the sky in warm streaks of gold and amber. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and the scent of baked bread and herbs filled the air. Lucrezia’s stomach rumbled, and she smiled faintly.

They settled at the table, and for a moment, there was quiet, filled only by the clinking of utensils and the soft murmur of the forest beyond the windows. Lucrezia allowed herself to lean back slightly in her chair, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease. The ache in her ankle, the memories of the forest, the worry for her mother—all of it seemed slightly lighter here, in this space of warmth and laughter.

Elia nudged her elbow playfully and whispered, "Tomorrow, you’ll teach me again, won’t you?"

Lucrezia met her gaze and a genuine smile finally reached her eyes. "Yes," she said softly. "Tomorrow, we’ll practice again,"

The girl beamed, and even Eldris allowed herself a small, approving nod before saying, "Hurry now so you don’t forget to take your tonic,"

Tonic? Lucrezia glanced at the little girl who nodded at once, and the woman before her. She said nothing and continued her meal.

Silence settled once more. When the meal was finished, Elia pushed back her chair and padded off, calling a cheerful good night over her shoulder before leaving with Eldris, who returned mere moments later.

Lucrezia remained at the table, helping clear the dishes. She had insisted after the woman clearly refused her help. Years spent with Madelyn, who had long learned that her determination did not bend, had made persuading her far easier than expected.

Their movements were easy and practiced, shared without the need for words. When the last plate was set aside, Lucrezia paused, studying Eldris with a thoughtful gaze.

"If you don’t mind me asking," She started carefully. "Is she sick? Elia, I mean. I quite overhead you mention tonic,"

The woman simply hummed in understanding. "Not truly," She responded. "Little Elia has merely been different from the others,"