Page 61 of Fae Tithe

No. I won’t!

She opened and closed her mouth again.

Eleanor turned her head, eyeing the sleeping form of her mother next to her. Swinging her head the other way, terror thundering her heart, she saw Lance sleeping in the chair, head lolled back and mouth open as he snored.

The fiery cord shot down her legs.

In a blur, Eleanor was on her feet, chest heaving in terror, barely able to fill her lungs with enough air. Tears stung her eyes as they freely fell. She opened to her mouth to scream, but only the quietest of whines left her mouth.

A command made her take a step.

Then another.

And a third.

Eleanor’s hand reached for the doorknob.

The Changeling’s head would not turn, her neck now stuck straight, but her gaze darted to Lance. The Merman was snoring loudly in the chair.

Wake up! Eleanor pleaded with her eyes.

Her burning fingers gripped the handle. Opening the creaking door, a blade of light cut into the dark bedroom from the illuminated corridor. Her stomach fluttered with fragile hope as Lance’s snoring stopped.

In her periphery, Eleanor watched as his eyes flickered open, and he yawned loudly. The Merman peered blearily up at her through drooping eyelids, blinking twice before fully snapping awake with a shake of his head.

“El!” Lance cried out, springing to his feet. “Where are you going? What’s wrong?” He gripped her shoulders and peered around her. “Len!”

The High Prince focused his gaze back on Eleanor’s. “Is it the King?”

Yes! Eleanor could not nod her head, but she blinked several times in answer.

From behind, the Changeling heard her mother’s steps.

“What’s happening?” Helena asked, her tone panicked.

“The King,” Lance replied, talking over Eleanor’s shoulder. He snapped his gaze back to her. “I’m going to cast a ward over us. Hopefully it will be enough.”

Eleanor’s eyes tracked his movements. His elbow crooked so he did not brush the ceiling, the High Prince turned his shaking hand upwards. The ward bloomed from his palm, surrounding the three in its protective waters. Helena placed a comforting hand on Eleanor’s shoulder, and she wished she could lean into the touch.

“It’s alright, El,” Helena reassured, “Lance will drive him back again.”

I’m not sure about that. Eleanor studied the ward as it faltered and flickered. Her gaze dropped to the High Prince’s face. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his jaw clenched with effort. He doesn’t look good.

Then, the fiery thread was gone.

She could breathe again. Eleanor filled her constricted lungs. All the fuelling fire from the burning thread had retreated. The Changeling fell back as the foreign propulsion left her legs. Panic flew through Eleanor as she failed to find her feet. Helena’s hands snapped out, catching the Changeling’s upper arms in a bruising grip. Eleanor winced as she steadied herself against Helena.

“I’ve got you. It’s alright,” her mother reassured.

The Changeling let out a sob, her hands trembling with shock. She pressed her forehead into her mother’s cheek. Helena crushed Eleanor into a comforting hug.

“He… he nearly… got me to go back to the Manor,” she heaved, soaking her mother’s shirt with her tears. “He… he… wanted me to travel with him to Archipelago.”

Lance, dropping his arm and dissipating the ward, gave Eleanor’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “He will never get you back, I promise.”

For the following two evenings, after making sure Eleanor was deep asleep and Lance was snoring in the chair, Helena had taken to sitting in the lounge area of the inn, so deep into the night that even the staff had turned in. Sleep evaded her, so to occupy the long nights she read the newspaper, squinting by the oil-lamp light. She missed her spectacles, rubbing her eyes at the strain.

Helena toed off her boots and crossed her legs in the armchair. The newspapers of Solas had far more information from across Seelieland than the thin, paper offerings she bought from the local village back on Majora. She read about the Merchant Guild of Archipelago protesting the extra tariffs forced on them, how the forest faeries of Emerald requested better prices for their produce, and that the miners of Forge, faeries and humans alike, were on strike.