Page 35 of The Knucker King

Avice swallowed her bite. “Very. Would you like to try?”

The midwife held out a trencher, piled high with pickles. He reached out with his tongue, wrapped it around the offering, and chomped it back in one bite. Avice quivered as it brushed against her bare palm, leaving a pool of hot saliva against her skin. She remembered the feel of him against her wrist, temple, and of course, where it had explored during her dream.

Her cheeks grew hot, and she turned her face from him.

“Urgh… what is that?” he asked.

“What is what?”

She burst into a fit of giggles at his expression. His lips were peeled back, bright pink gums exposed, as he flicked his tongue in and out of his mouth.

“Pickled vegetables?” Avice offered, still chuckling.

Trewoofe wrinkled the end of his snout. “I prefer meat, or the sweets you bring me. I do not think I like vegetables or pickles,” he announced, flicking his tongue out a final time.

The midwife wiped the tears from her face. She marvelled at how much better she felt after some food and a belly laugh. The shadows of her panic in the cellar were finally gone.

“I do not have much honey left and I do not think I have eaten meat since Summer,” Avice explained. “I mostly eat mushrooms, vegetables, and fruit. Whatever my garden and the woods provide.”

“I do not mind fruit, but the rest is not to my tastes.” Trewoofe wrinkled his muzzle again. “I must hunt soon. I do not need to eat often, but when I do, it is animals from the forest. I will bring you some of my next kill.”

Avice brightened at the thought of meat stew, jerky, and bone broth. She practically drooled at the thought of what she could cook with some deer or boar.

“That would be wonderful, thank you!”

“It is not a problem. I share with the Wulver too. Good Neighbours do not need to eat often but the Wulver do more than most.”

“That is kind of you,” Avice complimented.

She scooted closer to him and rested her shoulder on his bicep.

“When I agreed to let them come and live in my Kingdom, I became responsible for them,” Trewoofe explained.

“I suppose that makes sense, but still. It is kind, like you were to me in the cellar. Thank you, your voice helped.” Avice looked up to meet his eyes, they were soft and questioning.

“You were very brave down there,” the Knucker stated. “You seem better now…” He paused for a moment, as though he were choosing his words carefully. “Would you care to share what happened to you? Why are you so scared of being underground?”

Avice bristled against him. Part of her wanted to tell him it was none of his concern. That it was rude of him to ask. The other half of her knew that he had been steadfast, helpful, and kind. Trewoofe was not a man. He probably had no concept of being ruined, of having a so-called ‘precious virginity’ stolen, of no longer being chaste, of being unwed after being ‘bedded’.

Avice opened her mouth and snapped it shut again.

“You do not have to tell me.”

“No, I want to. It is just hard to find the words.”

Avice! Are you alright? Bramble called from the other side of the garden.

She smiled as Ashling and a small Pillywiggin landed on his fluffy head. “Yes, I am!” She waved them off. “Go back to playing!”

She watched as the Faeries continued to flit around: tagging, chirping, and hiding in a game that she did not understand. Avice tilted her head up to Trewoofe, who watched her closely, waiting for her to speak.

“I was not born in Lamorna. My mother is from Saint Buryan. It is a long day’s walk from here,” Avice began. “My father died when I was a baby. My mother never remarried and I was her only child. She worked for the tavern owner. It was enough to get by, along with the herbal treatments she grew and sold.”

“Ah, so witching in your family was not unique to yourself and Agnes?”

“My mother was a very good apothecary, and she taught me a lot.” Avice nodded. “When I was just old enough, but still a child, I started working in the tavern too. I did not like the way the master of the place stared at me. His name was Mister Inman. He leered at me, and the older I got, the more I felt his eyes on me.”

She swallowed; her throat was thick, like she had swallowed a mouth full of sand. Trewoofe flexed his talons, the points cracking the frost.