Page 62 of The Knucker King

She dropped the straps, falling to her knees beside Trewoofe. Ashling was snuggled against his chest, and he had cupped his palms to cradle the Wisp. Avice pressed her fingers to his jugular and watched for the rise and fall of his chest.

A weak flutter.

A ragged breath.

Tears stung her eyes in relief.

“Ashling?” Avice prodded. The Wisp stirred. “How has he been?”

He chirped, flaring his flames.

“Like this all day? I know, I am worried too,” she agreed. “I have some things that may help.”

Her biceps straining with the effort of shifting his heavy weight, Avice rolled Trewoofe onto his back. She inspected his bandages. None of his silver blood had leaked past the wool. Without unwrapping him completely, she placed each singing crystal flush against his skin.

She tugged off her gloves and reached for an abandoned cup on the pallet side. Not wanting to waste the waters she had risked their lives for, she unlaced and submerged the cup into the bag. She slurped at the liquid, storing it in her cheeks. Avice held Trewoofe’s nose, forcing his lips open with a gasp. She lurched forward, covering his mouth with hers, and spilled the water from her into him. Before he could push it out with his tongue, she shoved his mouth closed while rubbing his throat with her other hand.

“Do as you are told and swallow,” she growled.

Elation filled her as he did.

She repeated the process, until a quarter of the healing waters she had collected had been used. Finally, she released him and leant back to examine him. Already, his colour had improved, a blush blooming on his cheeks. She touched his neck, and his pulse thrummed with a steady beat. The breaths he took were less ragged, his chest rising and falling in an even pattern.

Avice gave a satisfied nod and rolled Trewoofe back onto his side, tucking wayward strands of hair back behind his horns. Ashling drifted back up, floating over to the hearth and settling into the coals. Bramble stuck his nose onto the Well King’s cheek, making his muscles twitch in response.

Is he getting better?

“He seems to be,” Avice replied.

She stood, her core muscles screaming with the effort. She rolled her neck and rubbed her strained eyes. After the excitement of the day ebbed, bone-deep exhaustion flooded in. Grime clung to her, and she crinkled her nose as the stench of Tall One wafted up from her shredded cloak.

Time to look after yourself. Wash, change, sleep. She peeled off her clothing and tossed it into the washing basket. She looked at Trewoofe, resting peacefully in the pallet. Tomorrow is a new day, and he may even wake up.

She scrubbed herself clean with a rag and bowl full of healing waters. As she dipped to wipe her belly, she hissed at the throb of pain that radiated there. She looked down at herself. A vivid purple bruise spread from where the Tall One had grabbed her.

Avice? Bramble asked, head popping up from by the hearth.

“I am not decent,” she warned. “I am alright, though. Do not worry.”

If you say so. He settled down again.

She completed her wash, pulled on some stockings, and dropped a fresh chemise over her body. She loosened her bun and raked a wooden comb through her long hair, working out the knots that had tangled during a very long day. Finally refreshed, she collected a bowl and ladle and made her way over to the pallet and hearth.

Ashling had warmed the bone broth while she washed and changed. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, gratefully spooning out the mixture.

She sipped at it. The liquid was perfectly salted and herbed, curing exactly what ailed her. The broth settled easily in her growling stomach. Avice tore some smoked boar from the hearth hooks and tossed it to Bramble and Ashling, who gratefully chomped their portions down.

She settled onto the pallet, wrinkling her nose at the mingling smells of blood, iron, and vomit. Once Trewoofe was up and about, she resolved to change and scrub the stained bedding. She smiled down at the recovering King. He would get better, she knew it. She pressed her palm to his forehead, fingertips brushing his silky hair. Relief flooded her; he felt warm for the first time since she had brought him to her cottage.

Avice reached over him and grasped an ash cake from the plate she had left by his pallet side. It had not been bothered by rats or mice; the absence of vermin pricked her with worry. Where had they all gone? She had not seen a burrowing rabbit or thieving crow for the entire Winter. While many animals were less active during the cold season, they were never absent.

Avice dipped the savoury cake into her broth and then bit. It was not particularly flavoursome, besides its vaguely smoky taste, but it was not made to be delicious. It had been baked for medicine, to absorb any poisons from the body that a patient had consumed.

She chewed thoughtfully, mulling on the Winter, the babies, Trewoofe, and the incident at church. Peter and the Moot clearly ordered the poisoning of the well. She bristled at the memory of Trewoofe crippled at the bottom of the hill. He also attacked me. The muscles in her arm twitched, as though the very flesh on her bones remembered the digging nails. Then there was that noise. She swallowed, dipped, and bit again. It almost reminds me of the crystal’s song in the Underneath, but louder, angrier, and—

Trewoofe mumbled something in his sleep, his eyes moving beneath their lids. As he dreamt, he reached for her and settled his palm on her exposed knee. She froze mid-chew. His skin was so soft against her own. He gripped slightly, those white claws dimpling her flesh. She swallowed, not only the ash cake but the lump of nerves that caught at her throat from his touch.

Avice did not want him to stop.