Page 73 of The Knucker King

A streak of red shot out of the dark green and landed on Avice’s knee with a thud. The Queen’s hooves dug through her skirts as she leant forward to examine the youth. The injured Faerie reached to hold the hand of her elder, their fingers interlacing in a way that made Avice’s heart melt. The Queen tilted her head up and let out a caw.

“I found her out in the storm,” Avice explained, shivering. “It looks like another Good Neighbour tried to mark her and steal her.”

The Queen stomped her foot and squawked in response.

Avice rose an eyebrow at her. “Folk? Not a Good Neighbour. You think a wild Faerie did this?”

The Pillywiggin bobbed her head in response as she lifted the daughter from the swaddle. Avice stopped her and tore off a strip of cloth to wrap the injured Faerie in. She watched as the Queen dressed the youth and gasped as the scrap of cloth shimmered into a warm cloak. The Queen jumped down from the midwife’s lap and turned to the holly bushes with the youth in her arms.

“Why would Folk do this?” Avice asked.

The Pillywiggin looked back over her shoulder and shrugged. The midwife huffed, of course she did not know, no one seemed to know much about the Folk.

Avice rose stiffly. “If your flock is out looking for her, call them back, the storm is getting worse.”

The Queen flicked her insect eyes from Avice to the sky, opened her needle-toothed mouth, and screamed. The call pierced the air. Avice’s hands flew up to her ears, in a useless attempt to protect them, as blood oozed out.

Swarms of red Faeries landed on the ground with repetitive thumps. Each Pillywiggin carefully checked the youth, pressing a claw to her chest; a flare of sparking blue passed from the healthy Faeries to the injured one. Despite the chill, Avice softly smiled at the tender moment. She lingered, watching the flock usher the youth into the bushes.

Avice! Bramble called. He stood by the locked door, a pile of branches by his massive paws.

“Coming!” She turned away from the chittering bushes and made her way up the garden path.

28

Chapter 28

Trewoofe

If Trewoofe still had his tail, he would be lashing it with delight at the result of his human lessons.

Ashling had proven to be an excellent tutor. The Wisp had guided him through a variety of tasks: rehanging the herbs he had torn from the beams with his horns, changing the bedding on the pallet, opening the shutters to air out the cottage, adding water and smoked meat to the broth, washing bowls, and sewing himself some clothes to wear from the ruined cloak and a spare chemise.

Now, as he sat on the pallet, the Wisp perched on his horn as he wove tiny flower crowns. Offerings Ashling had explained, for the Faeries who would sing their magic for Avice when she danced at Spring Equinox. It was a special ritual she undertook to bless the woods and fields, to make both more fruitful in the season of creation. All the Gardener women had done it, and it had meant that the villagers of Lamorna never suffered with famine as Spring had been blessed by the witches every turn of seasons. Trewoofe had taken well to the needlework and floral jewellery making. Even in his Knucker body, his forepaws were thumbed and dextrous, and his clawed human hands were even more nimble.

Trewoofe glanced at the locked door. He hoped Avice would be home soon, that she would be happy to see him awake, and even more delighted he had tried to ease her burdens. He daydreamed she may even relax against him on the pallet, safe and warm in his arms that night. He examined the diminutive flower crown in his hand; hundreds of tiny red blooms each kissed with dozens of soft petals. Its scent was subtle but pleasant, and Trewoofe thought it would look fine on the head of a Cap or Knocker.

He held it up for Ashling to inspect; each and every one had to be approved by the Wisp before it could pass Avice’s final inspection.

“Lovely!” the blue Faerie chimed. “It would look fetching on a Cap.”

“Thank you.” Trewoofe looked up, trying to spy the Wisp on his horn. “My thoughts exactly.” He dropped the crown in the overflowing basket of offerings.

“How are you feeling, Lord?”

Trewoofe patted himself, feeling the humming crystals through his bandages and tunic. He turned up his sleeves, checking the wraps on his arms. The combination of Avice’s treatments – the stitches, bandages, herbs, crystals, healing waters, and nourishing food – meant he was recovering well, despite the odd tug of a suture and dull throb of pain. After being so ill from the iron poisoning, he never expected to feel himself again.

“Fine.” He grinned. “A little hungry, but as you said, I will wait for Avice to come home before we eat. I look forward to sharing a meal with her.”

“I am sure she will—”

Their attention snapped to the clunk of the lock on the door.

Trewoofe’s heart picked up into a gallop.

Like some wild Winter goddess, Avice swept in, dropping her medical bag and a bolt of purple cloth by the door. Her cloak glinted with ice, and her breath misted into the air. Her hood was up, hiding her face, and she had not spotted him yet. Trewoofe tensed at the smears of dried blood – human and Faerie – on her gloves. She turned away from him and ran her hand over the tidied table. Her head tilted upwards, to the rehung herbs, and dropped back to the tabletop. She paused for a heartbeat before she finally spun on her heel to face him.

“Trewoofe!” she squeaked.