Page 93 of The Knucker King

Wide-eyed, Avice studied – who she assumed to be – the Queen of the Nightly Neighbours. She was beautiful, with russet skin that gleamed under an icy sheen, snow-white hair, and two starshine eyes set into her cherubic face. The Queen’s white bodice accentuated her broad, hour-glass figure, tucked in at her waist and flowing down into a tumbling skirt embroidered with crystals. She appeared weightless, as her bare feet did not sink into the snowfall.

Her perfect lips twitched. “Brave little witch. Smart, too. Calling us from behind the ward of a Sidhe King.”

Avice dipped her head. “The Well King is my friend.” She did not think it hurt to announce that fact. “But tonight, I come to you needing the actions of a Queen.”

She spotted movements: minute, slight, but there, flanking both sides of the monarch. It must have been the rest of her flock, but Avice could not perceive them in the dark despite Ashling’s bright light. His presence, steadfast and supportive, kept her from bolting from the terrible beauty of the Faerie Queen in front of her.

“What is it you want from me and mine?” she asked, straightening her head and focusing down on her.

“There was an assault on the Underneath. They used iron and oil, and something I do not recognise. Perhaps not even from the shores of Albion.”

The Nightly Neighbour jolted at that. “You know ‘Sidhe’, and you know ‘Albion’. Are you sure you are human? You speak old words, words of power.”

Avice nodded. “I am human, one who is a friend to the Good Neighbours. I give them gifts in exchange for favours.”

A sickening grin cut across her face, her needle-teeth flashing in the Wisp light. “So, you seek a bargain?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

She let out a short-sharp laugh. “It has been many, many Winters since we have had a bargain. Tell me what you want us to do, and the price for it.”

She took a deep breath. Courage, Avice, courage. She pulled out the silver blood-stained linen from beneath her cloak. “Do not handle this, it is iron touched.” She tossed it through the ward, and it landed on the snow beside the Queen. “I ask you to find the source of the ingredients used in this poison. I know you cannot touch where iron is made, and I would not ask a Good Neighbour to risk their life. But perhaps the oil? Find where it is being made or kept and destroy it.”

The Queen’s grinned widened. “And what will you give us for this? Pass it to me.”

She unfurled her black, thorn-tipped fingers. Her knuckles grazed the ward, which hissed and spat in response, sizzling her skin. She squealed and tugged away, nursing her burnt hand with the other.

“It did that,” Avice bit, “because you meant to harm me.” She pulled her offering from beneath her cloak. “A Winter wreath, inspired by your beauty.”

She held it high above her head. Ashling’s light exaggerated its glitter, and it sang in honied tones. The Queen lowered her head, squinting at the offering.

One heartbeat.

Then two.

“Done!”

The Queen shrieked into the gloom, and Avice flinched, hot blood pooling in her ears. She shrugged, using her cloaked shoulders to catch and wipe away the oozing crimson. She was instantly distracted from the needling pain by the appearance of a Death Mount.

Avice opened her mouth in a silent scream. The Queen had been terribly beautiful – attractive and dangerous in way that reminded the midwife of blade-sharp icicles – the creature before her made her want to bolt for her pallet and hide beneath the blankets.

It was skeletal, with thin ribbons of flesh draping between its expanding and contracting ribcage. It lowered its half-frozen head to the bandage. It snuffed like a hound at the object. Great puffs of breath froze into snowflakes and joined the blizzard, the very air in its lungs adding to Winter’s tantrum. It rose its head to its mistress, and let out an equine squeal, making Avice recoil again.

The Queen scratched its forehead with her fingers, much like the midwife would Bramble. “Glashtyn has the scent.”

Avice bowed. “Thank you, my Lady.”

She stepped back. With both hands she lobbed the crystal, it sang as it sailed through air, exited the ward, and landed neatly in Queen’s outstretched hand.

She pressed the offering to her chest. “It will be done tonight.”

With that, she – and her terrifying steed – were gone.

Avice dropped to her knees, fumbling for her crystal pendant, and squeezed it between both palms. She panted, unable to catch her breath. She had never been so terrified of a Faerie before, not even in the Underneath. There, she had the knowledge that it was Trewoofe’s home, and it was a sacred place of healing. Here, all she had was the Winter wind and frozen bones.

Ashling hovered in front of her face. “You did it!”

“I—”