Page 94 of The Knucker King

Tears blurred her vision.

The Wisp bobbed. “Avice?”

“I—” She choked. “I can hear you, and you sound like the sweetest song.”

Ashling blazed, bright and golden, bathing her frosted skin in his light. She released her pendant and offered him her cupped palms. He landed softly, and she brought him to her chest, close to her galloping heart.

“We should go inside. You will catch your death out here.”

Avice mumbled her agreement, still bewildered by all that had occurred. Her knees creaked in protest as she stood. She shuffled down the garden path. Slipping silently back into the warmth of her home, her sleeping King and familiar were none the wiser.

36

Chapter 36

Avice

The day of the Equinox ritual came. Avice was a whirlwind of nerves, and Trewoofe was underfoot. She was in a feral mood. The rising tide of her anxiety over their situation finally reached her mouth and she felt as if she was drowning: the raging storm, the fracturing ward, their dwindling food supplies, her seething anger at the church and Father Peter, the betrayal from John, the marked offspring of Faerie and human alike, and finally, the suffocating pressure of making sure she brought forth Spring that night. Avice had only ever danced to bless the woods and fields to make them more fecund. Never before had she attempted to summon the season itself, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

She had spent all day snapping at her boys – like a cornered, wounded animal – until the King finally bit back.

“Why are you talking to me like this?” he growled, side-stepping her relentless pacing.

“Because. You. Are. In. The. Way.”

She was hot – too hot – and the cottage was cramped. The four of them had been stuffed inside for days in the dark. She needed space and she needed to breathe.

“You usually speak kindly to me.” He pouted.

Avice was ready to tear her hair out. “Lord! This is important, everything must be perfect for twilight.” She glanced towards the shutters. Not like I can even tell when that will be.

A line appeared between his brows. “Why?”

“Because I said so,” she barked.

Bramble flattened his ears against his head. Avice, we do not even know if the Faeries will come.

“Do you think I do not know that!” she exclaimed, tossing her hands in the air. “What if this is a complete waste of time? What if the Good Neighbours of the woods are frozen stiff? What if Nell, John, everyone… What if they have all starved to death? What if our ward collapses and buries us under the blizzard?”

“Avice—”

“No, Ashling.” She ground her teeth. “What if this does not work and we all die.”

Trewoofe stepped over to her and caught her wrists, running his thumbs over the velvet rise of her delicate veins.

“Little witch,” he spoke firmly, his tone that of a King. “I do not know the details of this ritual. I see you are worried, but apart from helping you with the offerings…” – he nodded to the overflowing baskets by the door – “you have not told me what you need. Tell me what you need, and your wish will be my command.”

She opened her mouth and snapped it shut.

“This ritual…” He lowered their arms, his thumbs still soothing her pulsing wrists. “From what have you mentioned, it is to make the woods and fields more fertile for this turn of seasons?”

She nodded, all her focus on the points where he stroked her. The softness was startling. Tingles shot up the pearlescent scar on her arm and heat pooled between her legs. She bit her lip; chin tucked to her chest.

“So, what do you need?” he asked.

“A moment. I need a moment,” she croaked.

Avice tugged herself from his grip – she needed to breathe – her anxiety and sparking desire mingling in a way that made her desperate for a release she could not explain. She bit her tongue to stop herself from asking Trewoofe to stroke somewhere else. She burnt at the lewdness of her unspoken words. She darted to the door and shoved on her cloak and boots.