Page 96 of The Knucker King

“The Cross God followers,” Ashling interjected, landing on his hand. “Once, witches here were honoured members of the community. Now many of them barely tolerate Avice’s presence. They need her, but she is an outcast.”

The door creaked open, snapping their attention to it. Avice swept in, discarding her cloak and her boots, before making her way to the pallet.

She gripped her pendant. “I am sorry. I have been unbearable today…”

Trewoofe studied her while he waited for her to find her words. Her cheeks were rosy, eyes twinkling, her loose hair tangled around her face, and her posture more languid. She also smelt more. More like herself: sweet, floral, and laced with something delicious he could not put his claw on, but it made his mouth water.

She chewed her lip. “I offer it not as an excuse, because there is not one for the way I spoke. But I am scared, my darlings…” Her gaze swept between the three of them. “If this does not work… Well, it must.”

“Forgiven,” Trewoofe purred.

Bramble bounded over to her, presenting his head to be patted. Ashling zoomed around her, a sparking golden trail in his wake. Trewoofe grinned at the scene as he rose from the pallet. Avice had never called him ‘darling’ before and he liked the way it sounded in his ears.

He approached with arms spread wide.

Without hesitation, she barrelled into his hug.

“Oooof!” he grunted, squeezing her tight. “Little witch?”

“Mmmm?”

“What is it you need?” he asked.

She wriggled in his embrace, looking up at him through snarls of her hair. “I need to get ready.”

Trewoofe sat turned away from Avice as she prepared. He amused himself by watching the flames in the hearth dance and scratching Bramble’s head. He wanted to busy his hands, but with all the offerings made and no more linen to sew they were torturously idle.

“Do not look,” she ordered as she stepped into his periphery.

Trewoofe covered his eyes with his hands, but unable to resist the temptation, cracked open his fingers to peek at her. She bent by the hearth in a cloud-white dress and gathered a small bowl of ash.

Avice tossed him a look over her shoulder. “I know you are looking.”

Trewoofe snapped his fingers together. “Sorry!”

She giggled and moved back behind him. He dropped his hands and went back to patting Bramble. The Grim thumped his tail against the floor in response. Trewoofe tapped his foot, dying to know what she was doing. She and Ashling had been fussing behind him for what felt like forever.

“You look perfect!” the Wisp exclaimed.

Trewoofe twitched with anticipation. “Little witch, may I see please?”

Avice giggled. “Yes.”

He jumped up, cracking his horns on the ceiling. “Ouch!”

“Lord! Are you well?” Avice asked, dashing over.

He saw double for a moment before he was able to focus down on her.

Bramble butted his hand. Lord?

His breath was stolen at the sight of her.

Her raven hair was up. Braided in a crown around her head and interwoven with his flowers. Trewoofe had wondered why she needed ash, and his question was answered. She had circled it around her big brown eyes. The soot had not stuck to her raised scar. It was striking, like a shooting star streaking across the sky.

His gaze dipped.

Thin, white ribbons held her gauzy white dress in place, secured by simple knots on the curves of her collar bones where the little inked leaves trailed over her shoulders and down her back. He ground his fangs, longing to bite through the little ribbons that tickled her skin. He swelled with pride as he saw his gifted pendant remained, the purple crystal glinting in the flickering firelight.