Page 22 of Fae Tithe (The Cursed Courts #1)

T he following evening, after their long second day of travel, Helena slowed her horse onto the track that led slightly off the road.

A beige-bricked inn with a thatched roof dominated the tidy space on the riverbank, with wooden stables a short walk from it.

She craned her neck and noticed what appeared to be the top of a canvas tent peeking over the roof of the stables.

Helena turned to Lance, who stopped his horse next to her. “This will do.”

She slipped off the brown gelding in a well-practiced dismount, landing nimbly on her booted feet, her knees slightly bent in her dusty riding leggings. She regretted every second they stopped, knowing it meant delaying the moment her daughter was back in her arms.

She had to stifle a giggle as Lance practically rolled off of his piebald. This time, he managed to land on two feet. At least he is improving.

Helena felt her horse lip her shirt, his velvet muzzle soft through the cotton of her blouse at the back of her neck. She turned to hand the leather reins off to a human stable boy, around twelve, who came running out to greet them.

“Look after them. They have been working hard,” Helena said.

“Will do, Miss.” The boy nodded in response as he turned to take the reins of Lance’s horse with his other hand.

The pair made their way into the roadside inn.

The interior was well-lit, the walls lined with oil lamps, making the room hot.

There was a small smattering of customers at the wooden tables dotted around the room, mostly human and some faeries.

Behind the bar stood a human man, polishing a large silver mug with a cloth.

He had a salt-and-pepper beard and an apron straining over his belly.

Helena headed straight to the bar, her boots tapping on the stone floor, Lance a step behind her.

She nodded her head politely at the barkeep, booked a room for them, and ordered dinner.

“Will be a few. Can I get you something in the meantime?” he responded, gesturing his hand to the draught taps in front of him.

“Not just yet, but tell me please, who is around the back? Are they merchants?” Helena asked.

“That’s right. They set up their bivouacs there for the next few days, selling goods, before heading towards the coast. Plenty back there. If you have a look, dinner will be ready for you two by the time you get back in.” He smiled, scribbling their order on a piece of paper with a charcoal pencil.

“Thank you, sir,” Helena responded. She turned to Lance, who looked as exhausted as she felt. Large, dark circles bagged his eyes. “It won’t take long, okay? Then we will eat and rest.”

“That sounds good.” He smiled weakly. The Merman leant down so his lips were near her ear. “When we get some privacy, I will heal us again,” he whispered.

Helena gripped her lower abdomen. She felt as though a feral animal was chewing at her insides. “Thank you.” She smiled softly back.

She found no reason to don her cloak as she stepped back into the night, as the air was mild. The sun had just set, and she could see the last stain of orange on the purple night sky through the canopy of blossoming trees.

Helena studied the half-circle of merchant bivouacs, bee-lining for the tent that had a needle and thread carved into the wooden sign out the front, illuminated by a floating orb.

There was no door for Helena to knock on, so she shook the hanging charm of bells by the opening before stepping onto the straw-covered floor.

A petite faerie stood in the middle of the tent. She turned to Helena and Lance. The Merman had to stoop so his head did not go through the roof of the canvas tent.

“One moment, my lovelies,” the faerie chimed, her voice making her sound like a young child. Helena watched, rapt, as the merchant weaved her magic.

All around them, garments hovered. Needles and threads made their way in and out of the rainbow of assorted clothing, dozens being created all at once.

The faerie gestured her clawed hands to the floating materials and everything froze mid-stitch.

She turned to Helena and Lance and gave them a toothy smile.

“How can I help?” she asked, inclining her head.

Helena returned the gesture with a nod. She took in the pretty, petite faerie. She had long, straight pink hair and round eyes with rose-coloured irises. She reminded Helena of a house cat, her pupils thin and vertical.

“Your work is very impressive,” she complimented, amazed by the dangling garments dotted around the inside of the tent.

“Thank you, lovely.” The faerie smiled. “I am the Habetrot. This is my magical talent,” she said proudly, waving at the clothing suspended mid-stitch in the air.

“I am after a spare set of clothes for my partner and I, just like the ones we are wearing will be fine. I will also need another two strophium,” Helena explained. “I need them tomorrow… by sunup.”

“I would love to create beautiful clothes for you. I can do this, but there will be a slight rush fee.” She nodded to the garments floating in the tent. “As you can see, I have many orders on my paws right now.”

“Yes that’s—” Before Helena could finish her sentence, a free-flying measuring tape rushed and whipped around her. It wrapped around her waist, broad curves, and then finally took her height.

The diminutive faerie stood next to Helena, only reaching up to her shoulder.

The pointed, fluffy pink ears at the top of her head flicked as though she could hear the measurements being shouted out by the tape.

She quickly scribbled numbers down with her pencil onto a notepad as it whipped around Helena.

The Habetrot turned to Lance. She blinked up at him and her lips quirked upwards at his stooped form. “Outside, you. I cannot take your measurements when you are bent over like that.”

They stepped outside into the mild night air, the measuring tape whipping and circling the width and full height of Lance’s lean body. The Habetrot continued to scribble down more numbers.

“Done!” the faerie chimed, tucking the pencil behind the fluffy left ear on her head. “If you come back at dawn, I will have everything ready for you. Can I help you with anything else?”

Helena had nearly forgotten in her wonderment at the faerie’s magic. “Uh, yes, I need some cotton as well. My… bleed is here.” She flushed. She had stuffed her underwear with her handkerchief, but that was not going to last much longer.

The faerie gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Much more common a request from humans on the road than you think.” She disappeared into the tent and returned with a tall stack of them.

“No charge for this. I will see you at sunup for your travelling clothes and your two strophium.” The Habetrot bowed her head and held out the well-made cotton squares, complete with ribbons to tie them in place.

Helena inclined her head in return, grateful for the items. “Thank you.” She smiled at the faerie before she turned to re-enter her tent. Helena spied a fluffy pink tail peeking out underneath the Habetrot’s floral dress and her smile grew wider.

“Weapons next, Len?” Lance asked, pointing past the other bivouacs.

Helena’s eyes swept over the signs outside the half-circle of canvas tents, following the direction of the Merman’s gesture. An oil lamp illuminated the iconography of a sword and shield carved into the wooden placard. She nodded and they crossed the area together.

Helena’s fingers jingled the bell charm at the entrance into the tent.

A tall, middle-aged human with fighter’s shoulders folded his newspaper as they entered.

Lance perused the choice of daggers hanging on the wooden stand in the middle of the tent.

Helena watched as he picked up one with a blue inlay in its bronze handle.

The bladesmith gave a quick bow of his head in the Merman’s direction. “Like that one, sir?”

Lance looked down before grinning at him.

The seller took in his pointed teeth and black eyes.

His mouth opened and closed as strangled gasp escaped him.

Helena scowled at the bladesmith. She always felt a stab of rage when people reacted to her Merman that way.

Lance clearly was not human, faerie, or Fae.

The reaction of Landfolk, as he called them, to his looks was sometimes cruel.

She saw a brief flash of hurt cross his face before he turned his attention back to the dagger he held.

Lance balanced the blade and hilt on the edge of his hand, before whipping it upwards. It spun several times before he caught it by the hilt with his other hand.

Helena’s mouth gaped open. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Lance smiled down at her, twirling the blade in his fingers, before tossing it behind his back, stepping backward, and catching it in the hand he originally threw it with.

“Well, now you’re just showing off!” Helena chuckled. “Can I see it?”

“Yes, I am, but you know I just love to show off for you.” Lance handed her the blade, handle first.

“Flirt.” She took the weapon.

It felt surprisingly light despite being significantly bigger than her shucking knife. Helena realised she may need a better weapon than the blade she carried in her boot. She rounded on the bladesmith, his expression still fearful.

“How much for three daggers?” she asked, eyeing another two near-identical weapons hanging on the wooden board.

She planned on buying two for Lance, since the Merman had skill with a blade with both hands, and one for her.

The bladesmith closed his gaping mouth and snapped out of his stupor, tearing his eyes from Lance, who was still tossing the dagger and catching it mid-spin from the air.

He gave her a false smile that prickled her and opened his mouth to speak.

Before he could reply, Helena interrupted. “And yes, I will accept a heavy discount for how rude you’ve been to my partner.”

The bladesmith snapped his mouth shut and nodded his head in response.