Page 28 of Fae Tithe (The Cursed Courts #1)

H elena made out the skinny, cloaked figure in the dim lamplight of the lane. She and Lance approached the young man. He threw back his hood and raised his gloved hands in mock surrender.

“This is not the time for jokes,” the Merman warned, a line deepening between his dark eyebrows.

“Okay, okay.” Declan smirked, quickly dropping his hands.

“We have a small amount of time to get you in and out. The Seelie Court has temporarily left for a celebration. The Manor Guards are…sick. The kitchen faeries did well spiking their meals on such short notice. It will wear off soon. The plan is, once I get you through the gardens and into the building, I’ll hand you over to the next person.

They know exactly where your daughter’s bedroom is. ”

“How do you know all of this?” Helena asked.

Declan cocked his eyebrow at her. “My network is large, Mrs Neycur. They see and hear a lot, reporting back to me. You may not believe it, but I feel sorry for the staff at the manor, indentured to the Fae… after all, I have been hurt by them too.” He tugged up the sleeve of his shirt and tore off the blackened, soaked gauze wrapping his forearm, revealing an inflamed wound leaking black ink.

Helena sucked air through her teeth. “What happened to you?”

“When my Seelie father tried to force me into a bargain, to wear a bracelet, I wouldn’t agree—”

Lance, brow furrowed, clicked his tongue. “Do Bargain Bracelets only work when the Landfolk wearing them agree to it?”

Declan nodded. “That’s right. And this…” He shook his exposed arm.

“…is over ten years old. It was supposed to be a tattoo, which doesn’t have to be agreed on.

The ink is woven with a compulsion spell.

I managed to kill the Fae tattooist, who was under orders from my father, and then I ran away.

” His throat bobbed. “It still feels the same as when it first happened… it hurts, it burns, every single day, reminding of me of how they treat people.” He tugged his sleeve back down.

Helena closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, a crushing ache of the unknown weighing on her.

What choice do I have? We missed the opening when the Seelie Court left…

I suppose we could wait until they come back.

But then, if what Simon said is true… they will be moving the girls soon, and El could be one of them.

This is madness! I can’t believe I’m trusting two men barely out of their teenage years and a bunch of pissed-off faeries with this.

What do I do? Sometimes the only thing you can do is…

the next right thing. Is this the next right thing?

“Len…” Lance squeezed her shoulder gently. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, dropping her hand and looking up at him. “I’m okay.” She nodded to the Merman before turning to Declan. “Now or never.”

“Well said,” Declan replied, tucking his hood back over his head and leading the way.

Helena and Lance followed the young man through silent streets, dimly illuminated by oil-fuelled streetlamps. The only sound was their boots tapping on the cobblestones.

On their walk over to Tithe Manor, in hushed tones, Declan explained that the protection ward in place around the grounds was impenetrable, but only when the padlocks at each of the four gates were physically locked.

The protection ward had been woven into the materials themselves, making them indestructible.

Helena nudged Lance. “You were right about the ward.” The Merman nodded, standing a little taller at the acknowledgement.

Declan had organised for a faerie servant to leave the gate unlocked, the padlock hanging loosely on the deadbolt.

He simply opened the gate and stepped through.

Helena stood at the open gate, eyeing it with suspicion, a creeping hesitation settling across her mind.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her thundering heart.

Lance placed a hand on the small of her back, rubbing a circle. “I’m with you, when you’re ready.”

It snapped her out of her doubts. Looking straight ahead, she gave a firm nod. “Let’s get this done.” Helena stepped through.

Declan led them, moving carefully through the gardens.

He guided them away from the black gravel pathways and trod lightly across the immaculate lawns instead.

Helena immediately understood why: the gravel would be too loud in the eerily quiet night.

Lance brought up the rear, towering over the other two.

A loud clatter from the direction of the manor made the group freeze in the shadow of a red-rosed briar.

The building was faintly illuminated by floating lights, and Helena squinted through the darkness at the source of the noise. She could see a figure curled over the garden, the sound of retching meeting her ears.

“I tide-damn swear, Declan. If this is some sort of trick, I will drown you,” Lance hissed.

“No tricks. He’s clearly vomiting,” the young man whispered savagely. “This is a good sign. The Seelie Court is gone, for now, and the Manor Guards are sick… just like I said they would be.”

Helena let out a long sigh. “Be quiet, both of you. Declan, take us to where we are meeting this next person.”

The group circumvented Tithe Manor, not getting too close until they reached the entrance they were taking into its foreboding presence. Declan steered them down a grey-stone staircase, taking them below ground level until they reached a solid wooden door at the bottom.

“The kitchen,” Declan breathed. “She will meet you in there and take you the rest of the way to your daughter.”

Helena, not daring to respond, nodded to show that she understood.

Quickly, she pushed open the heavy door, just a crack.

Emboldened, she swung it a little wider, enough to slip through.

A loud creak had her grimacing as she stepped over the threshold onto the neatly polished tiles. Lance squeezed through behind her.

The kitchen itself was huge. The floor space was at least three times the size of their villa. It was sparkling clean and clearly well-organised. Drying herbs and garlic hung from mahogany beams that criss-crossed the high white ceiling. The whole area was dimly lit by warm, floating orbs of light.

Helena squinted through the gloom, her attention grabbed by a tall, thin figure. She was dressed in a full red skirt, her hair covered by a matching red scarf. The woman made her way over to the pair, completely silent as she did so.

Lance placed a hand on Helena’s shoulder and took a step forward. “That must be the next person, the one Declan said would meet us,” he murmured.

The red-skirted woman stopped three strides from the couple. “Come. I will take you to your daughter’s room. I will not show you the way back. You must remember the path we take to leave again.”

Helena nodded in agreement. “Thank you for helping us. This means more than you can possibly know.”

The woman looked down at her feet. “Three Tithes I have seen. Three Tithes I have been Governess. Not once has a parent come for their daughter. This is sad work I am indentured to do here at the manor, bound by a bargain. It is for selfish reasons I aid you, as it is mainly to ease my guilt. I promised myself a long time ago that if someone came for their child, I would help them.”

“Three Tithes?” Lance asked.

“My kind live a very long time, Merman,” the Governess replied, smoothing her skirt.

Lance cocked a puzzled look down to Helena, who shrugged in response.

“Please take us to my daughter.”

“I will. I have been tutoring her, Mrs Neycur. Eleanor is brilliant and truly a credit to you.” Without another word, the Governess turned, her skirt swirling as she spun.

Helena felt her face flush warmly at the compliment, but said nothing as she followed the silent woman, with Lance falling in behind her.

They made their way up a set of stone stairs, dimly lit by more floating orbs.

Back at ground level, the trio then climbed their way up a second, third, and fourth set of servant’s stairs, spiralling upwards all the way.

They emerged into a dimly lit corridor, Helena’s boots landing silently on the red plush carpet. She glanced from side to side. More floating orbs lined the hallway, alternating between detailed portraits of beautiful Fae nestled amongst the scarlet-and-gold-leaf wallpaper.

Helena squinted down the hallway into the dim light. She could vaguely make out rows of doors on either side of the corridor’s walls, bronzed doorknobs glinting in the orb light.

“At the very end, before the hallway splits into left and right, it is the last door on the left,” the Governess’ voice whispered into Helena’s ear.

She turned her head up to meet the woman’s face, but she was already gone. Helena glanced down the hallway again and she saw the flash of a red skirt whip to the left at the opposite end of the corridor. Her eyes widened in shock at the speed. She then looked up to Lance and gently nodded her head.

They made their way down the opulent passageway, their boots silent on the thick wall-to-wall carpet.

Her pulse roared in her ears, loud and steady like festival drums. Her chest rose and fell in quick bursts as they approached.

A few steps away from Eleanor’s door, Helena heard a stifled scream and heavy footsteps.

Lance’s eyes met her own and widened. “Quickly!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Helena saw the silhouettes of seven bodies appear from the corner where the Governess had disappeared. One of the towering figures held a smaller body crushed against their chest.

“GET THEM!” one of the seven shouted.

Helena surged forward, reaching out. Her fingertips grazed the Dragon-head doorknob of Eleanor’s bedroom. She was wrenched away from it with an inhuman strength, and something snapped within her.

“El!” Heat surged through her veins, setting every nerve alight. Her limbs trembled, not with fear, but with venomous rage. “NO!”

Helena yanked the dagger from her belt in one swift motion.

She drove the blade up beneath the Manor Guard’s golden gauntlet, straight into the soft gap at his elbow.

He roared, reeling back, gold spilling between his fingers.

The Fae swept down to grapple Helena again, and she fought back like a feral cat.

She spat, bit, and scratched. The moves drilled into her by the old Satyr soldier snapped into place like muscle memory.

Helena sprang up and slammed her fist into his nose.

Cartilage crunched beneath her knuckles.

Gold blood spurted from his face, splashing across the polished curve of his breastplate.

He stumbled backwards, slumping into the wallpaper.

Helena raised her dagger. She slammed it down into his throat.

Bone crunched. He gurgled, choking on his own blood.

The guard collapsed beside the Governess, her throat slashed and her body crumpled.

The tang of sea salt hit Helena’s nose. A soaked guard hurtled past and smashed into the wall, Lance’s magic rippling in the air behind him. She did not hesitate. Her blade flashed across the second Fae’s throat, coating the weapon in gold.

She heard a third body drop with a heavy thud. “Three down! Four to go!” Lance shouted from behind her.

The pulse of his magic saturated the air. She tasted sea salt on her tongue as she turned on her heel, dagger ready. A hand grappled her from behind, grabbing and twisting her wrist. Agony drove up her arm, forcing her to drop the dagger.

“Get the fuck off me!” Helena spat.

Flailing, pulling, kicking, the guard still tightened his grip. He glared down at her before brandishing a blade to her throat. The Fae spun them around, and panic hammered her heart into a frenzy. Helena gritted her teeth as her gaze met Lance’s, a flush of shame on her face at her capture.

She watched as Lance gripped his remaining dagger, the other embedded in a dead Fae on the carpet, panic etched on his face. The Merman’s chest rose and fell heavily as Helena was crushed to the breastplate of the guard. Drowned by his towering frame, she strained against his iron grip.

“Faedammit, let me go!” she hissed.

He scoffed down at Helena, nicking her skin with the edge of his blade, pain blooming over her as she grimaced.

“Drop your weapon!” he shouted at the Merman.

Helena’s eyes prickled with tears. “Lance, no!” Agony erupted from her neck as the Fae yanked her head back and made the cut wider.

With her head wrenched back, she heard the dull thud of the Merman’s dagger hitting the carpet. The Fae released her hair, dropping her head.

Helena met Lance’s terrified face, his hands up in surrender, eyes welling with fear.