Page 3 of Fae Tithe (The Cursed Courts #1)

The city streets bustled with humans and faeries of all kinds.

Seagulls squawked overhead, accenting the limestone buildings and oil-lamp posts as they perched their fat gleaming bodies and snapped bright red beaks.

Eleanor dodged a shop door as it flew open.

A faerie with a dog nose and paw-like hands held a broom to sweep out the dust from the entrance.

It’s like the city is waking up, Eleanor mused.

Shutters flew open as they navigated the city. Vendors pushed their wooden wheeled carts up and down the sides of the sandstone cobbled streets. Heavy horses clomped down the centre of the lanes, hauling crates unloaded from the merchant ships of the port.

The mother and daughter worked their way through the crowded, hovelled outer lanes until they reached the quiet, clean streets of middle-class Portson.

The terraced houses featured neat little gardens, peppered with flowers and sparkling whitewashed walls, difficult to keep clean in a city that suffered often from salt-stained fog.

The mother and daughter finally arrived at the iron gates of the school. Both were sweaty, dirty, and slightly sunburnt on their faces from their long ride. A gruff gatekeeper stood at the entrance of the school grounds, blocking their entry as he ran his eyes over their paperwork.

Eleanor felt the tension rising in her shoulders. She eyed her mother as Helena clenched her jaw. I have been coming here for five years. They still act like I don’t belong. No wonder Mum is so pissed off. Eleanor instinctively laid a hand on her mother’s arm.

“Well. I suppose this all seems… fine.” The gatekeeper finally relented, nodding the mother and daughter into the grounds.

Helena took the papers from the gatekeeper’s grubby hand. “Thank you,” she said curtly through clenched teeth. “Let’s go, El.”

Eleanor shouldered her bag and linked her arm through her mother’s.

They headed up the neat gravel path, the pebbles scrunching beneath their boots, making their way to a grand limestone building with a polished wrap-around veranda of mosaiced tiles.

Helena knocked on the dignified wooden door.

It creaked open and the mother and daughter were met by a prim teacher in a neat uniform.

The young woman gave the impression of a proper Portson lady in her long skirt and button down.

There was, however, a warmth to the teacher’s brown eyes when she laid them on Eleanor.

“Oh! El!” she said excitedly. “Please come in. Your room is all ready for you.”

The young woman stood back, widening the door and ushering them inside, before being called away by another parent and child pair.

“Thanks, Miss Taylor!” Eleanor called after the teacher.

The teenager swung around and threw her arms around her mother’s neck. She squeezed her tight. Helena crushed her daughter back in response. Eleanor eventually broke the hug and picked up the bags that had dropped to the floor in the embrace.

“You don’t want me to walk you to your room?” Helena asked. “I have to settle up for the year anyway.” She patted the money bag woven into her riding leggings.

“It’s okay, Mum. It’s too sad when it’s too long a goodbye.” Eleanor sniffed, her eyes silvering with tears.

“Right as always.” A single tear escaped down Helena’s cheek, before she blinked the rest away. “I love you and I’m so proud.”

“I love you too.” Eleanor headed up the polished wooden staircase. She did not look back once.

Helena did not tear her eyes away until Eleanor climbed the steps and rounded the corner to her bedroom.

She eyed the crisp uniforms of the passing schoolgirls and teachers, making the grime that clung to her body feel thicker.

Her wrinkled clothes itched against her sweaty skin.

She noted the patches on her overcoat, repaired and mended until there was scarcely any of the original material left.

Next year. She blinked down at her coat. No more school fees, then I can afford to replace some of my older clothes.

Helena caught a whiff of herself. She smelt of stale sweat and pony.

It was all she could do not to shrink back into herself with shame.

She shifted with discomfort, suddenly very aware of the crescents of dirt under her fingernails and the way her mud-caked boots scuffed against the pristine floor as she made her way over to the reception desk.

Helena noted that no one was there, so she picked up and rang the small silver bell there before carefully returning it.

She took in the detailed portrait of the King while she lingered, waiting for someone to appear so she could pay her daughter’s school fees.

Well, he is pretty, Helena mused, drinking in the details of the ruler of the Seelie Court.

The oil painting showed a tall, lean figure with broad shoulders and a slim waist. The King’s face was alabaster white and perfectly symmetrical.

It featured rose-coloured lips and highly angled cheekbones.

His head was kissed and framed by platinum blonde curls.

An ornate crown was placed on top. Helena squinted, having left her spectacles at home.

She could just make out the tips of pale pointed ears through the immaculate waves.

“Magnificent, isn’t he, Our Grace?” The familiar crone voice of the Headmistress interrupted Helena’s inspection of the portrait.

She ground her teeth and cringed inwardly at the sound.

“Sure,” Helena replied in a bland way. She didn’t feel particularly one way or another about the King, and she certainly held no love for the Fae.

“I have been waiting,” she explained, “so that I can settle up for the year.” She pulled the money bag from its hidden spot in her leggings.

It was stuffed full of golden Seels and silver Sels. Helena noted, as usual, the older woman always appeared when it was time for money to change hands.

“Ah. Yes, of course. You are always so punctual with fee payment. It’s also Miss Neycur’s graduation year, very exciting for her,” the Headmistress replied, holding out a frail hand.

Helena gently placed the coin filled cloth into the receiving hand of the older woman, who carefully hefted it in her grasp before accepting it and tucking it into her long, full skirt.

“We will be visiting Eleanor at the Spring Equinox festival. Expect me then,” Helena said, before turning on her booted heel and leaving.

Helena sighed as she stepped down from the stone veranda.

Her heart hammered and sweat beaded on her upper lip.

The feeling of inferiority squeezed at her lungs.

Whenever she came to Eleanor’s finishing school, delivering her daughter each school term, she was reminded, painfully, that she was not educated past the age of twelve.

Helena’s own parents had not sent her to upper education, instead opting to keep her home and find her a marriage match.

Get a hold of yourself, she chided internally. Eleanor is fine here, you know that. Every time you leave her, you can’t breathe, but this is for her.

Helena took several deep breaths, attempting to calm her racing heart.

The flowering blooms from the school’s immaculate gardens acted as a balm to her anxiety.

She stood for several minutes as the panic left and weariness began to chew at her bones.

Helena began the trudge back down the gravel path and out of the iron gate.

Her heart ached as she wound her way back through the rabbit warren that was Portson.

She limped her way, stiff and saddle-sore, from the middle-class lanes to the working-class slums on the outer reaches of the city.

She spotted beggars sitting on the corners, hands extended to passers-by.

She paused for a moment to give a small silver coin to a young human mother and toddler before continuing her trudge.

People should not have to live this way, Helena ruminated.

The anxiety and heartache of the separation from her daughter eased slightly when she thought she would be returning in a little over a month to see her.

Helena also allowed herself a little excitement at the thought that he might even be waiting for her when she returned home to the Clusters.

Helena collected the ponies and dog from the public stables.

She gave the boarding fee to the stable manager.

He was a small, stooped human whose lips turned upwards at receiving the Sel.

Helena took in his wrinkled face and thin grey hair. He should be sat in the sunshine, beer in his hand, with his family. Not working here.

“Thank you, sir.” Helena pressed an extra silver coin in his hand. “That’s for you. Buy yourself something nice after work.”

She mounted Bun, wincing as she lowered herself into the saddle.

Helena’s legs screamed in protest as she found her seat.

Ash was already tied to Bun’s saddle, with Helena’s day bag strapped to him.

Biscuit was at attention, ready to trot loyally behind.

He cocked his head at Helena and pricked his floppy ears.

She smiled fondly down at the dog. “Let’s go home.”