Page 34 of Fae Tithe (The Cursed Courts #1)

H elena settled onto the bed next to her daughter. Her eyes had barely shut before they opened again. Eleanor had jolted awake, whimpering.

Helena blinked away her drowsiness. “El? What is it?”

All lethargy left Helena when she saw Eleanor digging her fingernails into her flawless skin, alternating between her chest and forehead. A panicked look danced in her daughter’s eyes.

Helena shifted from her reclined positioned and sat up, back against the wall. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Eleanor met her gaze. “The King… he’ll never let me go.”

“But… Lance.” Helena turned her head to the Merman’s sleeping form. The High Prince’s head lolled back onto the chair, his mouth open as he snored. “You’re under his protection,” she whispered.

“He said, the moment Lance goes back to the sea, he’ll come for me.

” Eleanor tapped her chest and then forehead with her finger.

“Rian did something to me when we first met, so he can talk to me in my head, in my nightmares. He pulls me to him, Mum, and I don’t know how long I can fight it for.

I think he could even use it to find me.

” Eleanor’s eyelids dropped, her head bobbing.

“I’m so tired, but he won’t leave me alone… what am I going to do?”

Helena swallowed. She patted her own shoulder, inviting her daughter to rest her head.

Eleanor leant her temple there, relaxing into her mother.

“Sometimes, the only thing we can do is the next right thing, and for all of us… that’s to try and rest before we leave this Faedamn city,” Helena reassured.

“But… what about the King?” Eleanor mumbled sleepily against her shirt.

Yes, what about the King? Helena squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw. “One way or another, I will deal with it. I promise.”

Her daughter murmured something into the sweep of her neck, gentle breaths tickling her skin. Helena blinked back tears as she let Eleanor settle back into sleep. Her heart rate galloped, chest rising and falling in panicked breaths.

I won’t let what happened to me, happen to her. Helena squeezed back the tears that threatened to fall. She doesn’t belong to anyone but herself. She has hopes, dreams, and she needs to have the chance to make them come true.

She shifted from underneath Eleanor, slowly lowering the Changeling’s head to a pillow.

Helena gritted her teeth when her daughter mumbled and scratched at her chest before rolling over.

She scooted forward on the bed and planted her feet on the rug.

Helena put her head between her knees, biting back a sob.

Get it together. Concentrate. Breathe. El needs you to figure this out. You can’t let him take her back. If having a High Prince protect her isn’t enough to keep her safe from the King… what is? She breathed deeply in and out, slowing her panicked pulse.

She sat back up. Helena rubbed the bridge of her nose before palming her sore, red eyes. The events of the past week whirled through her mind. She had learnt more about the King and the Seelie Lords in a just a few hours then she had in her entire lifetime.

Helena flicked through ideas. If we left Seelieland…

no, El said he might be able to find her through whatever he did to her.

Lance could threaten to break that treaty he talked about…

no, that didn’t work the first time. Threatening war?

Lance would do that for us, I know, but the thought of innocent Seafolk getting caught in the middle…

it’s so wrong. El also said that the King is pulling her to him, so maybe, eventually, she will have to go back to him anyway.

Helena’s swirling thoughts landed on the two young men tied to Bright Sun Inn and each other, Simon and Declan. There was something there. It was an itch in her mind she could not quite scratch.

Simon mentioned that Declan was planning something big.

Something that could change everything. Helena removed her face from the palm of her bloody hands.

I need to talk to Simon. She looked down at her red-stained blouse and ripped leggings.

I’ll scare him half to death if I speak to him like this.

She slipped off the bed, her feet landing quietly on the rug.

Helena tiptoed over to her clothing bag.

She pulled out the garments she had bought from the Habetrot.

She bundled them in her arms and headed towards the ensuite, pulling the door shut behind her with a gentle click.

Helena peeled off her clothing. She was met with resistance at first, the blood and sweat causing it to stick to her skin.

She dropped her ruined clothes onto the polished wooden boards in the corner of the small bathroom.

Helena then turned to the scuffed white sink.

She twisted the worn copper tap and let the water run, the pipes hammering in the walls.

She grabbed the cotton rag and soap, lathering up and cleaning her bruised body with cleansing water.

After finishing her wash, she dried her body with a towel provided by the inn, before hanging it back on the rail.

She loosened her scruffy bun from the top of her head and raked the polished wooden comb – borrowed from Beth – through her tangled hair.

She teased out the knots until only thick, fluffy waves remained.

Helena dressed, wrapping her breasts with one of her spare strophium, and tugging on her underwear.

She then pulled on the Habetrot’s finely-made clothes.

They were light and comfortable against her skin.

Her cotton blouse was black and the thread at the hems was a bright red.

The riding leggings were also black, slightly looser than her previous pair, which made them more comfortable and easier to move in.

The bottoms of the legs were patterned with the red thread with small orange spirals interlocked between the trim.

Lastly, Helena pulled on her socks. Loath to put on her boots again so soon, she tiptoed through the bedroom in them, past the sleeping Eleanor and Lance, and out the door.

Helena went in search of Simon. She descended the wooden staircase, wincing as her sore leg took each step down.

She headed into the tavern, where there was only a smattering of other patrons.

She approached the faerie bartender polishing pint glasses behind the counter, and gave him a quick nod.

He returned the gesture with a slight bow.

Helena smiled as the glass continued polishing itself, floating in the air.

“Can I help you, Miss?” he asked. He waved his hand, and another glass began to clean itself, hovering above the bar bench.

She took in his features. A large, ruddy nose took up most of his face. He was small and around Helena’s height. His golden beard, streaked with grey, reached up to his sideburns, and he had beads plaited into the hair at his chin.

“I am looking for Simon, please?” she asked, her eyes following another two glasses as they hovered, polishing themselves.

“Try the kitchens,” he replied, thumbing over his shoulder. “Don’t tell Beth I said you could go back there though.” He gave a conspiratorial wink.

Helena smiled back at the faerie before walking around the back of the bar and entering the kitchen.

Her skin flushed at the warmth of the room.

Pots of stew bubbled away on a large wood-burning stove at the opposite end.

Helena sniffed the savoury smell appreciatively, her stomach grumbling.

The terracotta floor gleamed. Mosaicked tile worktops were stacked with ingredients and kitchen tools.

Sure enough, Simon was there, clattering around, busily stacking plates and organising cutlery.

“Simon?” Helena called out.

“Oh! Mrs Neycur!” Simon exclaimed, a dish slipping from his hand before he caught it again in the air. “Did you… did you get your daughter back?”

“Call me Len. Yes, we came in through the back door of the inn. I didn’t want to drag her through the lunchtime rush, so you wouldn’t have seen us.”

“I am so happy for you, Len .” Simon smiled brightly, his blue eyes shining.

“I need to ask.” Helena took a step closer and lowered her voice. “You mentioned Declan had something big planned. You said something that would change everything. Will you tell me what that is?”

“I… uh.” Simon’s throat bobbed as he placed a stack of plates on the kitchen bench. He pushed his copper fringe back from his forehead. “I… probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Please, Simon,” she begged. “The King told Eleanor that he will come for her. She is not safe and likely never will be.” Helena paused for a moment. She remembered her promise to kill Rian. “What is Declan planning?” she asked again.

Simon met her gaze. He lowered his voice further to a barely audible whisper.

“Dec says it is rare for them – the Seelies – to all be in the same place at once. The Fae Tithe brought them all together. His group, the Swifts, are planning to…” He looked left and right, as though he was confirming their solitude.

“Kill as many as they can, all in one coordinated attack.”

Surely not. She stifled a scoff. “How?”

“It’s taking a lot of cooperation between the indentured faeries and artificers… Declan has been spearheading it all. I’m just a small part.”

“The King too?” she pressed.

Simon cast his face downwards. “No. None of the Swifts want to take the King. They are terrified of his magic, terrified of him. ”

“But they’re not scared of the Seelie Lords?” Helena tilted her head curiously. I didn’t see them use any magic… do they have magic like the King does?

“Not as much. Best we can tell, it looks like they don’t have any more magic than the average Fae. Dec said his dad didn’t… he used the magic of his servants to get the things he wanted. It’s why the others… they are only really scared of the King, his Dragon Flame.”

Helena’s set her jaw. “I’m not. Send for Declan, I need to talk to him.”