Page 52 of Fae Tithe (The Cursed Courts #1)

T he next day, the sky stretched cloudless above them.

Lance sat beside Helena in the back of the jostling cart, the heat pressing under his cloak despite the shade of its hood.

Sweat beaded along his brow and dripped down his neck.

His sensitive eyes throbbed under the glare.

Helena shifted slightly against him, still slumbering.

Lance pressed a soft kiss to her head. Wake up properly soon, please. You didn’t eat or drink enough last night to keep you alive.

He furrowed his brow in concern. Helena had woken briefly the night before. She was awake only long enough to choke down some food, sip at some water, and hobble into the bushes, where, with his help, she could relieve herself. After that, she had promptly fallen back to sleep.

By late afternoon, the sun sank low, staining the road in an artist’s palette of pink and orange.

Eleanor guided Goliath off to a shady bend near the riverbank, and they set about their camp preparations.

She reached for the rations bag, but Lance touched her wrist, stopping her.

Then, he pulled the two cheese knives from his belt.

The teenager raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. “What are you doing with those?”

“Want to help me with dinner?” he asked. “We need these for that.” Lance nodded down at the knives in his hand.

“We have food though,” Eleanor replied, pointing down to the food bag.

“But probably not enough for the three of us for the whole journey home. We can have fish for dinner on nights we camp by the river. It would help conserve the food we do have. We should also avoid staying in inns for the time being, just in case they have guards out looking for us,” Lance explained.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Eleanor acquiesced with a huff. “What are we having for dinner then?”

“Fish,” he responded, striding over to the river bank.

Lance closed his eyes, boots sinking slightly into the muddy edge of the Sol. Beside him, Eleanor hovered, quiet but curious. He focused on the subtle twitches beneath the water’s surface, feeling the ripples, jolts, and the darting pulse of life below.

There. His eyes snapped open.

With a sharp flick of his hand, a column of water surged upwards.

Eleanor let out a startled gasp as a fat trout burst up from the river.

Lance caught it cleanly against his chest, its body slippery and writhing.

In one smooth motion, he shifted it to his left hand and drove the point of the knife into its skull.

The fish went limp. Hooking its gills on his fingers, he turned and held it out.

Eleanor recoiled slightly. “What?”

“Hold it! We will need more than one for dinner.” Lance chuckled.

She hesitated, and then curled her fingers under the gills, just like he showed her. The trout sagged heavily in her grip, her arm dipping with the weight.

“Yuck,” Eleanor muttered, holding it out at arm’s length. “It’s slimy.”

The Merman was already facing the river again, chuckling, as he prepared for the next catch, which landed neatly in his arms with a flick of his wrist and a jet of water.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, facing her and raising an eyebrow. “Now, I know your mother has handled fresh fish in front of you before.”

“She has, but that didn’t mean I didn’t find it disgusting,” Eleanor muttered with a grimace.

The Merman rolled his eyes at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him in response. “You’re not going to like this part then.” He shifted the fish he held so it was in one hand and passed her the handle of the cheese knife with the other.

“What’s this for?” Eleanor asked, taking it gingerly from his outstretched hand.

“Well, I prefer the fish raw like this, but I know for a fact that you and your mother do not,” Lance replied, amusement dancing in his eyes, as he pulled the second knife from his pocket. “So, we need to prepare them before we cook them.”

“Prepare them?” she asked, her gaze moving from the cheese knife in one hand and the fish in the other. “How?”

Lance showed her how to cut off the fins and gills, and then gut the fish. She mimicked the movements with a grimace on her face. They both tossed the parts they would not eat into the reeds. He then showed her how to remove the scales by running the flat of the blade from tail to head.

“What else do you eat… uh, down there?” Eleanor asked, ever curious.

Lance chuckled, amused at her enthusiastic questions.

“Seafolk are nomadic, mostly. In my territory, we base migration points from Nautilus. Different types of Seafolk follow gigantic schools of different fish and squid, which they hunt and eat. Merfolk sow seaweed beds and return to harvest from them with years in between. These beds attract fish, crabs, shellfish, and all sorts.” As he spoke, thousands of transparent scales fell from the fish and into the grass he knelt in.

Eleanor tried to follow his technique, kneeling alongside him. “What is Nautilus?”

“My capital. It’s far down in the sea. It’s so deep, that there is still some light, but no colour.

It is found in between the Selkie Islets and Encantado Island, about a morning’s swim from each,” he gushed.

The Merman turned the fish over and began removing the scales from the other side.

“It’s a giant shell, spiral in shape. Nautilus is taller than the Golden Spire in Solas, and probably wider than it is tall.

It is magnificent, the biggest thing I’ve ever seen.

There are many chambers within. The members of my Court have rooms available there.

They handle all communications to do with the migrations, the growth of seaweed beds, and basically responding to any complaints.

There are always complaints.” He sighed, a pang of longing in his chest for the sea, and then his face brightened.

“You would love the library. It is woven into living kelp lines that grow all the way to the surface through the opening of the shell in the top, and you read it with your hands.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Eleanor said dreamily. She shook herself back into action and resumed work of cleaning the fish of its inedible scale. “I need to ask…” She bit her lip. “Why didn’t you tell us who you really were?”

Lance’s throat bobbed. He knew this explanation to his daughter was long overdue.

The High Prince repeated everything he had told Helena back in their room back at Bright Sun Inn: about how he thought it would be safer for his family, how he did not want to drag guards onto the shore every time he visited, and how things between his neighbouring territories were not always amicable, that he did not want to risk exposing them to potential threats.

He watched as Eleanor nodded along to his explanation, the luminous silver of her irises glowing in the near dark of the early evening. Her eyes never left Lance’s face as he explained.

“I now know it was not the right thing to do,” he admitted, tasting the stain of shame on his tongue.

“I should not have kept it a secret for so long, either. For that, you can never know how sorry I am. I had planned on telling your mother, you, the family, everything this visit before you were taken. I wanted everyone to know before I asked Len to be Bound to me.”

“Bound? That’s like marriage, isn’t it?” Eleanor asked. She turned and looked at Helena as she slept peacefully by the campfire.

“Yes. Would you be okay with that?” Lance asked.

He stood and hooked the fish’s gills on his fingers again, feeling the squelch beneath his fingernails. The High Prince did not mind. After all, fish was the main part of his diet when he was in his Mer shape.

Eleanor giggled. “You two have been practically married since you got together. Of course I am okay with it.” She stood alongside him and held out the fish. “What now?”

Thank the seas. He let out a long breath in relief before returning to the task of feeding his family, one he was so grateful to have.

Lance shuffled the knife into the hand that held his fish so one was free.

He upturned his palm, and a spiral of water spun from it, filling the air with the scent of sea salt.

The water quickly formed a hovering, shifting orb.

The Merman pushed his fish into it. He took the trout from Eleanor’s outstretched hand and did the same with hers.

“What does that do?” Eleanor asked, her eyes following the slowly tumbling trout in the water orb.

“Cleans it. The salt will add a little flavour too. It saves us the chore of washing them in the river.” Lance conjured another two water orbs for them to wash their hands in, ridding their skin of the smell of fish and tiny flecks of transparent scale.

“Salt is good, it cleans. I remember your mother used hot, salted water to clean my wound when she first found me.” Lance heard excitable chirps, and turned to the direction of the reeds. “Did you hear that?”

Eleanor closed her eyes and her ears twitched. “I can hear squeaking, squealing maybe?”

Lance grinned down at her. “I think some River Folk have come to visit us. They are enjoying the scraps we tossed into the river.” They stepped back over to the riverbank and peered over.

Sure enough, five long, fat otters feasted on the entrails they had discarded into the reeds minutes before.

Each was fluffy and brown, their faces and paws a dull gold.

The Merman could vaguely understand them, their language not so different from the language of the sea otters he knew.

He emitted a high-pitched squeak in acknowledgement of them thanking him for the meal.

Eleanor’s ears flicked again. “You can understand them? I heard that noise. I don’t think I would have heard it before… this.” She gestured vaguely to her body.

“I can, a little,” he said. “Sea otters live on the Selkie Islets. Their language is not so different.”

“You mentioned that place before.” Eleanor tracked the otters in the reeds. “What’s it like?”