Page 5 of Tempting the Fae Lord (The Gatekeeper’s Weakness)

Chapter Four

The Gatekeeper

Foolish mortal with the rash habit of throwing himself headlong into danger at every possible opportunity.

Through the gate with me? Reckless fantasy. Never.

And everyone is a child when you’re as ancient as me, but Gale more than most.

Of all the babes I’ve brought over from the other side, all the souls ever under my protection, he’s been the source of the most anxiety. If my hair were capable of going gray, it would be from Gale’s doing.

Impulsive boy, with a temerarious nature and a knack for finding trouble. He’s definitely kept Eulayla and Chester on their toes, a storm none of us saw coming. But I shouldn’t complain. He keeps things lively.

Never a dull moment with Gale in our midst.

Ah, the thought of losing him to some sweltering southern city hurts my heart. My little blustery Gale, no longer so little, ready to tackle the world. What mischief will he stir up without us, and who will come to his rescue when he inevitably requires saving?

How many times have I plucked him from a disaster of his own making?

Even now, as my wings carry me farther and farther from his side, I feel the distance like a knife to the gut. Though he might be eager to be parted from me, how will I survive being parted from him?

Alas.

Perhaps it’s best to sever ties early, while he’s young, before I grow more attached than I already am.

Before I watch all seventy, eighty, ninety if I’m graced by fate, of his years come and go.

Before I witness him wither and die as they all inevitably do.

Before I dig his grave in the frozen dirt of my cemetery with my own two hands.

Before the inescapable heartbreak of it all hits yet again.

But no.

I am, at my core, a selfish man, and I will hoard the years I have left with him like a greedy dragon over its nest of gold if I can.

With any luck, Gale’s thoughts of leaving and his bizarre desire to open a vein for me are just more of his many passing fancies, spoken of briefly, then never to be uttered again.

The air beneath my wings warms the farther I go. The town of Midview is south of the Onyx River, near to our capital city of Lemossin, and bordering hundreds of acres of forest on one side and farmland on the other.

It’s been an age since I’ve been summoned to this region, but it’s no surprise. With the recent uprising and the changeover of queens, there was bound to be upset. Turbulence. And with upset and turbulence comes dormancies. It was only a matter of time.

I descend into the heart of Midview, a square of stone buildings with a courtyard and gardens in the center. If the child is with the schoolmistress, she’ll likely be near here.

It’s the dead of the night, and no one is about. No matter. I close my eyes to better concentrate on the sounds.

A faint crackle of dying embers crumbling in a hearth. Ground beetles clicking and clacking their way underfoot. Snoring. A lot of snoring. From houses near and far.

With a bit of concentration, I focus on heartbeats. The slow and steady swooshing of fae in their prime. The rapid fluttering of a cat’s on the hunt. And finally, the quick and quiet pah-pup, pah-pup, pah-pup of a newborn babe’s.

Not far. Uphill, two streets back and one house over. A sniff confirms what my ears have already told me. A fae woman and tiny youngling in a small cabin. Silently, I let myself in.

I don’t wish to scare the young maid, so instead, I wake the babe with a murmured song in her ear.

“Hushaby, doe-eyed star

Night doth ride in shadows far

Under the moon’s twinkling glow

Dreams whisper secrets low”

Her lids flutter open.

“Good evening, petite miss.” I stroke her cheek, soft as peach fuzz. “Could I trouble you to cry a bit for me? Perhaps you’re hungry, yes? A bit of wailing should solve that.”

She watches me with big brown eyes as if considering my request. Then her tiny face screws tight and reddens. She lets out a surprisingly loud sound for such a small creature.

Excellent.

I wait mere moments for the lady of the house to wake, and when she does, startle her as gently as I’m able with a slight clearing of my throat. “Apologies, young maid.”

She squeals and freezes, eyes wide with terror.

“No need to fear.” I make myself small, shoulders rolled inward, hands open, but even still, she backs against the wall and clutches her heart. “I come as requested and am only here to offer my help.”

I employ a bit of magical sway to calm her mood, not enough to usurp control, only a dash to slow her racing heart.

“Gatekeeper?” Her pupils nearly swallow her irises whole.

“So they call me.” I bow. “May I be of service?”

“You, you want the baby?”

The temptation to roll my eyes comes and goes. “You did request my aid, did you not?”

“The town council has done so on my behalf, yes.”

“Then shall I take her off your hands?”

She hesitates, gaze darting between the crying infant and me. The reality of their request always frightens them when confronted. This scene has played out before me in a similar fashion many times over the years.

The young maid can’t bring herself to answer.

“I will not harm the child.”

She’s desperate to believe me—hope tangles with worry in her eyes. She doesn’t want to be saddled with this babe not of her creation. “You’ll care for her?”

“While she’s under my protection, yes. Then it’s my duty to find her a family that will love her as their own.”

She works to convince herself I’m telling the truth, but she can’t be sure. Rumors about me have persisted and grown teeth over the ages. She’s heard them. They all have.

Cursed vampire. Ravenous blood drinker. Baby thief.

“The decision is yours.” I keep my voice gentle, though I grow weary with this part.

She wrings her hands.

Meanwhile, the infant’s cries grow more persistent. “Have you anything to feed her?”

“I do.”

“Prepare it, then.” Fae babes with a dormant mother and no wet nurse require pap, a bland mixture of water, flour, and goat’s milk. That and a bit of my magic will do the child well.

This sparks life in the maid, who busies herself with the task while I return crib side. I stroke her red little cheek and wish her goodwill, which settles her until the pap arrives. “Shall I?”

The maid hands over the clay bottle, and I offer it to the babe. She quiets and sups.

“Will she have a wet nurse with you?”

“Better. She will have a mother on the other side.”

She shifts from one foot to the other. “Then take her.”

And that is permission granted. I swaddle the wee thing in a woolen blanket and scoop her into my arms. “Worry not. She will be safe.”

I leave without looking back. Another little soul destined to be an earth-side changeling. I wonder what her name will be.

When I return, it’s near to sunrise and freezing out, as it almost always is in the northernmost lands of my bloodline.

As I swoop down to land, I spot a suspiciously Gale-sized lump tucked tight in brown wool, a shock of messy curls peaking over the top. What in the flesh flies is he doing outside in this weather?

My feet land upon the icy steps silently. I close my wings and glamour them away, then kneel to get a closer look.

Gale is slumped sideways, fast asleep, cloak pulled tightly around him, propped against the decorative stones of the front entryway. His lips are a bit blue, not alarmingly so, but not the healthy pink I’m used to either.

Silly, feckless mortal, courting death at every turn.

I take the liberty of brushing his soft hair behind the shell of his ear before grasping his shoulder to nudge him awake.

He mumbles and curls tighter in on himself.

I should ask the baby to cry again. Waking him with her high-pitched wails would serve him right for this bit of foolishness. But she’s fast asleep and warm against my chest, so I’ll ask her no more favors.

“Gale.” I give him a little shake. “Wake up.”

He lifts his lids and stares at me. Blinks. Parts his lips. Says nothing. At least he has the decency to look flustered.

“At what point in your life will I get to stop saving you from freezing to death?”

“Erm, hi.” His voice is rough from sleep and cold. “Not tonight, apparently.”

Despite myself, I chuckle. “What are you doing outside?”

“Waiting for you.”

That much is rather obvious. “But why?”

“Don’t go through the gate without me.”

“This again? Come on, Mooncalf.” I take his elbow and haul. “Up you get to sit by the fire before you lose fingers and toes.”

He’s shivering as we make our way to his room, where the hearth is stone cold. I wave a hand to light the coals, then set a pot of water to boil and drag a chair in front of the flames. “Sit. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Don’t go.”

“I won’t be long. The babe will need Eulayla. Stay put.”

“Let me see her first?”

“You’ll have all day to coddle the child.” But I untuck her from where she’s wrapped to my chest. It’s always been hard to say no to Gale, though he gives me countless opportunities. But in this, my acquiescence comes easy enough.

He holds out both arms, and the cloak falls from around his shoulders to his waist.

I pass him the infant.

He smiles at the sleeping sweetheart. “What’s her name?”

“I didn’t ask. Doesn’t matter. She’ll have a new name shortly.”

“What was my name?” His emerald gaze lands heavily on me. “Before.”

This question roots me to the ground. “I don’t know.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“I never do.”

“Then how did I become Gale?”

A weight squeezes my heart, my chest cinches, and the air feels thick to breathe. This question, I know the answer for. But is he ready for this tale?

Am I?