Page 50 of The Knucker King

Avice smiled at her boys before turning to the task in front of her. Using Trewoofe’s hand for balance, she pulled herself up, so she was now eye to eye with the towering Knucker. His lip quirked up as their face’s met, and she reached up to work out the tangled mess he had gotten himself into.

Avice squinted into the gloom. Feeling her way around the tangled muddle for a while, she managed to unhook him from the sage and thyme that knotted onto one horn. She stretched for the other – ignoring the sensation of blood soaking through her sleeve and bandage – that was twisted up with the calendula. An idea sparked her as she eyed them. After sewing his wounds, she would press the orange flowers to them. After all, in the past, she had much success in using it on small wounds. Her biceps burnt as she fiddled with the tangle, and finally, she wrenched him free.

Panic surged through her as the chair wobbled, and she lost her balance.

“I have you!” Trewoofe shouted.

He threw himself down to cushion her fall.

Avice landed right on top of him, and they both let out a yelp.

“Lord!” She pushed herself up from his very solid chest. “Please forgive me!”

He blew the strands of starlight hair from his face, revealing his flushed cheeks. “No need to apologise. I could not forgive myself if you received an injury because of me.”

Avice sat up further.

She grew hot as she realised.

She was straddling the Well King.

Coughing, she bounced up to the balls of her feet, ignoring the exhaustion that weighed down her limbs.

“To bed,” she ordered, and then froze for a heartbeat, processing exactly how that might sound. “I mean, please get on the pallet. I need to sew your wounds closed.”

Trewoofe nodded, cheeks still rosy. Avice offered him her good hand, which he took. Together, they tugged him up into a wobbling, standing position. He shuffled over to her pallet where he obediently laid down, his horns tilting his head at what looked like an uncomfortable angle.

She knelt beside him, knees cold on the hard floor through her stockings. “When I am done,” Avice said, “you can try laying on your side, as it may be more comfortable for you.”

Trewoofe gave her a soft smile. “Alright.”

She pushed his silky hair back from his face. “The goal” – her eyes darted to the darkness between the lines of the shutters – “tonight, is to stop this bleeding, and to help the pain,” she explained. “I will give you more willow bark.”

Trewoofe scrunched his nose.

“I know it tastes foul, but it will help. After that, I will sew you up and give you some yarrow tea to drink. It helps with wounds that will not heal and is good for blood. Tomorrow, I will make you cakes that may help to neutralise the effect of the iron on you.”

His face brightened. “Honey cakes?”

Avice snorted. “Ash cakes. They absorb poisons within the body.”

Trewoofe’s lips pulled down.

“If you get better, I will make you honey cakes.” Her heart pounded at the thought of losing him, she did not know if she could bear it. The death of her mother and Agnes was more than she could allow. “When you get better, I will make you so many you will get sick of the taste,” she promised wildly, internally delighted that he enjoyed her cakes so much to brighten when he thought of them.

Despite his current deathly appearance, he gave her a dazzling grin that made her head spin. “I will keep you to that bargain.”

Avice blinked back her tears and gave him a firm nod before she went about her work. She gathered all the things she needed beside the pallet: fishbone needles, sheep’s gut thread, moss, healing waters, linen, and wool. She helped him sit up so he could gulp back another willow bark tincture. Which he did obediently, followed by a grimace.

She continued on by fetching a jar of dried blooms from one of the many shelves that lined the walls of her cottage. She set a small copper cauldron over the hearth and dropped in the powder made from tiny white flowers of the yarrow plant. Avice then dropped in a dollop of honey, which landed in the water with a soft plop. While it heated and boiled, she gestured for Ashling to hover above Trewoofe’s torso so she could properly see. The poor Knucker was shivering uncontrollably, and his skin was still ice to touch.

Avice turned to Bramble, who had been sitting obediently by her side. “Would you mind getting up on the pallet with him? Having you nearby will help warm him and control his shaking.”

The Grim huffed, but stepped up onto the bedding, circling to the other side of Trewoofe, and lying so his wiry fur was flush against his trembling side. Trewoofe lowered his hand to Bramble’s head and gave him a pat.

“Th-thank you,” Trewoofe said through chattering fangs.

You are welcome, the Grim replied, before dropping his head onto the blankets.