Page 55 of The Knucker King

He nodded drowsily. His eyes closed as she helped him settle his head onto a rolled-up blanket. She brushed strands of his hair from his face; her hands twitched to comb and braid it once he was better. Avice took the fleeting opportunity to trace her fingertips along his sharp cheek bone. Trewoofe mumbled something and pressed into her touch. She flushed as desire tickled at her, before abruptly standing and smoothing out her stained dress with a cough.

Avice smirked at her Grim and his ears pinned back against his head in response. Why are you looking at me like that?

“Because you and Ashling…” She tossed a sharpened gaze at the Wisp, who pealed with alarm. “…are going to help me.”

With washing? Bramble cocked his head.

“Yes.”

Avice dove into the pile of dirty clothes and retrieved a stained cloak, tossing it across her shoulders and tying it at her front. She then tiptoed around the pallet to fetch her boots, shoving them onto her feet.

Bramble looked left and right. Why are you starting with the washing? This cottage looks like a swarm of Pillywiggins has blown through.

Avice huffed loudly, before slapping a hand to her mouth, she glanced over at the sleeping Trewoofe who had not stirred despite their loud conversation.

“Because, only my dancing dress is clean, and I need to keep that for the Equinox ritual. I have nothing to wear.” Her eyes slid over to the man in her bed. “And neither does he.”

Nature’s blessing! He will hardly fit into your dresses; he is as big as a tree!

Ashling floated around them and chimed several times in row – his way of giggling.

“I know that,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can pick apart some of my clothing and make him a shirt and hose at least. I cannot have him running around naked once he is feeling better.”

Her cheeks flushed at the thought.

Bramble missed nothing.

I knew you fancied the King of the Well, he chided. Avice, what are you thinking? He is a Knucker.

Ashling chirruped.

“Thank you, Ashling.” Avice smirked. “I think he is lovely, too.”

The Grim huffed heavily though his nostrils, closing and opening his eyes very deliberately at her. So, what do you need us to do?

Avice scratched behind his ear. “I need you to play fetch for me; bring back as many sticks as you can.”

While Bramble was off gathering kindling, bringing several sticks back at a time in his large mouth, Avice stood outside in the freezing morning, bundled up against the cold. She sized up the Pillywiggin Queen. The Faerie’s wings flicked with outrage, and she let out a rough squawk.

“You heard me, I want you to help me wash my clothes.” Avice gestured widely around the garden. “It is not like you have anything better to do; you cannot do any work for Spring in this weather.”

The Faerie tilted her head and let out a caw.

Avice sighed and rubbed her temple. “You want to know, what do you get out of it?”

Her mind whirled at what she could bargain for this favour. She could not keep giving them dwindling stocks of her food reserves, especially not with this endless Winter. She knew she would be looking after Trewoofe for a while and that would certainly impact her supplies. He was huge, and once he had recovered, his appetite would return. It was likely he would eat her out of house and home.

She brightened as an idea struck her. “I am about to sweep out my cottage; there will be a lot of healing leaves coming outside. Would you like to take your pick of what enters the garden?”

Avice was careful with her words; she did not want the Pillywiggins to think they could help themselves to any of the herbal medicines hanging from the beams inside. The Queen stared at her as she tapped her chin with her nail, then she bobbed her head down in agreement and let out a shriek.

Avice clapped her gloved hands together. “Good. Then, let us get to work!” She darted back inside her cottage, nearly tripping over the boar’s leg. That is the next chore.

She stole a quick glance at Trewoofe, watching long enough to make sure he still slept soundly. The blankets had slipped down, revealing his bandaged chest; she saw it rise and fall, and watched as his lips twitched. He mumbled something and she was sure he said ‘Avice’.

She suppressed a smile at the thought he may be dreaming about her, before turning back to her tasks. She ducked behind the hearth, pulling out a tripod and matching washing pot that fit on its central chain. Hauling it outside – the effort making her injured arm throb and remind her of yet another thing to attend to – she set it up over the pile of sticks Bramble had gathered.

Avice did not like the idea of using healing water for chores, but her arm grew more painful with each passing moment. She knew she would not be able to wield her axe to carve ice from the closest river; instead, she hauled a cask of healing water outside and dumped it in. Ashling darted to the wooden fuel below and set it ablaze. She coaxed the flock of Pillywiggins over and set them to work.