Page 27 of Fae's Mate
“Nothing. It’s just some bull shit fae magic. I’m simply going to ignore him and steer clear of him until they can get the portal opened again.”
Yaz and Alex exchange concerned looks, then make their excuse to return to their room, leaving me alone with Alana.
“You really think you can just stay cooped up in here until we go home?” she asks, shifting to sit beside me.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly, “but I don’t want to be around him.”
She nods in understanding but doesn’t pressure me with anymore questions.
I don’t tell her about the kiss, or the fact he showed me his magic. Or about the surprised, hurt look on his face when I rocked up and started screaming at him. I don’t tell her that part of me doesn’t want him to stay away.
Chapter 20
High Lord
The border village of Nandra sits nestled in a wide valley on the edge of the Winter Mountains. It looms into view as I lead my guards out of the forest that covers most of my court, and the sight boils my blood.
The crop fields to the north of the village lay in ruin. Already struggling soil bears deep slashes, inflicted by claws. The last harvest for the year lays in tatters. Ploughs lay shattered, fences torn down, and the once neat rows of seasonal vegetables are dappled with blood. Scattered amongst the debris, I spot the bludgeoned bodies of half a dozen wraiths left out in the fields for the crows to pick at.
With a sigh, I urge my horse on, my guards following behind me. I am keen to meet with the village Keeper and offer my aid. It has been months since the last attack from the winter court. I had hoped that this close to his season, the High Lord of Winter Court would not strike again until spring.
The attack will have hit my people hard. This was to be the most bountiful harvest of the year, in the prime of our season. I pray that what they have reaped so far this year will be enough. But I know it won’t be. Each year, the harvest is less and less successful, as the land slowly dies, bereft of the magic it needs to flourish. How many more years can my court survive until there isn’t enough magic left to feed its people, to keep them safe?
When I was a boy, my father would tell me that when he was young, his father would hold feasts during the autumn festival. People from all over Ethea would travel to Autumn Court for food and drink, music and dancing, and the tables would be laden with food, no thought given to what was hoarded in the stores. Such a thing seems fanciful to me. Now my court struggles to provide for eleven newcomers. It may even struggle with the remaining six.
As we enter the Nandra, the townsfolk emerge from their homes. Their faces are stricken with grief and many of them are weeping. Before I have even made it twenty paces, fae approach me, begging for aid. It breaks my heart to see my people so downtrodden.
“I will see all of you in turn,” I promise. “I will meet with the Keeper, then I will take an audience in the Great Hall. Tell me of your misfortunes and I will do what I can.”
Muttered thanks echo along the street as I make my way to the town square. The Keeper lives in a small cottage attached to the Great Hall, so his property is always easy to find. I dismount my horse and knock on his door. A gruff voice yells ‘enter’, and I push my way into the small home, leaving my guards outside.
The grizzly older fae sits at a kitchen table, close to a simple fire, while his wife potters at the stove.
“High Lord,” he welcomes, standing quickly from his seat.
His wife turns from the stove and they both bow.
“Thank you for coming with such haste.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll fetch you a drink—” the Keeper’s wife begins.
“No. Thank you. I would rather hear what has happened.”
I gesture to the table and sit opposite the Keeper as he scrubs his scraggy, greying beard.
“They came in the night,” he tells me. “A dozen wraiths, black as coal. The Watchers saw them coming, so stark against the snowy mountains. But by the time the bell sounded, and those of us who could fight were out of bed and dressed, the wraiths had already ransacked half the crops. We went after them with whatever we could, forks, axes, blades, and fire, but it was no use. Two farmers have already died, and three are on death’s door, waiting to fade at the Healer’s cottage.”
My stomach churns as I listen.
“We got some of them, High Lord. My boys got two, pinned them to the ground with iron, left them there to die, but some of them escaped, and flew back over the mountains.”
“You did well, Keeper.”
He bows his head in thanks. I glance over at his wife as she chops vegetables. What I have to say should really only be said in front of the Keeper, but it would be rude to dismiss his wife. I lower my voice, even though I know it won’t help; her fae hearing will still likely catch every word.
“I don’t need to remind you, Keeper, that the situation is… dire. The magic of the court is already stretched. I wish to help as many as possible but, I worry that the needs of one, may influence how much I may help the rest.”
