Page 22 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
After maybe another hour of flirtation, his eyelids began to droop. I lowered my voice, making it soothing as I asked him about “the wondrous magic of the fae.” Somehow I managed to say the phrase without gagging.
His words lost their edges as he spoke about the land itself carrying thick veins of magic that tasted of—
“Of apples.” I leant closer, gripping the arm of my chair.
His eyes widened. “That’s right. You can taste that?”
“I noticed it when I first arrived. I wondered where it was coming from.”
“Hmm.” Although his eyelids were heavy, he watched me a long while. “Most fae can taste magic. Not all. I’ve heard of some fae-touched humans who can, too.” He stroked his lower lip. “The one who granted your gift must’ve liked you a lot to give you so much power.”
I grunted what was almost a laugh.
The fae-blooded got their magic from having an ancestor of the fair folk. They were stronger than people like me.
Us fae-touched had been blessed by one of the fae at some point in our lives. Some had let a pedlar into their homes and treated them well, only to find no sign of them come morning. Years later, when their young child grew up and their magic awoke, they realised the pedlar had been a fae and they’d passed a test.
Others, like me, had no idea what fae had blessed us or what we’d done to please them. Was it just a whim? Approval of our work? After all, many gifted folk were skilled artisans or gardeners.
Then again, it could be down to some unwitting kindness like leaving out milk and a thimble of honey on a night where some fae creature had needed exactly that.
Whatever the reason behind my magic, it wasnotstrong. He was mocking me.
“Power? I can sew clothes that make people quiet or pretty or warm—things like that. But my gift is so weak, I can’t even use it on myself.”
And I hadn’t been able to save them. My eyes stung as I stared into the fire and willed it to burn away the threatening tears.
“Hmm.” A rustle of clothing signalled him moving, but it wasn’t safe for me to look away. “Tasting magic comes with the most powerful gifts. Are you sure you haven’t—?”
“I’m sure,” I snapped. I hadtried. Everything I knew, everything I’d read, everything I could imagine.Everything. And it had failed. The only physical remnant of the creeping death were pale scars on my neck and chest, but I didn’t need him prodding them.
My outburst had silenced him and that quiet stretched on for long minutes. Damn it, I was meant to be putting him at ease, a sweet, compliant prisoner. I’d just undone all my work.
But when I turned, his grip on the glass was slack and his chin rested on his chest.
Holding my breath, I craned around to check his face. His dark lashes shadowed his cheeks. Asleep. Question was, had I plied him with enough drink that he’d stay that way?
I eased to my feet, never taking my eyes off him. He didn’t stir. I rescued the teetering glass from his loose fingers. Still nothing.
Despite the fuzziness of alcohol, my muscles sparked. I’d done it.
It took no time to re-button my shirt and pull on my coat and boots. I had no belongings to gather—my brooch was on the cloak, which I also fastened in place. There were water canteens with the stag’s saddlebags, but when I tried the cabinet the fae usually pulled food from, it was empty. There had to be some knack to it. No matter. At most meals, I’d snuck food into my pockets and now had a small stash of bread, cheese, and apples. Supplemented by nettles and other foraged plants, it would be enough to keep me going.
I’d gone hungry before. I could do it again.
Within a couple of minutes, I was ready and he hadn’t moved, save for the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Wearing a grin of victory, I crept out into the night.
* * *
The waning moonwas bright enough to see by as I took a saddlebag from the stand beside the sleeping deer. Food stashed inside, I slung it over my shoulder. Although I managed to stay on the stag’s back when I had the fae holding me in place, I wasn’t foolish enough to think that meant I could ride. No, this escape would be on foot.
The clear sky left the air frigid on my face and in my lungs, and I tucked my hands into my sleeves to keep them warm.
But I was free.
Moonlight outlined the world with silver and blackest shadow as I turned back the way we’d come. The ground was dry, so hopefully I wouldn’t leave footprints for him to follow. A river ran nearby—the deer had stopped to drink on our approach. I could use that to cover my tracks.
