by Megan Derr
Unfortunately, that beauty was besmirched by the cluster of people surrounding Reynard and flirting shamelessly with him. Once upon a time, such a thing would have infuriated him, sent him storming off convinced that he'd been a fool yet again in the matter of love.
But the handsome man with auburn hair and forest-green eyes tinged with faerie magic belonged to him, true love's kiss and all.
Catching Reynard's eye, Briar crooked his head in a silent request for his presence. Without hesitation, Reynard excused himself and pushed through the crowd, making straight for him. Briar smirked and rose from where he'd been leaning against the stone wall that separated the beach from the town. "Having fun, Fox?"
"Who wouldn't, in such a beautiful place?"
Briar lifted one shoulder. "Traveling is interesting, but I'll always love our forest best."
Reynard carded his fingers through Briar's hair, then gently pulled him into a soft, lingering kiss that silenced all the furtive whispering—most of them questioning Briar's parentage and occupation—from the group that had been flirting with Reynard.
Drawing back with a smile, Reynard twined a lock of Briar's hair around one finger. "Your skin is turning gold, my love. Looks good that way."
"Another few minutes it will go from gold to red," Briar grumbled, but with a smile. "I could do with some cool shade and something refreshing to drink."
"Then it shall be done." Reynard offered his arm, and Briar took it—and gleefully threw the smuggest smirk he knew, the kind of smirk that only came with being a spoiled, royal brat, over his shoulder. The little group seethed at his gloating, and he was not above admitting he enjoyed every moment of it.
"What has you looking so smug?" Reynard asked as they sat at a table in front of a cheerful, brightly decorated tavern that had only just enough walls to keep it standing, and was otherwise open to the sea and sun, with charming, gigantic parasols to protect each table and its diners from the scorching sun.
Once they'd ordered their drinks and something to nibble on, Briar said, "I was making it painfully clear to your little would-be suitors that their cause was a lost one."
Reynard grinned, happy with a touch of disbelieving bashfulness. "I rather like belonging to a possessive prince."
Briar tossed his hair, chin jutting out. "Good, because I put up with a lot of nonsense before I could finally have you."
"Yes, the succumbing to a curse was a bit much."
"Oh, please, you're going to gloat about being the one to break it for the rest of our lives—and probably our afterlives."
Reynard's grin softened to a smile full of so much warmth and affection that it almost hurt to look at. All for him. Briar might bluster and fuss, but he could not imagine going another day of his life without that smile, this man, a part of it. "Of course I'm going to gloat forever. Until nothing remains of us but stardust. I'm the Fox of the Laughing Forest, and I stole the heart of the beautiful, untouchable Prince Briar."
"Oh, shut up," Briar said, cheeks warming, and sipped his sangria.
Reynard just chuckled and sipped at his own drink, flirting idly with the server who brought their food a few minutes later, but his eyes always just for Briar.
Nibbling at a piece of cheese, Briar said, "Have you heard from your merry band recently?"
"I got a note this morning. They've invited us to join them at a place a few days from here, in time for a summer festival that apparently involves a great deal of drinking and lewd behavior."
Briar lifted his eyes to the sky. "I am not engaging in public acts of lewdness with you. I may no longer still be crown prince, but I am still a prince and if word got back home about me behaving the perfect wanton at some festival—"
"Oh, come now, you could be a little naughty." Reynard batted his eyes playfully, then gave him a perfect, pleading pout.
Briar sighed and said nothing, but the grin Reynard didn't bother to hide said they both knew he'd won.
Not as though it was a hardship. Briar's only other real lover had been a cowardly bastard who'd denied their affair when Briar had needed him most. He would gladly revel in the attentions—sweet, lewd, and otherwise—of this man who never stopped happily bragging about Briar to anyone who made the mistake of holding still long enough.
He reached across the table, offering a hand, and smiled as Reynard immediately tangled their fingers together, and lifted them to kiss the back of Briar's hand. His eyes gleamed with fairy magic, and for a moment, the salty air seemed to carry a hint of pine and roses. "Shall we see what else the day has in store for us, my love?"
"I think if we go back to our room, you'll find out what I have in store for you," Briar replied.
Reynard grinned his fox smile, and dropped coins on the table before dragging him away.
The Healer's Spouse
BRIGHTLEAF
Thorley looked up from his soup and beer as familiar words washed over him. Pixie tincture. Blue willow. Ogre grass. Two of those were used to treat a variety of maladies. One of them was not. He looked around for the source, and found it at a nearby table, where a child sat cradled in the arms of a tired-looking woman, an equally worn man next to her.
But the words were actually coming from a cretin with carefully tousled hair and a smile so greasy it could be used for cooking.
"He'll be just fine in a couple of days," the greasy man finished, presenting a dark, cheap glass bottle stoppered with candle wax and twine.
Thorley stifled a sigh, because he knew exactly how this was going to go, but he had to try anyway. "No, he won't."
Three heads turned to look at him, eyes going wide as they registered the goblin who'd been in their midst the whole time. The greasy man sneered at him. "What did you say, goblin?"
"I said, that won't cure his fever, or whatever is causing the fever. There's no such thing as pixie tincture. Ogre grass can be used to help with pain, but it has to be combined with certain other things, like brightleaf or sweet ivy. Blue willow is great for fevers, but it has to be used in moderation, especially if given to a child, and should be cut with mint and moon rose. Whatever potion you're selling them, it'll probably make the child feel better just long enough for you to get out of town."
The man puffed up like a pissed off earth wyrm. "What would a nasty goblin know about healing? I'm surprised they even let your kind into this respectable tavern." Next to him, the family looked scared and confused, and were being careful now not to look at him.
Thorley sighed, gathered up the goods he'd spent the day trading for, and laid coins on the table for his meal, as this was actually one of the few places that didn't charge him double up front and bring him the charred leavings at the bottom of the pot and beer that was mostly water. "I don't want any trouble. I was just trying to help. When that stupid potion invariably fails, there's a healer about two hours from here who will be more than happy to help, and he'll do it for free." He rose, and all three at the table reared back, huddling inward as they registered his full height, all his earrings glinting in the firelight. He stared at the greasy little charlatan. "How much for that stupid tincture of yours?"
"Ten bits."
"You really are a thieving ass," Thorley said, and dropped a whole silver on the table. "Ask the tavern owner to break it for you, see they get their twenty bits in change. If not, I'm good at finding greasy little monsters in need of slaying. Understand me?" He bared his teeth.
"Get out of here, you nasty little goblin," the man said, a tremble in every word.
Thorley left, lifting a hand in farewell to the tavern owner, whom he'd once saved when the tavern caught fire. Thorley had later found the bastards who'd tried to burn it down, and seen to it they paid in full and then some.
He whistled all the way home, and smiled as he was greeted by the sight of a familiar figure washing off by the rain barrel, half-naked and gleaming with water in the light of the lamp he'd brought outside with him.
"Not that I'm complaining," Thorley said, "but why ar
e you outside bathing at this hour?" He glanced up at the moon. "It's near to midnight." He set the bags of goods by the door to deal with in the morning, as none of it required immediate attention.
"A few children in the next village came down with a bad case of gremlin pox. I have the tonic done, but it took hours and faerie moss combined with elf weed and weeping daisies makes for a sticky, sickly-sweet mess no matter how careful you are." Geoffrey finished toweling off, then threw his arms around Thorley's neck and drew him into a sound, lingering kiss. "You're home early, keeper. Didn't trust me to go unsupervised another day longer?"
Thorley laughed, lightly dragging his sharp claws up and down Geoffrey's back, enjoying the delicate shivers that resulted. "Ran into an oily little pixie tincture seller, tried to talk sense into the family he was swindling. They didn't listen, and tried to make me leave. Decided it was better if I just came home."
"I see," Geoffrey replied with a sigh. "I'm sorry." He kissed Thorley again, tongue flicking playfully against his sharp teeth. "Come inside and I'll make it all better."
Growling, Thorley swept Geoffrey up in his arms and carried him into the house, smiling at the delighted laughter that resulted. All these years later, he still was in awe that this sweet, earnest, handsome healer who deserved the world had settled for a grouchy half-goblin with more kills to his names than relationships.
He laid Geoffrey down in their bed, then went to take care of the lamps. When the house was closed up and dark, save for a single lamp on the wall above the head of the bed, he stripped off his clothes and crawled into the blankets, where he was greeted by a warm mouth and eager hands.
There was no better homecoming than this: wrapped in Geoffrey's arms, sliding into his welcoming heat, swallowing every gasp and moan, the way Geoffrey said his name as he trembled and came. Falling asleep to soft, panting breaths, wrapped in warmth, the smell of sex mingling with the perpetual scent of plants and herbs, Geoffrey's head on his chest.
*~*~*
Two days later, Thorley was outside preparing some of the mutton Geoffrey had traded for tinctures. He was going to smoke most of it and store it for winter. The remaining he already had slow cooking in the oven out back to eat that night.
He'd just finished covering everything in the spice rub and putting it in a tub to rest for a bit when the sound of people coming up the path drew his attention. He went to the bucket of water he'd drawn earlier and cleaned his hands, then moved to preparing the branches he'd cut earlier for the smoking. Good evergreen, with fruit rinds thrown in to add flavor and sweetness.
The visitors came around the corner as he was still kneeling there, and he wasn't remotely surprised to see a familiar couple, the man carrying the sick child in his arms.
"Is this it?" the woman asked, sounding near to tears.
Thorley rose slowly, so they could see him past the table where he'd been working. "If you're looking for the healer, yes, this is the place."
They stopped short, gasping audibly and rather dramatically, as they recognized him. "You're the goblin from the tavern," the woman said, bottom lip trembling, eyes taking on a wet gleam. "Are you the healer?"
"No," Thorley said. "He's inside. Come on, he'll be more than happy to help." He motioned for them to follow.
They hesitated, shared a look, then the woman set her shoulders and headed toward him, and they followed Thorley into the house.
"Done already?" Geoffrey asked, looking up from where he was working on patching up some of their clothes. "Oh, we have company." His smile turned into a frown as he registered their faces, and the child cuddled against the father's chest. Putting his sewing aside, he pushed to his feet and bustled over to them. "Do you know what's wrong with him? Here, put him on the bench there." He motioned to a large, wide, padded bench in his work area, where he often had people sit or lay while he helped them.
The mother wiped tears from her face. "No. He's had a bad fever for two weeks now, can barely keep down food and water, and only small amounts at a time. He just sleeps all the time, moaning about aches and pains. We've tried everything." She started crying. "Your friend there tried to warn us about the man who sold us a tonic, but we didn't listen, and I'm worried now that we've only made it worse."
"Most pixie tinctures are little more than feverfews and mild pain killers, cheap stuff anyone can find in a field and stuff into a bottle of watered-down alcohol," Geoffrey replied. "You said two weeks. What was he doing around the time it struck?"
"Just playing in the fields behind the house like he's done a hundred times," the father said. "I searched the whole thing several times, trying to find something that might have bitten or stung him, but I found nothing. Can't find a mark on him anywhere, and by now it'd be healed up anyway."
Geoffrey's lips pursed in thought. "There's a few things it could be. Let's get his fever down first. Thorley will fix you both some tea, while I make a different tea for your son. My name is Geoffrey, this is my husband."
"Husband?" the woman stared a moment, then shook herself. "I'm Anna, this is my husband Benjamin and our son Marcus. Thank you for helping us. The other healers just gave us some manner of feverfew tea and sent us on our way."
"I'm sorry you were treated so poorly," Geoffrey said.
Thorley smiled faintly in fond memory as he went to make tea, the good, strong dark tea, with plenty of honey and cream. He brought it to them with bread, some of the pears they'd traded for that morning, and some cheese. "Eat. Rest. Your son will be all right."
"Thank you," the woman said, looking at him, then looking away, cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry we were so rude to you before. You were trying to help, and even if you weren't, there was no call for rudeness when you'd done nothing wrong. We didn't even notice you until you spoke."
"You were worried about your child," Thorley said, shrugging one shoulder. His mouth quirked. "And to be fair, nobody expects a goblin to prattle on about herbs and tonics."
Anna smiled faintly. "It's true that's not usually what they talk about. But I am sorry. We saw you were a goblin and made assumptions, and still you paid for the medicine and ensured we had plenty of money to spare. You're exceedingly kind."
"I'm married to a healer; it sort of rubs off. We met because my brother got hurt and was dying, and Geoffrey was the only one who'd help us. If not for him, my brother would be dead. Instead, he's married to the local Marquis and I got to keep the healer." He winked. "Drink up before it gets cold. I'll be outside if you need anything."
On the other side of the room, Geoffrey was already lost to his work, bustling and muttering to himself, the pungent scent of blue willow filling the air.
Checking the meat, satisfied with how it looked, Thorley got it strung up on poles and then racked up for smoking. Once the smoke was going, and he could trust it to be left unattended for a few minutes, he went inside to see how matters progressed and if Geoffrey needed anything.
He found the parents crying, and the child sitting up, slowly sipping at a cup of tea that Geoffrey held for him. "Good," Geoffrey said, smiling in that way of his that could melt the stoniest heart. "Just a few more sips, there you go."
"He already looks better," Anna said. "How did you do it?"
As Marcus finished the tea, Geoffrey ruffled his hair and stood, returning to his work area. "I think your son was probably bitten by an ogre fly. It's a mild bite, most people don't even feel it, and at worst they feel an itch. Then the spot will ache and itch for a few hours, maybe leave a small bruise for a couple of days. But some people, like your son, react badly to the bite. In adults, it's just a bad fever and some mild aches for a couple of days. But he's young, so he reacted far worse. But the blue willow is helping the fever, and I added a couple of other things to help with the aches. Another hour or so, he should be up to eating properly, and with a couple of days of good rest, he'll be back on his feet like nothing ever happened."
Anna burst into tears and buried her face in her hands. Benjamin cuddled her close,
burying his head in her hair to hide his own tears.
Thorley fixed them more tea, and got a porridge started for Marcus that should be ready by the time he felt like eating. He added sugar, cinnamon, and plenty of dried fruit that would fill out and soften as it cooked.
Leaving it to simmer, he returned to his smoking, pleased to see it was coming along.
Trading, smoking, and cooking weren't the most exciting activities in the world. Most would call them mundane and boring, even tedious and annoying. But Thorley would gladly take on the most boring chore in the world over having to return to a life of traveling around killing things just to earn enough money for a meal and relatively clean bed. The chores meant he had a home to take care of, a life to maintain. The kind of life he'd never really had, with a mother who couldn't bear to look at him, parents who were secretly glad to finally see him leave.
Anyone who looked down on a secure, peaceful life was a damned fool who didn't deserve it.
When the meat was done smoking, Thorley made certain the fire was well and truly out, then took the cured meat to the shed behind the house, storing it with all the other preserved foods he'd been steadily working on, and barrels and chests of various dried goods. They'd want for nothing when winter hit—and he hadn't even started on the fruit yet. That was tomorrow's project, while Geoffrey turned the rest of it into jams and wine.
Carrying in a few things for dinner, he set them on the kitchen table and then went to clean up—in the creek, rather than simply at the rain barrel, since he doubted their guests wanted to see a naked goblin wandering around.
Returning to the house, he was met by Geoffrey pressing a finger to his lips, followed by a nod toward the living room. Thorley's mouth curved as he saw Anna and Benjamin fast asleep on the sofa. Nearby on the bench, Marcus had fallen asleep in the middle of eating his porridge.