His Fairy Share

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His Fairy Share Page 19

by Meghan Maslow


  When I first met Twig I’d used the bindweed to show I could be useful, so he’d take me with him on his quest. Instead, he’d wrongly assumed I’d taken part in some thievery and demanded I stay behind. That hadn’t worked out so well for him. Or, I suppose it did, since we’ve been together over six months now.

  Placing everything but the powder back into the pouch, I dug out a tiny brush like the ones the EBI used. Dipping it in the glowing powder, I ran the brush carefully over the lock and over other parts of the gate, until faint palm prints appeared where a pirate or pirates once leaned while messing with the lock. A miracle the sea air hadn’t destroyed these prints. Possibly one or two useable ones remained. Maybe.

  Touching my palm to a print, I then touched the handle. It glowed a faint blue before it creaked. It worked. I tugged at it with my other hand, and the lock sprung open. Yaaass!

  Removing the lock, I heaved myself at the door. This would hurt. A lot. To my surprise, the door gave way. Not easily, not fast, but inch by inch, until I opened it enough to slip through.

  I stood on a tiny sliver of beach. The moonlight glinted off water lapping over large boulders and banks of coral. High tide. Fortunately, the water didn’t reach the cave. One small mercy. Looking around, I scanned the looming rock faces. The sea or the rocks? No way out except up. I groaned. Wished I’d packed the Socrates Satyr’s Soreness Suck Away. I could spend the night here and try the climb in the morning after I rested. Probably the sensible option.

  But what about Twig? I closed my eyes and tried to feel our bond. Still there, but no sense of his emotions or thoughts. He must be suffering from the lack of contact as much as I. What if he made it back and they ambushed him? He’d be weakened, too. He’d also be frantic with worry. And what about Zak? What if he turned up at the citadel looking for me?

  No, I needed to find a way to contact Twig and continue my search for Zak. But first I hobbled back inside the cave and over to the rotting casks. If blood loss didn’t kill me, thirst sure would. I checked each barrel, most filled with grog, but they’d filled one blessed cask with water and it smelled only slightly sour. Hopefully, I wouldn’t get dysentery from it. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  I dipped my hands in and cupped some water, bringing it to my lips. I moaned, as the liquid trickled down my parched throat. I drank until sated, then shrugged off my knapsack and pulled out my water skin. Filled and corked it, then placed it back in my bag.

  Afterward, I returned to the beach and sank down on a boulder. I shucked my boots, blood trickling out of them. Then I eased down my trousers. Red covered every inch of skin on my legs. Groaning, I pushed to my feet, then worked on steadying myself. I hobbled toward the saltwater. What I wouldn’t give for a steaming bath and a week of sleep.

  Crawling onto a rock at the water’s edge, I let the waves lap over my skin, the salt burning my cuts. Tears I couldn’t hold back slipped from my eyes, but I stayed put. As the water cleaned away the blood, the gash across my lower thigh was my only significant worry. Though the rest of me looked like I’d laid on a bed of nails. Pinpricks of blood formed and reformed as the water washed it away. I removed the remains of my tunic, then picked crystal shards out of my knees and side. I couldn’t get it all, so I rummaged around in my pouch again, pulling out Medulla’s Medicinal Mud.

  Forcing myself to my feet, I slathered on the mud and let it dry. A patch of a sort. I wished I could do it for my side, but I’d tend to that later. Blisters on the burn’s edges made every movement painful. The bleeding on my thigh hadn’t stopped but had become sluggish, so the shard must not have hit an artery. Let’s hope I hadn’t lacerated anything internally.

  Groaning with each step, I looked for the easiest place to start my climb. There. I pulled on my trousers, then shoved my swollen feet back into my ruined boots. I dug around in my knapsack for Twig’s extra tunic. I pulled it on. Too large but at least it didn’t chafe my injured side.

  I raised my hands, feeling for a handhold. Algae coated the rocks, making for a perilous climb. I had nothing to help me cling to the side. No way I’d make it. My shoulders slumped, and I leaned heavily against the cliff, my cheek resting against the cool stone.

  Not helpless, but I was injured, sore, and exhausted. I couldn’t see a way out of this mess. Part of me wanted to lie down and sleep. That way lay madness. I didn’t know the extent of my injuries. Besides, I couldn’t let Twig come back to a trap. I had to try.

  I felt around again for anyplace I could get a solid grip. To my surprise, my bracer tingled. As I stared, it shimmered and began to change. Was it taking the shape of Scrodbun’s War Hammer? No, it spread down my hand becoming a gauntlet.

  Oh, wow! I didn’t know it could do that. I must have stared at it agog for a full minute before I grabbed hold of the rock face. The gauntlet gripped the stone like glue, along the fingertips and palm. No slipping. Not a perfect solution, but it might keep me from breaking my neck.

  Here went nothing . . .

  The earliest signs of dawn came before I made it to the cliff top. Most lights in town were extinguished, except by the docks. That place never slept. As I stared up the mountain at the citadel, it shone bright, all its lights ablaze against the night sky. They must still be searching. I’d never been to this part of the island before, though it sat near town.

  I didn’t have much energy left and I boasted a host of new bloody scrapes and bruises. Without the gauntlet, I would have fallen at least a dozen times. It had already morphed back into my bracer. I ran a hand over it in thanks.

  Heading in the direction of town, I eventually stumbled upon a road but stayed in the shadows. I couldn’t take any chances of the wrong people seeing me. I lurched along, tripping and falling. At this rate, it would be light before I’d get to the city.

  One pain-filled step after another. Twig’s safety the only thing that kept me moving.

  The sun hadn’t quite risen by the time I arrived, but the docks were teeming with sailors and vendors beginning to open their businesses for the day. I tried to draw as little attention to myself as possible. Not easy with my torn finery, but the light of day hadn’t yet made it too obvious. I looked more like a street rat than anything. Fingers crossed, anyway.

  27

  Stumbling into the Rusty Horn Inn, I all but fell on Charity.

  “Ack, luv, Og be expecting ye. Quickly now, head down, don’t want to give ye away to these scallywags. There be a mighty price on yer head.” She looped an arm around my waist and bodily hauled me toward the kitchens. “Drunks, what can ye do with ’em?” she called to the tavern more generally.

  Several patrons laughed, but they all seemed sunk in their cups.

  We fumbled our way through the kitchen, and she called to Jester. “Help me with him, will ye, lad? We need to get him settled.”

  Jester appeared as suddenly as before, and the two of them maneuvered me up a winding staircase. They hauled me down a door-lined corridor, supporting my weight. Charity pulled out a ring of keys and appeared to pick a door at random. After unlocking the door, they dragged me inside. My legs refused to cooperate any longer.

  I almost teared up at the sight of a cot. Nothing like I’d been sleeping on, but at this moment, it looked like a bed fit for royalty. They towed me over, lowered me down with care.

  “Don’t know what happened to ye, pretty, but I’m bettin’ it be a yarn that even Og would appreciate. Ye just lay here, and we’ll be back with some supper and hot water. Looks like ye have wounds in need o’ cleaning.”

  Did I? My body alternated between numb and painful everywhere. Even my eyelashes hurt. Before I could give it more than a passing thought, everything went black.

  “Here now, wizard, you need to drink this. It will take the ache off.” A large hand gripped my nape and pulled me upright. I groaned, my eyes so swollen that I couldn’t open them more than a crack. I recognized Two-Toes’ voice, though. He held something to my lips. If he wanted to poison me, or turn me in, or sell m
e to the pirates, I couldn’t do a thing about it. So, I opened up, and bitter liquid filled my mouth.

  I sputtered and coughed.

  “There, there, now, you need ta get this nasty brew all down. I ken it tastes like pirate’s piss, but it’s my homemade remedy. I’ve used it plenty with dock rats who run afoul o’ the wrong sort.” He placed the stein to my lips again.

  I somehow choked it all down and was rewarded by being lowered back to the cot. A wet cloth touched my face, both soothing and painful at once. I gasped, and the pressure on the rag gentled.

  My eyes still couldn’t open all the way, everything blurry, my lids heavy.

  “Charity, luv, put that monks’ barberry over’n his eyes. That’s a lass.”

  A cool, almost gel-like substance covered my aching lids. The washcloth moved over my neck and then my chest. Only then did I realize I lay naked on the cot. Memories of my bed slave days surged to the surface, and I tried to roll away, my pulse pounding in my ears. “No!”

  “Hush now, Quinn. You need a bath and ta see yer wounds tended. T’weren’t nuthin left o’yer finery ta be salvaged.” Two-Toes gently but firmly pressed on my shoulders, and I ceased struggling.

  I groaned. Even that hurt. My heart rate slowly returned to normal as Two-Toes continued the bath, his gentle touch impersonal. The pain gradually receded. What I wouldn’t give to sleep it all away. Wake up in my own bed. The Hominus far behind. A bad dream.

  “They did a number on yer side, pretty.” Charity ran her fingers firmly over my skin as she poked at my injured side. “I don’t think I can dig out all the glass. I’ll do me best.”

  Whatever Two-Toes gave me must have been powerful stuff, because the pain stayed distant, like they’d wrapped me in the warmest, softest blanket.

  “Even all beat up, ye sure are a beauty. See why that dragon has a thing for ye, I do. Though I admit to liking me men with red hair like the brightest phoenix feather and strapping as yer dragon to boot.”

  “Charity!” Two-Toes voice came out strangled.

  If I could open my eyes, I was sure I’d see him blushing. Her teasing relaxed me.

  When they got to my arms, someone tried to remove my bracer. It hummed menacingly, sending ripples under my skin.

  “Don’t.” I didn’t recognize my voice. Like I’d chewed glass.

  “Yer right. Touchin’ it made my hair stand up on end, and you saw how much hair I’ve got.” Two-Toes voice held humor and a bit of curiosity. What would happen if he tried to take the bracer by force? It wouldn’t be good.

  The bath continued, one person with the cloth, another applying foul-smelling poultices and wrappings. Possibly picking out the rest of the shards I’d been unable to dig out earlier. Couldn’t exactly feel it, just the sense of being poked and prodded.

  When they finished, Two-Toes scraped the goop from my eyes. I blinked, the world coming slowly back into focus. Dingy white walls with cracks in the plaster, a well-worn rug, and a single lantern that smelled of a spicy incense made for a dim but strangely cozy recovery ward.

  He and Charity helped me sit up, and Two-Toes handed over an enormous ratty shirt. I struggled to get into it. Charity finally took pity and helped.

  Jester popped his head in the room, and the aroma of something meaty and starchy hit my senses like a marauding minotaur. My mouth watered.

  “Glad you’re awake, mate. Nothing like a plate of broasted hog and bunyip pudding to give ya back your energy.”

  I could have kissed him when he placed a tray on my lap laden with two heaping helpings. I didn’t even try to be polite, diving in and wolfing down as much as I could shove into my mouth at a go.

  Two-Toes chuckled but didn’t stop me. He waved Charity and Jester off and took a chair next to the bed. A small seagull perched on his shoulder.

  After I cleaned the plates, he took the tray and placed it in the hallway before coming back and sitting down again. “You best tell me what happened. I have a feelin’ yer going ta need ol’ Two-Toes’ help.”

  “I can pay—”

  “Yer familiar’s a dragon from a prominent family, I hear. I ken you can pay. Just make sure it’s more than what’s being offered because someone wants you real bad. Curious thing. The fliers fail ta mention yer dragon. Can’t believe they killed that tough bastard, so I’m thinkin’ there’s another tale ta tell.”

  I hung my head, my brain muzzy. Fliers? Hydra’s hexes, the Council didn’t waste time. “What do the fliers claim I did?”

  “Just that you’re very dangerous and quick ta kill. Any information on yer whereabouts will be well compensated.”

  “Damn it.” I definitely needed help. “I need to send a message to the Elder. The portal at the citadel has been . . . disabled.”

  “Disabled, eh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You best start spilling yer yarn. As much as I’d like ta help you, I got a right ta ken what I be walking into.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, waiting.

  Maybe I should have been more strategic in the telling. Exhaustion sat heavily on my shoulders, making my lips loose. Too worried about Twig. So, I laid out the bare bones of what went down. How Le Torneau murdered Vosen. My flight from the citadel. I didn’t mention the secret passages.

  “That Le Torneau’s a bad one, all right. Makes a pirate look like a saint. I’m right sorry ta hear about Rei Vosen, though. She t’weren’t a bad sort. Always involved in projects ta make this hellhole-of-a-city better.” Two-Toes scratched at his beard.

  “So, you’ll help?”

  “It’s a mighty fanciful yarn yer spinnin’, but I survived in this Goddess-forsaken land long enough ta trust my gut. And my gut says yer telling the truth. Or close enough.”

  I sighed in relief. “Have you heard anything about Zak?”

  Two-Toes frowned. “Jester brought news jus’ afore you arrived. It’s one o’ the reasons I believe you. Seems palace guards wearing Le Torneau’s insignia scooped him off o’ the street right quick. And another lassie saw more palace guards—though she couldn’t swear ta whose insignia they wore—enter yer family’s apothecary not more than a half hour afore the fire broke out.”

  I closed my eyes, saying a prayer that my little brother still lived to deities I’d long ago stopped believing in. I’d go after him, but first I needed to let Twig know what happened.

  “You realize they might have taken him because he looks like you?”

  “What? No, why would they . . .” Wait. He’d been wearing my clothes and traveling with Twig. We did look a lot alike. Why hadn’t that occurred to me before now? It pained me too much to do more than grimace. If Le Torneau hurt him because of me . . . “How soon can you get a message to the Elder?”

  “There’s a legal portal one island over, but in all likelihood, it’s not safe ta use. The closest”—he cleared his throat—“less-than-strictly-legal portal is in a hidden isle where pirates like ta rest and refuel. That’s why I keep me pretties.”

  Two-Toes patted the small seagull that currently nipped at his ear. “Zigzag here is one o’ my fastest messengers. She’s able ta fly great distances in no time. You write out yer message, and she’ll make sure it’s delivered.”

  “Who does the message go to?”

  “There’s an orc on the other side who does a good turn o’ business in movin’ things and people across. He’ll make sure yer message is delivered and get yer dragon safely across, too. For the right coin.”

  “An orc?” Twig—and all other dragons—hated orcs. Hoard stealers. My expression must have given my thoughts away because Two-Toes shrugged.

  “He’s proud o’ his reputation and trustworthy for an orc, I hear. ’Sides, what other choice do you have?”

  Fair point. But the orc would be lucky to come out of that conversation in one piece. Hopefully, he wouldn’t do anything to make Twig think he desired his hoard.

  I nodded as Two-Toes stood. “Charity’ll be by with parchment. If Le Torneau has yer broth
er, she’ll use him to draw you in, so it’s best if yer dragon’s here ta back you up. I’ve a feelin’ things are about ta get interesting.”

  I sat propped up in bed. The sparsely furnished but tidy space seemed cramped with Two-Toes standing by the room’s single window. A simple yet solid sailor’s trunk next to my cot acted as a side table. Another stein of that awful tasting brew sat on top of it, waiting for me to swig it down.

  Two-Toes kept his word. After pricking my finger, he placed a drop of my blood in her beak, then tied my message onto Zigzag’s leg. She let out a sound somewhere between a caw and a squeal.

  “Why did you do that?” What could a bird possibly need with my blood?

  “Now she can find you no matter where you go. If I need to send you a message, I can. If you’re caught afore yer dragon comes, I’ll get messages ta you wherever you’re held. And more importantly, you’ll be able to send messages back.”

  With that, he opened the small window. The seagull hit the skies at an amazing pace and in a moment popped away.

  “I didn’t know seagulls could pop.” I blinked, the elixir still keeping the pain manageable.

  “I breed ’em ta be able. A bit on the magical side, if you catch my meaning. They can pop for short distances, but it moves them faster than other birds can travel.”

  “I’ve never heard of that.”

  “And for good reason. I keep these beauties’ abilities close ta my chest. The isle is a mighty distance. Prefer the Council and the City Patrol dinnae look my way when messages go out.”

  Made sense. “Now what?”

  “Now we wait. And you rest up and heal. You’re pure done in. I’ll have Charity bring you more o’ my special brew soon. It won’t fully heal you but you won’t be screamin’ in pain, neither. If you lay low until yer dragon returns, you’ll be almost as good as new, I’m thinkin’.”

  28

 

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