Warrior Tithe: Faerie Tales

by T. J. Deschamps

  Fagan found his shoulders relaxing. Employment as a soldier was exactly what he’d wished for before he found the kelpie. What difference to him would it be if he fought for a fae queen or human king? A niggling voice said this could be a fae trick, but he recognized that as the voice of his ma. Love his mother, he did. Yet, Fagan had to admit for all her knowledge of this and that and her warnings, it had not helped her in the end. This world was as dangerous as any faerie world. He’d be deluding himself to think otherwise.

  Besides, although the kelpie could take care of herself, she was obviously alone and not wise to the ways of mortal men. She could end up in a trap again and he wouldn’t be there to free her. If she were rendered powerless by iron once more, Fagan wouldn’t want her to succumb to a lofty laird or a warrior who used women ill. He would join her if it was only to make sure she made it safely back to her people.

  He strapped to his back a quiver filled with arrows and bow, folded and rolled the blanket the kelpie had refused, and gathered a few things to remember his family, stuffing them in his father’s sporran. Lucky for Fagan he’d kept it, he had considered boiling the leather pouch to eat more than once. Figuring it wouldn’t soften enough to chew let alone pass through his stomach, he’d given up the notion.

  Aoife’s large, green eyes kept watch, seeming to track his every move. Something had happened to this kelpie to make her wary of humans. A water horse could take care of themself, but she had nothing on her, not even a stitch of clothing or jewels. It seemed odd for a princess to have nothing, not even an escort, but what did he know of the ways of fae nobles?

  “All right, I’ll accompany ye, but I don’t know if I’ll go beyond the Veil with ye. I’ll need more time to consider ”

  “Why would ye come, if ye won’t stay?” she asked, blinking those lovely eyes.

  Not lovely, just eyes, Fagan. She offered to make an introduction because he’d saved her life. He swallowed his pride to admit, “I may not want to serve as a knight to fae court, but I do need food and an occupation. I’ll get neither by remaining here. I would like someone as deadly as a kelpie to avoid thieves and brigands.”

  She smiled. “Ye seek me to protect ye?”

  “We can watch each other’s back.”

  He scooped the kelpie in his arms. She let out a little yelp and then laughed. Her green eyes sparkled with mirth and her smile was as sweet as honey.

  “No one has ever carried me before.” She sounded absolutely giddy about it, which in turn made him a bit lighthearted.

  The fae was so beautiful and felt so right in his arms, Fagan found it hard to breathe, but he let the feeling pass without telling her so. “Are ye comfortable?”

  “I am.” She winced as they passed under the iron nailed to the door and the iron under his feet.

  He grinned at her cursing. “If this journey is long, I hope ye’ll return the favor.”

  She stiffened, making carrying her more difficult. “No one has ever ridden me…” Her voice trailed off. The kelpie didn’t need to add, ‘and lived.’ Fagan understood her dilemma.

  “If ye can’t allow me to ride astride yer back, I’ll do fine walking,” Fagan assured her, hoping to ease the kelpie’s apprehension.

  She didn’t weigh much, but he wasn’t as strong as he used to be. Fagan had to stop a couple of times. His cheeks blazed the first time he had to admit that he needed rest.

  They sat on a grassy knoll, her on his lap. She didn’t seem to feel the cold the way he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to put her bare arse on the frozen ground. Plus, her heat kept him warm.

  Her brows furrowed. “Yer not sickly, are ye?”

  Fagan grunted and shook his head mournfully. If he were sickly, he wouldn’t have had to bury his kin. “I’d have died when the plague spread through these parts. I simply haven’t eaten much more than rabbit, squirrel, and whatever I can manage foraging for a long time…and I’m no good at foraging.”

  Foraging had been women’s work in his family, and he sorely regretted not having much training in it. He’d always hunted with his da, took care of the livestock and other duties. His ma and sisters all knew what was edible and what was not, and the knowledge died with them.

  “I picked a mushroom that made me and Cuilén see spirits and folk that weren’t there for a whole day. Thought we had the sight. Woke up with a massive ache in my skull the next day.”

  Aoife laughed, the sound rich and lovely.

  Fagan couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard anyone laugh or even felt like smiling himself. He’d never been one to crack jokes or play pranks like his brothers, but he did enjoy their merriment.

  “When was the last time ye ate fish?”

  “I don’t have much luck with catching them,” Fagan replied truthfully.

  She straightened and lifted her chin. “Ye’ll eat fish today, my friend.”

  “Yer friend, am I?” Fagan grinned, tickled by the notion of this wild fae princess and a humble peasant lad such as himself being friends.

  “Twasn’t me ye meant to eat.” Aoife grinned back, a sweet little smile that chipped at the ice formed around Fagan’s heart and stoking the embers of passion he’d thought long cold and dead.

  Fear warred with lust. With naught but his tunic between them, she’d surely know her effect upon him and might curse him with death for it.

  “No need to tarry any longer.” He scooped the fae up and pushed to his feet in an awkwardly hurried and unsteady movement. They bumped heads and he almost dropped Aoife in the process.

  Her arms were fair stronger than those belonging to a human woman as she clung to him, holding on for dear life. Fagan became painfully aware of the feel of her body—the threadbare material of his tunic the only thing between her warm sea-scented skin and his.

  He sent up a prayer to the saints he’d long stopped believing in to make him as celibate in his mind as a monk, to freeze his heart again. This was no sweet maiden to fall in love with and marry. He held a kelpie in his arms and though her womanly form was—Christ help him—lovely, she’d drown him sooner than return his affection.

  At the moment, the dangerous fae shook her head and looked a little off. Fagan winced. Their heads had collided, but his being made of rock, as his mother had so affectionately told him many a time, didn’t hurt a bit.

  “Did I harm ye?”

  “No.” She cupped his face tenderly, again chipping away at the glacier in his chest. “Ye need not fear me, Fagan. Ne’er have I drowned a man for wanting a wee bit o’comfort in an otherwise austere existence.”

  Fagan swallowed hard, unprepared for the kiss that followed, answering the tenderness in her soft lips with all the ardor of a statue. Fear and wanting warring, he trembled. His stomach fluttered in a strange and exciting way. It had been so long since he felt anything.

  “Did ye not want me to do so?” Aoife asked, suddenly shy.

  “I have nothing to offer ye,” he whispered, walking so he didn’t have to look directly into that sweet face of hers. “I canna fathom why ye’d even want to lower yerself so.”

  She laid her head of fiery curls on his shoulder. Her breath tickled his neck as she said, “I fancy ye, barnacle head.”

  He raised an eyebrow, not sure if he should be offended. “What’s a barnacle?”

  She laughed in response, hearty and low. The glacier in his chest thawing bit by bit at the sound.

  6

  Aoife

  The water of the river was half frozen over, but water in any state would bend to her will. Leaving Fagan on the shore, Aoife scooted her naked body across the bumpy surface to reach the middle, sensing a deeper pool underneath. She parted the thick layer with a bit of magic and sank into the rushing water underneath.

  Fagan, the sweet lad, cried out. The poor dear forgot that a water horse's place was exactly where she was going.

  Underwater, Aoife no longer felt the sting of the cold air. Her wound burned as it healed, but the last vestiges of the i
ron poisoning that had weakened her slipped away. She emerged from the water fully healed.

  Fagan pushed to his feet, the creases of his brow smoothing out and a hint of a smile touching his shapely mouth.

  With magic once again at her behest. She called to all the fish who inhabited the river and gave them the Swiftness to swim at a preternatural speed. The fish disgorged from the hole in the ice, piling onto the crust of the frozen river.

  The lad’s eyes grew large and round, his mouth agape.

  When she believed they’d have enough for their journey, she drew water into the air, shaping it into an orb. She then took the still living fish and cast them into the orb, save a few they’d eat now. After that she picked apart a seam in the fabric of here and Nowhere and set the orb in the Space in Between—a magical cache she’d be able to access from anywhere.

  She picked up a fish, thanked it for its sacrifice, lulled it to slumber, and then killed it. She bit into the flesh, savoring the taste.

  Fagan stared, unmoving.

  “Fool lad,” she said before taking another bite. “I deliver ye a feast and ye watch me eat?”

  He shook his head as if waking from a fae-induced stupor and made his way cautiously down the shore to the edge of the ice. Images of him falling through and drowning flashed in his mind.

  “It’ll hold yer weight. Ye will not drown.”

  His blue gaze shifted from the perceived threat to Aoife, mouth quirking as if he would respond, but he only swallowed hard and nodded. The lad gathered the fish and took them ashore. While he went about making a fire from some peat in a sac and preparing the fish as humans did, she conjured up some clothes—a tunic and some good boots—weaved of the elements about her. It matched the style of the lad’s clothes. She would not show up to Mab’s court this way, but it’d do for now. She wanted the lad to look at her, and he’d not do so if she stayed in her natural state.

  Poking at the meager beginnings of the fire he’d built; Fagan lifted a dark eyebrow in her direction. “Ye could have dressed yerself this whole time?”

  Aoife smiled, but held her tongue. She’d be a fool to remind him that the iron poisoning so far away from the water had weakened her to the point she could do naught about her circumstance. She watched him cook his fish and eat it.

  “Delicious,” he pronounced. There was gratitude in his eyes as he glanced her way, but Fagan did not thank her.

  Aoife smiled to herself; his ma had raised him well in the ways of the fae. She grew bored in the time he took to savor every bite. Drawing closer to him, she asked, “D’ye find me bonnie?”

  She knew full well he did, but he didn’t act like a man besotted. She wanted him in love with her, willing to do anything she desired. He would be her spy and only ally in Mab’s court.

  The lad swallowed hard, his mind conjuring the image of her kissing him and all that it stirred within his sad, lonely heart. “I am but a man who has seen naught but girls half-starved or sickly, and ye a fae, healthy and hale. How could I not find ye the bonniest lass I’ve ever laid eyes on?”

  A pleasant, effervescent sensation bubbled within her. She licked her lips to keep from smiling. “So, yer saying if ye lived among the fae, ye’d not find me pleasing to the eye?”

  Instead of rising to the challenge, the human grimaced. Mood obviously soured, he turned his blue-eyed gaze upon the fire and buried his thoughts behind a wall of distrust.

  Aoife felt an unfamiliar sensation in her chest from his quiet censure. Banter was a way of life in fae courts. Her kind could not lie, but they could flirt with falsehoods by clever turns of phrase and stories.

  A wigeon landed nearby, waddling its way toward Aoife. From the moment the small duck landed, it quacked complaints of traveling so far to winter in peace, yet he was still harassed by hounds. The unintended warning caused a frisson of fear to dance down her back.

  “Would there be a laird with several hounds about these lands hunting?”

  Fagan cocked his head. “Nay. The clan chieftain of these parts is holed up in his keep more than a day’s ride from here. Why?”

  She searched the ducks mind. Aoife bit back a gasp at the image of two gray, ghastly beasts chasing the ducks. Roi was a sorcerer. He could conjure such creatures.

  Aoife pushed to her feet. “We mustn’t tarry here any longer.”

  Before Fagan could ask questions Aoife didn’t want to answer, she shifted into her kelpie form. Fagan flinched as he watched, then he was still as stone. She gestured with her head to get onto her back. She could move swifter than a human could possibly run.

  His gaze flicked to the water before he asked, “Do you want me to ride you?”

  She gave him an exaggerated nod.

  He bit his bottom lip as he approached, closing his eyes as he placed a hand on her flank. The lad didn’t move, as if he was expecting his hand to be stuck so she could drag him into the river. Aoife didn’t have time for his human fear. She nipped at him.

  He jumped back and waved his arms. “All right! All right! I’ll get on.”

  The both turned their heads in the direction of distant barking.

  Aoife shifted back and forth and neighed, urging him to mount her.

  As soon as Fagan swung his leg over her back, she took off in a run, binding his body to hers with the same magic she usually reserved for her victims. The lad screamed at first when she galloped faster than a mortal horse could possibly move, but he eventually acclimated. Through the images his mind presented, he even began to enjoy himself. Aoife couldn’t afford to feel Fagan’s pleasure at riding her, but there it was, a bit of joy hiding under the consuming fear that Roi was on their heels.

  7

  Roi

  Roi’s jaw hurt. He’d spent days clenching it, chasing the hellhounds that tracked the damned kelpie Aoife. The king circled the banked remnants of a fire, staring at the skeletal remains of fish as if he could read portents and omens in the bones. Aoife would have eaten a fish raw, as did all the Folk of the Sea, which meant she kept company of the human persuasion.

  He’d crossed the sea into another kingdom for her and she found a companion. To add injury to his already wounded pride, Roi had to travel over land by night, like a thief, so he didn’t have to explain his presence. He didn’t want the king or any of the clan chiefs knowing he had to search for his wife. His enemy was known throughout these isles, having studied combat here. Could Aoife’s companion be one of them and Roi was walking into a trap?

  No. He couldn’t think that way. The path of paranoia led to madness.

  Aoife was entangled with a peasant, no doubt to mock Roi for cheating at their match. He looked around, seeing it on his men’s faces. Their king was yet again chasing down a traitorous princess. Would he have any respect when this was done? Could he afford to care? His life was forfeit if he didn’t find both women.

  Roi wanted to clench his fists, tilt his head back, and roar his frustration. Time was running out. His secret might already be forfeit.

  “Women. Why must they gall us at every turn?” Roi shook his head and chuckled softly. “This is a fae trick. It’s obvious the princess set this up to look like she’s found an ally. Tell me this: which of you mortal men would dare keep company with a kelpie?”

  His men cast about with wary gazes. None spoke up. Roi puffed up with pride. That was why Roi was a king and they were his men. He wasn’t afraid of the monster; he even dared to make her his bride. Their king was someone powerful enough to do so, and he was glad they knew it.

  “The living left that cottage we came to some time ago. The cupboards were bare and the livestock naught but an old dream,” his squire said helpfully.

  Good lad.

  “Even if there were someone still there, it’s likely she made a meal out of them or plans to,” another of Roi’s men added.

  The men nodded in agreement. One shivered. Good. He didn’t want his men lusting after his wife. He’d already lost a friend over a woman. He would not lose his
kingdom, nor his life.

  “Aye. My betrothed tests the steadfastness of my heart.” Roi’s lips curve into a wolfish grin, although a murderous fury at her mockery rose like an unceasing tide within. “Be they human or be they fae, women love to play games and be chased.”

  His men laughed and elbowed each other in the ribs. Their laughter died as Roi’s hounds approached. The two great, gray beasts with glowing, green orbs for eyes lifted their heads to their master. He threw them some meat and then said in a language only he and the hounds would understand, “Find the kelpie, and I’ll let you eat the human in her company.”

  The hounds took off. Tendrils of smoke curled around their feet, eating up their legs and bodies, until the dogs were nothing but mist rolling over the hillside.

  A few of his men crossed themselves. The weak-brained simpletons were indoctrinated in a religion that carried a lot of notions, but no real power.

  Roi smiled to himself, but he felt no joy. If Aoife was tupping a human, she no longer held affection for him. He pulled out the amulet warming his chest. The little charm glowed a faint green as it lifted from his hand, hovering in the directions the hounds went. He mounted his horse and his party did the same.

  8

  Fagan

  The landscape was naught but a vertigo-inducing blur of colors. Fagan thought he’d vomit his fish on Aoife, but he kept his meal. The strange thing about riding a kelpie was he felt neither the jolt of a galloping horse through his arse nor the cold air on his face. It felt like riding the wind on a cloud.

  Fagan needn’t hold tight to her as he would a normal horse. He needn’t hold onto Aoife at all. Everywhere his body touched the kelpie was held fast by magic; nothing he did would unseat him. Bound to this ride for better or worse, the discovery at once reassured and chilled him to the bone. He found if he focused on Aoife’s water horse form, he could stomach the dizzying pace and eventually began to enjoy the ride.