Book 1: Brutality

Child

24

"Adults are just outdated children." — Dr. Seuss

~Trigger Warning~

The next day, I sit on the platform, sewing another bag for my faerie-repellent. With the herbs added to the salt and iron, I've got a lovely, lethal mixture, guaranteed to send hostile faeries running. I've been practicing my aim too.

Not with my poisons, of course, they are too valuable. But, with sand from the river. I've set up a practice dummy and have practiced opening the bag and throwing sand until my arm aches.

Hopefully, I'll have the reflex when danger strikes next. It's easy, really. All I have to do is pretend I'm throwing salt in Barathalion's eyes.

Now, I sew a black belt-pouch for my poisons, while Valindra's loom clacks below and Lindor chews on a long, polished stick, lying in his basket beside me. He throws the stick overboard and his face crumbles, the howl starting.

I restore his toy and he gurgles. I wince as pain bites through me and I lean back, my stomach heavy. The baby twists inside me; it's started moving.

"Hello, Albia." It's Gael, striding along the treeway towards us. He squats down and pokes Lindor gently. Hello, boy, he signs at him. How are you?

You don't need lessons, I sign. You're good already.

"Not good enough," he says with a sigh. He nods down at the shaft. "How's Valindra today?"

Fine. I sit up straighter. Let's practice more signs.

We practice signing while the sun beams down around us and the leaves whisper against the sky. It's so quiet and peaceful. If only I could enjoy it.

Another round of pains grips me and I close my eyes. Sorry, I'm not feeling well.

"I can see that." He pulls Lindor into his lap. Lindor coos and snatches at the tassels on his vest. "It wasn't this bad for Valindra," Gael says, looking at me sympathetically.

Good, I sign and pull over the notebook as my command of sign language gives out. We're thinking of adopting out the baby, once it's born.

He cocks his head at me quizzically. "You don't want the child?"

I shake my head, avoiding his gaze.

"Well, you don't stay sick forever, you know." He smiles slightly.

I don't smile. Nothing about this is funny.

He sighs, humour fading. "Have you already promised the child to anyone?"

I shake my head. Valindra says to wait until it's born healthy. She bustled around me when she made that decision: "After all, Albia, you can't know if you'll even bring it to term. Better to wait and see instead of breaking a promise of a live, healthy baby."

I didn't have the strength to argue, or point out that this baby's virtually guaranteed to be born alive and healthy. The unicorn-blessed child of a human woman and a Prince of Faerie? It'll go to term, all right, and be born kicking and screaming with health.

"Ah, well." He shrugs. "That's probably wise."

We sit in silence a moment more. Lindor starts crawling across Gael's lap towards me, and I take him back, jiggling him on my knee.

"Why don't you want the child?" Gael asks suddenly. There's no condemnation or censure in his voice, just curiosity.

I stare at him with burning eyes. The curse grips me like a vice. I can't make the smallest move to tell him the true reason. All I can do is sit there, burning with frustration.

He stiffens a little, crest twitching. "All right," he says huffily. "Don't tell me."

I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. I'm sorry, is all I can sign. I'm sorry.

"For what?" He frowns.

"Albia!" Valindra howls up the shaft and we both jump. Lindor starts to cry. "You've got a patient waiting!"

Got to go. I place Lindor in his basket and, with effort, haul myself to my feet. My stomach sticks out, a burden I can't put down — gross and heavy.

Gael hands me the basket with Lindor and my sewing. I nod at him. Tomorrow?

Tomorrow, he agrees. I'll bring a gift for you soon, he adds.

I step back, immediately wary. Why would he be bringing me gifts? Is this some devious plan? My heart quickens.

Don't worry, he signs, correctly reading my face. The he switches to spoken language, "I'm not trying to put you in my debt. I just owe you more, that's all." I hang back, still eyeing him suspiciously. He gives an impatient sigh. "I mean it. I'm not trying to harm or trick you. But my debt to you grows. I have to pay it off somehow."

I tilt my head quizzically and frown at him. What debt? How can he owe me anything? I've never healed him. Sure, I've been teaching him sign language, but that's hardly a huge favour and we agreed it was repayment for the poisons he brought me.

What debt? When he doesn't respond, I stamp my foot a little, impatiently, and glare.

He glares back. "Tell me what happened to make you not want the child," he says evenly, "and I'll explain my debt."

I glare at him helplessly.

"Right then." He nods in victory and turns around. "See you tomorrow," he says over his shoulder.

I glower after him as he strides off, before turning to head down into the cottage. Maybe Valindra is right when she says he's the most irritating man she knows.

Irritating or not, he keeps coming back. A few weeks of daily lessons, patients outside the door and, of course, pregnancy go by.

Grimly, I practice throwing poison in my imaginary enemies' eyes, though, even that exertion soon has me puffing for breath. The baby wriggles inside me like a fish. Will this ever be over?

Then, Gael says he's off on a trip. I'll e gone a few days I think, he signs, standing with me on the platform. He's getting really good. On the Ironside.

Be careful, I caution him. I've treated enough iron-poisoned faeries by now to be cautious of the human world. Half of my patients seem to have come back from Ironside with infected cuts and swollen flesh, skin blackened by iron poisoning. Im a bit surprised by the force of my concern for Gael now.

I will, he nods and waves. See you soon.

Valindra crawls up the shaft behind me, taking Lindor and glaring after Gael. "Off he goes!" she growls. "Not a care in the world. Frivolous as ever!"

He's all right, I say. I don't think he's frivolous. Indeed, compared to most faeries, he's positively staid and focused.

"Gadding about Ironside," she mutters. "Completely irresponsible! Come on, Albia, we'd better work on the cradle and the layette."

~Fun Fact~

If you sneeze too hard, you could fracture a rib.

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