The Goblin's Heir

Chapter Thirty Four: Foreign Tongues

Neasa gingerly assessed the oozing bite on my thigh. The goblin had bit down hard and thrashed its head around. A flush of red and some yellowing had begun to mar the skin around it. I tensed beneath her tiny fingers, whimpering in my throat. 

The others were preparing while still keeping an eye on the field and the goblins hiding within the wheat. "We're going to need warmer clothing if we're going to the Winter Branches. All of ours has been ruined." Floki murmured,  toying with the remnants of his shirt barely still on his body. There was a giant hole in the side and one of his sleeves was in tatters. 

"Doubt we'll find anyone forging good armor in Middle of Nowhere, France." Odd said dryly.

"Can you not just conjure some?" Neasa asked, wincing and mouthing an apology when I hissed through my teeth at an overly zealous bend of my knee. 

"Afraid not. It's one spell we've never been able to figure out. Do you think you could..." Frit pleaded, folding in his hands in prayer to her while he not-so-subtly begged. 

"Yes," she sighed exasperatedly. I didn't blame her. We were going to run her ragged. "There won't be any iron parts, but at least we're only fighting goblins at the moment. Just let me finish with your mother." She frowned down at the wound, touching the skin near the edge of the line of punctures. "Your skin feels strangely warm here."

I was suddenly reminded of the frightening days after Rhys and Rolland lost their fingers after being caught stealing. The fevers that had plagued them for days after. The wounds we'd had to leave open to ooze. The maggots we'd encouraged to feast on the decaying meat. I still had nightmares about it occasionally. "Infection may be setting in. That shouldn't matter, right?" My voice cracked. 

"Infection?" Neasa looked at me questioningly, like she didn't understand the language I spoke. 

That's when I realized that she didn't understand. Fae didn't suffer illness. They could be wounded, but things like disease and infection were as foreign to her as a language she'd never heard before. Wounds Neasa knew how to heal. I wasn't sure what magic could do for me if I got sick. "The wound...the wound is...decaying," I explained, using a word I thought she'd understand better. I tried to think of what I should tell her to do. It might've been safer to wash the wound before she sealed it but to get water we'd have to go back outside to the stream that ran behind the house. It seemed an unnecessary risk. "Just heal it as best you can. It should be fine." I said with all the confidence I didn't really have. 

Neasa nodded and moved her hands over the wound. Light radiated from her palms, cooling my skin and easing the sting of broken flesh. I watched the many punctures close up and stood, testing my weight on that side. I could feel the warmth of my skin through my torn breeches and an ache remained, but it wasn't that bad. The leg could bear my weight. I could walk. I could fight.

She moved over to the boys. She began with Frit, stretching up onto her toes to reach his shoulders. "I forget you're all like me," Neasa said. "The blood in your veins makes you stronger in some ways and stunted in others." She passed her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. In their wake, new leather appeared. The leather was not an exact replica of what he'd been wearing. The leather tunic ended in a skirt of leather strips studded with bits of bone like the armor the princes wore in the arena, the leather stark black against his pale skin. From his shoulders, a cloak of thick grey fur fell around him, bristling around his throat. He reached up to his chest, passing his gloved fingers over the emblem stitched into the leather. An owl in midflight.

 "Nah, I wouldn't call you stunted. You're just the right size," Frit smirked down at her, patting her head and biting his tongue to keep from laughing at how tiny she was compared to him and his brothers.