Tales from Blackthorn Briar by Sebastian Nothwell

Author:Sebastian Nothwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay, queer, victorian, gay romance, fae, historical fantasy, queer romance, fae romance, fae fantasy, elves and fae
Publisher: Sebastian Nothwell

~

Everyone else in Blackthorn arose with the sun. Nell made herself breakfast and shared it with Shrike and the wolf. Then, with the wolf at her side, she went out to tend the flocks. Shrike remained in the cottage. Nothing, he thought, could persuade him from Wren’s side.

Then a knocking came upon the cottage door.

The noise startled Shrike out of his sombre meditative state. He whipped his head towards the door, then just as quickly back at Wren. Wren had stirred not a whit. No sound, it seemed, could wake him from his induced slumber.

With many a wary glance back at his sleeping beloved, Shrike crept toward the door. He reminded himself, as he hesitated with his hand on the latch, that none could pass through the wall of briars if they meant him or Wren harm. He drew a steadying breath and opened the door.

A page stood before him, clad in the green-gold livery of the Court of Bells and Candles. They bowed. Shrike nodded his head in return.

“Our Lady Aethelthryth slew the white hart,” the page began.

“My heart leaps for her,” Shrike replied dully.

The page either didn’t perceive Shrike’s sarcasm or chose not to acknowledge it. “She recognises the Holly King’s role in her victory and is grieved to hear of his peril. Would the Court of Oak and Holly accept her aid?”

“Has she a chirurgeon experienced in saving mortal lives?” Shrike growled.

“Yes,” replied the page.

Shrike blinked. “Oh.”

“Shall we send them?” asked the page, nothing daunted.

“Aye,” said Shrike. Then, because he knew he should, though he hardly felt it, he added, “Thank you.”

The page bowed and withdrew.

Shrike shut the door. His arm remained braced against the door-frame afterward. He let his brow fall to it with a heavy sigh. How long he stayed there, he knew not. Crackling logs tumbled against each other as they collapsed in the hearth-flames behind him.

“There’s a spot of luck,” said Nell.

Shrike, who’d half-forgotten she was there, whirled at the sound of her voice.

“Her bone-setters break curses,” she continued in response to his bewildered glance. “Surely they can handle a bite.”

While little brightness could penetrate the fog of gloom that hung over Shrike’s mind, he had to admit her words sparked a spot of hope. He knew well the legend of Lady Aethelthryth. How her wicked sister had coveted her throne and conspired to slay her with a curse, and how she had nearly succumbed, save for the fortuitous aid of the summoned chirurgeon, who had dwelled in the Court of Bells and Candles ever since. Lady Aethelthryth would never walk again, true enough, but she yet thrived, which was more than could be said for those who’d cursed her.

Still, Shrike’s sober good sense demanded he reply, “If she will spare us a chirurgeon at all.”

Nell raised an eyebrow. “She’d better. For her sake.”

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