Nettle & Bone by Kingfisher T

Author:Kingfisher, T. [Kingfisher, T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Horror, Adult, Adventure, Paranormal
ISBN: 9781250244048
Amazon: 1250244048
Goodreads: 56179377
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2022-04-26T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

It was easy to find the godmother, once they got to Trexel. Marra had visions of the dust-wife using magic or asking the dead, but what she actually did was lean over a fence and say, to a woman with three children and a harried expression, “Is there a godmother who blesses children about?”

The woman’s face briefly turned cheerful. “Oh yes— Don’t put that in your mouth! The godmother. She’s very kind— I swear to the saints, Owen, I will take you to market and sell you for a three-legged goat!—Five miles down the road, turn where it crosses the stream and go along the bank until— Owen, I’ve had about enough!—You’ll find a little house with a garden and a signpost out front. The sign’s fallen down, but the post is still there. There’s usually trumpet flower up the post and I don’t think we’ve had a hard enough frost yet— Owen! You leave that cat alone!”

These directions proved quite good, unlike Owen. They found the garden, the house, and a post with a wooden crosspiece and two rusted iron links that had probably held a sign at some point. The trumpet flower had gone up the pole and flowered extravagantly scarlet.

“Hello?” said Marra’s fairy godmother, looking up from her work in the garden. Marra knew her at once, though she had not seen her since she was in the cradle. Something inside her snapped toward the woman, like an iron filing snapping to a magnet. Her. There. That’s the one.

The garden was just slightly out of control. It was nothing that a week or two of work couldn’t fix, but the weeds were flourishing around the base of the plants and Marra could see the dried stems of last season’s beans still twined around the poles, despite the new growth covering them. None of the preparations for winter had been made, although the first frost would hit any day now. A little too much for one person.

Her godmother had the kind but faintly anxious look of someone who was permanently in just a little over her head. She smiled at Marra, a smile with a little worry at the edges, and started to say, “How can I hel—” and then a line formed between her eyes and in midsentence, she switched to “Oh! You’re one of mine, aren’t you?”

She dropped the stake that she had been trying, without success, to slide into the already rampant tomatoes. She was round and flushed and there were sweat drops on her forehead. As Marra watched the woman push to her feet, wiping at her face and leaving a streak of dirt across her cheek, it was hard not to compare her to the ancient aquiline majesty of Prince Vorling’s godmother. It was not a kind comparison. Marra felt a pang of something like despair.

“I can always tell,” said the godmother happily. “I’m Agnes!” She reached out to take Marra’s hand with her own. There was dirt on her fingers and a dead tomato leaf adhered to her hair.

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