Warrior Tithe: Faerie Tales by T.J. Deschamps

Author:T.J. Deschamps [Deschamps, T.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-28T22:00:00+00:00

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 iron 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.

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