A Court Bright and Broken (Age of Fae #1)

3. Distract Me

Chapter 3

Distract Me

R aewyn

The scarred thief believed me—I could see it in his eyes.

I’d guessed fire was the one thing that scared him, based on the look of the webbed scars covering his face and neck. Lucky thing, that.

When I’d seen the gang attacking my would-be escort, I had run in their direction without thinking.

For a moment, I’d stood helplessly by, like the rest of the onlookers. I had no weapon. What could I do against four men? Especially as weak as I felt today.

But then instinct had taken over, and I’d grabbed the first thing I’d seen—the pan of hot oil from the fry cook’s stall. Flinging it in an arc over the men, I’d soaked all four of them.

Grabbing the lit torch had been the next logical thing to do.

Spitting one final curse at me, the ringleader gestured to his followers, and they all turned and ran away.

I let out a shuddering breath and placed the torch back into its holder at the edge of the fish vendor’s booth.

“I'm sorry about the loss of your oil,” I told him. “I will do what I can to replace it.”

He swiped a greasy hand at the air in front of him. “Don't worry about it, missus. There’s plenty more where that came from. I’ve been tempted to do the same thing m’self. Those troublemakers have stolen more than a few fish from me over the years.”

The candlemaker from the next stall piped up. “It's only a shame you didn't go ahead and throw that torch. Would have saved us all a lot of heartache and money round ‘ere.”

There were vigorous nods and expressions of agreement from several of the onlookers, who must have been victims of thievery themselves in the past.

They all seemed to find the scene that had just transpired humorous. On the other hand, I was shaky and weak in the knees.

I was also awash in relief that I hadn’t had to carry through on my bold threat. I had no desire to immolate anyone, much less a group of poor peasants like myself.

In a way I felt sorry for the men. I’d been on the verge of thievery myself a few times.

Hunger would make you do all kinds of things you thought were beneath you when your belly was full. Mine hadn’t been full in a long time. I was used to it.

What I wasn’t used to—what I’d never get used to—was my two little sisters complaining about their bellies aching.

Last growing season had been a poor one, and what little I’d been able to harvest for us had been reduced by more than half to support the “needs” of our Fae overlords.

That was why I’d come to the Rough Market today against all advice from my friends back in the village. To sell my most precious possession and use the proceeds for food—and for medicine.

Just thinking about letting it go, my heart contracted in a painful squeeze. The locket was all I had left of my mother. But desperate people did desperate things, and our situation was truly desperate.

The market thieves were desperate, too, no doubt. If they hadn’t been beating the tall man so mercilessly, I would probably have ignored them.

But as much as I’d wanted the annoying stranger to stop following me earlier, when I’d seen him being pummeled, I’d known I had to do something.

He deserved at least that much for trying to warn me against the thieves.

Now he lay in a filthy heap at my feet, his face covered in a mixture of blood and spittle from the men’s mouths, his hair matted with mud.

He was alive though. I had a feeling if I hadn’t acted when I did, he wouldn’t be.

For a moment, I’d worried I was too late. Then his eyes had finally opened. They were moving around slowly as he seemed to be attempting to get his bearings.

No doubt he was muddled in the head, if not completely nonsensical. I squatted beside him, and those hazy eyes focused on mine. I sucked in a sharp breath.

Though surrounded by a ring of muck and already beginning to bruise, they were surprisingly beautiful, a shade of blue so pale they were almost like ice. Of course I’d seen his eyes earlier, but I was so intent on getting away from him I hadn’t taken time to look him square in the face and take in their unique nature.

He reached up with a grimy hand and touched my cheek.

“Are you… an angel?” he asked in a gruff voice.

Despite his piteous appearance and the damaged sound of his voice, I giggled. No one had ever asked me such a silly question before.

“No, I'm Raewyn,” I said. “And this is not the hereafter. You’re in the market. You were beaten by the men you warned me about.”

He was quiet for another moment before pushing slowly to a sitting position and looking around.

“Where are they?”

“Your attackers? They have run away,” I informed him.

“Why?”

“Because I threatened them.”

He didn't respond, just eased to his feet with a grunt of effort and pain. Then his eyes came back to me, roaming over me so thoroughly I felt my cheeks and neck heat.

“ You threatened them?”

I nodded. “Yes. With a torch. As they were all thoroughly covered in fish grease, an open flame was not something they wanted to encounter.”

“How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“How did you know it would work?” he asked. “That they'd run?”

“I didn't know, but what else could I do? There were four of them, and they were murdering you.”

“Why would you even care?” he asked.

“Well of course I cared,” I said. “Any decent person would care if they saw a man being murdered in the street. Besides, I suspect the reason they attacked you was because you intervened and protected me earlier. What kind of a coward would I be if I just turned a blind eye when you were the one in trouble?”

“Happens all the time,” he said in a bitter tone. Then he added, “Thank you. Truly. I think you saved my life.”

After a pause, he asked, “What did you say your name was again?”

“Raewyn.”

“Raewyn,” he repeated. “Raewyn the firebug.”

His head shook back and forth, and one corner of his mouth eased up in a smile.

Poor man must still have been discombobulated—there was nothing to smile about.

His nose was quite obviously broken. Based on the way his arm was hanging, his left shoulder was certain to be dislocated. It was unlikely he’d escaped that kind of kicking and beating without several broken ribs.

And he’d just referred to me as a flying insect with a luminescent tail.

Perhaps his head injuries had left him feeble?

“How badly are you injured?” I asked. “Do you know your name?”

“Of course. It’s S—” He stopped abruptly, his swollen eyes widening a bit. “I… guess not. I know it begins with an S, though.”

“It will come back to you,” I assured him. “For now I will call you Sam. Can you walk?”

The man took a few experimental steps, teetering from side to side then staggering in a drunken three-step pattern reminiscent of the country dances that took place at the close of each month in our town square.

With every unsteady step, he winced.

I rushed to his side, sliding beneath his arm and wrapping my arm around his waist to prop him up.

He was more substantial than I’d expected.

I’d imagined he’d be skin and bones beneath his cloak and loose tunic, but he was rather filled-out, especially for a street beggar. Muscular, even.

He must have been managing to find meals somewhere .

I should ask for advice.

“You must sit a while longer,” I urged. “Perhaps I can find a healer somewhere in the market? Or an Earthwife?”

Looking around at the nearby vendors, I saw by their shaking heads I’d find nothing of the sort here. And I didn’t see anyone else offering to help the man.

Again, I could relate. I knew what it was like to be poor and inconsequential.

“No. I need to go home,” he insisted. “Our healer will take care of me there.”

“Very well. I will help you get to your village.”

He shook his head again, which threw him off balance. His frame was so large that when he swayed, he was like a felled cedar tree.

He almost toppled me over, but I managed to keep us both upright.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted.

“You’re not even close to being fine. Has anyone ever told you there’s no shame in accepting help when you need it?” I asked, throwing his own words back at him.

He chuckled then clutched his rib cage in pain. He definitely had broken ribs. Hopefully there were no sharp edges threatening his lungs.

“You’re funny,” he said. “And whoever told you that was an extremely wise person.”

Then he looked down at me tucked beneath his arm. “I appreciate the offer, Firebug, but my home is not close.”

“I might not look it, but I’m a hearty walker,” I assured him. “And quite strong.”

He looked around slowly and seemed to consider the alternatives–of which there were none. Or maybe he’d forgotten where he lived along with his name?

“Do you know what your village is called or in which direction it lies?”

“Yes, it’s that way.”

He pointed to the road leading toward Castleton, a serf village on the border of the royal estate. I’d been there only once when I was very small.

I remembered being fascinated by the sight of the grand Fae palace in the distance, the high walls that separated Castle Seaspire from the bordering lands.

And from the humans.

Slowly we made our way from the Rough Market to the dirt lane and began the painstaking trek.

“I’m sorry I smell so foul,” the man said. “I didn’t expect to be in such close proximity to a lady today. Rolling in the mud didn’t help matters. And I’m getting your clothes all dirty.”

“Don’t worry about it. Tomorrow is washing day, as it happens.”

That was a lie, but I would be washing my dress tomorrow out of sheer necessity. It was one of only two I owned, and the man’s clothing was filthy.

He didn’t smell as bad as I would have expected, though, especially as close as we were, my side pressed against his, my arm around his waist and his slung over my shoulder.

In fact, beneath the soiled clothing I detected a rather good smell. Not a fragrance I’d ever experienced before. It was strange.

I glanced up at his face. Far, far up.

He was probably the tallest man I’d ever encountered. And as he limped along beside me, I felt considerable muscle moving in his back and sides. His arm atop my shoulders was quite heavy as well.

Yes, he must have been eating much better than I would have expected for someone of his status in life. Perhaps at some point, before misfortune had befallen him, he’d been more prosperous.

Perhaps he’d grown up on one of the more bountiful farms, doing hard labor but with plenty to eat, allowing him to develop this powerful physique.

My mind flashed back to my home, to my frail little sisters who were growing up without nearly enough daily sustenance.

Without meaning to, I picked up my pace a bit. The sun was still high overhead.

If I could get this man to his home soon enough, there should be enough daylight for me to return to the Rough Market and still have time to make a trade. I desperately didn’t want to go home empty-handed.

The wounded man didn’t complain about the increased pace. In fact, we were making surprisingly good progress considering the extent of his injuries. Though he winced and occasionally groaned, he kept moving steadily ahead and didn’t mention the discomfort.

Until he stepped into a carriage wheel divot. He jerked abruptly to one side and sucked in a sharp breath.

“I’m sorry,” I said automatically.

“It’s all right,” he hissed through his teeth. “My own fault.”

His eyelids came back open and he trained his gaze on the road ahead as we resumed walking.

“Maybe you could talk to me? Distract me?” he suggested.

“What would you like to talk about?”

“You. Tell me about yourself, about your life.”

“My life isn’t very interesting,” I protested, but seeing the trickle of perspiration at his temple, I made an effort to be diverting.

“You were right. It was my first trip to the Rough Market. My village is farther away from it than yours is. Did you grow up in Castleton?”

He shook his head slightly. “Nearby. What’s your village like?”

I’d been right. He was from the country, no doubt a farm worker.

“Not so different from Castleton,” I said. “Same central square, same stone cottages, a few tradesmen and one merchant, lots of farmers. Hard-working folks.”

My tone turned darker. “Plenty of poverty and hunger, thanks to the unfair tithe the Fae king puts on us.”

Sam stiffened beside me, and I looked to see if he’d stepped into another hole, but the road seemed fairly smooth.

“Is it your ribs?” I asked. “Can you still breathe all right? I’m worried your lungs will be punctured with all this movement.”

“I’m fine,” he assured me, hissing the words through his clamped jaws. “Go on.”

I searched my mind for any other details of my life that might interest him and distract him from the pain.

“There’s a lovely wide stream near our village. It’s surrounded by wildflowers. My little sisters love to splash in the shallows while I’m washing the clothing and dishes.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Two. Tindra and Turi. Eight and four years old. Sweet girls… small for their age but very clever. Tindra learned to read so quickly, and Turi’s learning already.”

“You’re teaching them? You can read?”

I could tell he was surprised. Many people of our class couldn’t read. I was grateful my mother had taught me and that I, in turn, was able to teach my younger sisters.

“Yes. It’s one of the great joys of my life,” I told him. “I highly recommend learning if you ever get the chance. Do you know of anyone literate where you live?”

“One or two,” he said.

“Of course it’s not easy to come by books,” I said in an understanding tone. “I was very lucky my mother brought a collection with her when she left her home and married my father.”

“What do your parents do–for a trade, I mean?” Sam asked.

“My father used to be a blacksmith before the rebellion. He was injured in battle though and hasn’t been able to work much since—his back injury prevents him from doing much at all. Lost his sight as well. He does what he can these days, taking in jobs sharpening hunting knives and harvesting tools… when he’s not in too much pain.”

“And your mother?”

“She’s dead,” I said flatly. There was no pleasant way to recount one of the worst things that had ever happened in your life.

“Mine too,” Sam said. “She died a few years back.”

My heart tugged in his direction, echoing his pain. I suddenly felt a bit of connection to this stranger.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“I’m sorry for your loss as well.”

It was a life-changing thing to lose your mother at any age. I was lucky to have been able to keep mine until four years ago when I was sixteen. She’d died in the same battle that had left my father crippled and blind.

Unfortunately, Tindra and Turi were much younger when they’d lost their mother. They were my step-sisters.

Their mother, Inge, had been widowed during the rebellion and had married my father only about six months after their respective spouses were killed.

It was a matter of practicality—she’d needed help with her young children, and he’d needed help with household chores and a daughter of his own to raise. I was sure he’d thought it would be good for me to have a woman around, too, though Inge had never seemed like a mother to me.

Then she’d taken ill last year and had passed away quickly, leaving me to take care of the girls as well as my father.

“There must be a young man waiting for you back in your village,” Sam said in a tone that suggested it was a foregone conclusion.

“Actually, no. There’s no one,” I told him. “I doubt I shall ever marry.”

He scoffed. “I can’t believe that. What’s wrong with the men in your village? Or is it that you haven’t identified one you like well enough?”

“It’s not that,” I said, though it was true I hadn’t met a man I liked well enough to marry. Even if I had, no one there was interested in me .

“I am not a desirable bridal candidate.”

The statement was blunt but truthful. “My family has no dowry to offer. I would be a burden rather than a boon.”

“That’s a stupid tradition,” Sam said, as if it wasn’t the same in his own village. It must have been, though.

Maybe he wasn’t educated about such matters because he was in no position to marry. Unless perhaps he already was married? Or had been at one point?

“It’s the way things are. What about you?” I asked, suddenly curious now.

“Are you asking if I want to marry you, Raewyn?”

I choked on the thin air, stumbling a bit which regrettably caused Sam to stumble as well.

“No. Of course not,” I said. “I’m asking if there’s a young lady waiting for you back home.”

“I was only teasing you,” he said and chuckled then winced from the motion.

“Though I’m sure you find me madly attractive, we don’t know each other nearly well enough for you to propose. Perhaps tomorrow,” he joked.

Now I was smiling, my earlier embarrassment vanished. We settled back into a rhythm punctuated by his occasional grunt of pain and my inadequate words of encouragement.

When we came to a fork in the road and a rough sign indicating Castleton was not much farther, I let out a sigh of gratitude.

Almost there.

But Sam started walking toward the wrong fork.

“Castleton is this way,” I prompted, trying to lead him in the correct direction. The immense pain he was in had him confused.

He leaned the other way, which made it impossible to move him. “I said I live near there. It’s this way. Not all that much farther.”

I was starting to get a bad feeling.

As we’d conversed, I’d noticed this market beggar and former field worker had quite a vocabulary for such a poorly dressed, uneducated man.

His pronunciation as well was different from most of the people I’d met in my life.

And this road led to the Fae lands.