Chapter Twelve
The journey had been difficult. As days passed, Dermot became more irritable, plagued by worry.
The island had been preyed on for thousands of years and was now controlled by foreign lords.
Fand, their so-called queen and protector, was either powerless or incompetent.
He anguished over her assisting them at all.
Faeries were mere villains, and their poor island already had too many of those.
‘Dermot,’ Aubrey said, just as Dermot returned from fetching lunch. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t eat meat.’
Dermot grimaced, recalling he’d put Maldred’s concoction in both the wine and the cockentrice. Aubrey consuming less than his brothers explained much. ‘Give it here then. Have mine.’
Aubrey’s lips parted as if about to say more. With eyes lowered, he handed his food over with a low murmur of thanks.
‘I’m typically the same,’ Dermot said. They hadn’t spoken since he kissed Aubrey’s head. ‘The kitchen was unpleasant. The stench, mostly, but to see creatures whole and be tasked with cutting them up… it begs the question of who thought of it in the first place.’
‘You got this for yourself?’ Aubrey asked. Dermot heard the cart creak and knew he was crawling back, food in hand.
‘Please, it’s yours. Servants don’t choose what they’re given. I eat because I have to,’ Dermot said. To prove his resoluteness, he bit soundly into the bread. The stench of meat made his eyes water, the stringiness on his lips and the way it caught in his teeth.
‘How awful for you,’ Aubrey said. ‘I’ve often wondered how my family can bear to partake in it. The meals were, begging your pardon, abhorrent.’
‘I don’t think your family is the best example, really,’ Dermot said, careless.
Aubrey said nothing and inched further away, eyes downcast so Dermot’s mistake was plain to see.
‘No, please, forgive my thoughtlessness,’ Dermot said, fidgeting with the reins in his sweaty palms. ‘Well, I don’t know them. I can’t guess how they behave privately. Only the rumblings of a servant, pay them no mind.’
He was again met with silence and glad of it.
They were well into the north now, the wind having worsened so they might’ve been in a gale.
Greenery died away to reveal a desolate landscape.
There was but one village marked nearby, and he was glad they had no reason to make for it.
Little was more miserable than newly created hamlets, having no ambition but finance and industry.
Homes fashioned for workmen were modest, their unsightliness proof of the Stanleys’ disdain for them.
Innovation was but a tool to these people, not to improve society, but to subject them to worse conditions than before.
He was ashamed to have defended them; he would do worse for a glimpse of that porcelain skin.
‘You would be right to hate me,’ Aubrey said, making Dermot startle.
‘Sorry?’ Dermot said. His thoughts had been far away from that.
Turning to get a glimpse of his dark beauty, he saw Aubrey’s eyes red-rimmed and sad, a glimmer of a tear running down his cheek.
Breath catching in his throat, he said, ‘I could never hate you. You’re sweet as an angel.
You suffered at their hands most of all.
’ Those black eyes bore into his soul, and he was a loving slave to them.
‘You’re beautiful. When I look at you, I don’t see your brothers, I see you. ’
Aubrey drew closer to him. They could’ve kissed. The compliment lashed on Dermot’s tongue like a war cry; a truth he’d never meant to give voice to.
‘That’s all I’ve ever wanted,’ Aubrey said.
Dermot watched him. What they had was fragile; a bond wrought from hardship and loneliness. He was incredulous he’d been trusted with something so precious.
Startling as the donkey brayed, Dermot turned back to the road.
He sat there motionless as his mind rushed to recognise what approached them.
A behemoth stood with dark, greyish hair running down its sharp face, altogether too human for a beast. Dermot’s hands shook, still uncomprehending.
Body acting faster than his mind, he swung the reins so the donkey near collapsed onto the grass.
The creature was from Aleyn’s tales. Yet it stood before them, alive.
Its tusks arched downward, curling towards its chest, each one sharp enough to spear a man.
It was surely Maldred’s answer to his refusal in the forest. Now Aubrey was tangled in his scheming, his plan to maim the Stanleys, and the only one who suffered for it was the boy who least deserved it.
‘Run! I’ll hold it off for as long as I can!’ Dermot shouted. This, he knew, was brazen stupidity. The dagger at his side would not fell a beast of that size.
Dermot watched as Aubrey stared at the creature before them.
But it drew nearer as they sat transfixed, the sharpness of its teeth fit to grind them to paste.
He gave Aubrey a light shove and stood on top of the cart master’s seat.
There would be no outrunning the beast. From the way it crawled, the thing resembled a primitive man as he had seen depicted on the Stanleys’ cloth canvases.
‘Run!’ Dermot cried, unsurprised he wasn’t heeded. Dermot had already seen faeries, even mermaids, but Aubrey grew up without the stories, studying history without any of the mysticism.
Inching forward, Dermot said, ‘If you don’t run, you’ll die.
It’s my fault this is happening, and it’s worse than you know.
Run!’ He rushed towards the creature and feinted one way before going another.
The beast was slower than he, though the unnatural flecks of gold in its eyes brought about unpleasant recollections.
Visions of Maldred and the faerie boys, even, he realised, the witchfinder. All shared the same look.
Unsheathing his dagger, Dermot’s legs shook with the force of rushing forward without thought for his own life.
‘Dermot!’ Aubrey cried. The boy was still nestled in the cart, dark eyes peering out from beneath black locks.
‘Run!’ Dermot urged. Moving his arms as if to shoo Aubrey away, he procured the dagger and held it firm to his chest. He prayed the beast erred enough to be hit.
Breath catching as one errant claw lashed out, Dermot drew back.
His eyes closed in anticipation but all that could be heard was the beast’s roar.
Standing for what must’ve been minutes, Dermot blearily opened his eyes and saw the beast already lying dead.
There was not a fleck of blood upon his dagger.
Noticing Aubrey watching something past him, Dermot turned and observed a man approaching them.
His flaxen hair was braided neatly back and he wore what appeared to be armour.
The clarity of his complexion was unlike anything he’d expected from the north.
Dermot had never seen a soldier so handsome and free of blemish.
‘What business have you here?’ the stranger hissed. ‘How did you come to be here, why did the buggane attack? It is not so easily drawn to a person.’ He gave Dermot a once over with his golden eyes. ‘Especially not someone like you.’
Dermot had hoped to be rid of such talk after leaving the castle. Laughing, determined not to be talked down to in front of Aubrey, he said, ‘You know nothing about me.’
The faerie’s handsome visage twisted into a snarl. Neck inclining unnaturally towards Aubrey, he said, ‘That one is a foreigner, an intruder.’
Darting into action, Dermot grabbed the faerie’s wrist, marvelling at the man’s sharp nails. They better resembled talons.
‘He’s with me,’ Dermot said.
Hissing again, the creature said, ‘He of black blood is yours? It is sad indeed to see our kind fall.’ He leaned closer to Dermot and, incredibly, sniffed where shoulder met neck. ‘Especially when you yourself are tainted so.’
Dermot inched away, fingers clutched at the blade. The faerie evidently hadn’t noticed it. ‘We are here to see Queen Fand. Do you happen to know where she is?’ He whispered this, keen Aubrey shouldn’t hear. The boy was still with the donkey.
The faerie snarled as he moved closer. His knife shot through the air, brandished in front of Dermot’s head. ‘I will blind you so you cannot find us again. Your beloved, I will kill.’
‘No!’ Dermot cried. He didn’t care if Aubrey thought him a lunatic. Steeling himself and twisting his own knife, the pair of them were caught in a deadlock, vying for mastery.
‘That dagger!’ the faerie gasped, pulling back. ‘Stolen?’
‘No,’ Dermot said firmly, incredulous at his own strength. But faeries weren’t warriors, instead relying on wiles. ‘Aleyn gave it to me. He asks that your queen grant us an audience.’
The faerie peered at him, eyes wide. He tittered, watching as Dermot sheathed his dagger, and said, ‘Why didn’t you simply say so?
Aleyn is a friend of mine as well.’ Gesturing with sharp nails towards a nearby structure, he grabbed Dermot’s wrist and pulled.
‘Bring your friend, then. I shall endeavour to protect him. Our kind can sense them, you know, those who do not belong.’
‘I’ll kill anyone who touches him,’ Dermot said, tiring of their infernal chatter. Aubrey was not some demon. Faeries themselves were monsters.
‘Will you now?’ the man teased. ‘Brave words for a man who hasn’t done any touching himself.’
Grinding his teeth, Dermot signalled for Aubrey. They could not afford to keep the creature waiting. Faeries, he’d decided, were fickle and prone to hysteria.
Even though the buggane was infinitely more shocking to Aubrey, the boy meekly got to his feet and stumbled over to them. Forever cautious of strangers, he lingered behind Dermot.
‘What was that?’ Aubrey murmured. His grip on Dermot’s arm belied his terror.