Chapter 20
Avice
Avice crawled over his legs, brow furrowed in concern, to peer at what he retched up. The black sludge was back. It should not be back as she was sure he had purged all of it from his body at the base of Knucker Hill.
She slipped the rest of the way over him and stood, the cold floor stinging her soles.
She wrinkled her nose at the mingling scents within the cottage: a mix of crumbled herbs, smoke from the hearth, iron, blood, and vomit.
It was not Trewoofe’s fault, but she felt helpless at the destruction in her home.
Rooted to the spot, she clutched her pendant and ran her fingertips over the smooth crystal as she ruminated.
Bramble’s snores interrupted her spinning mind. The Grim slept near the hearth, and even Ashling dozed amongst the coals. She smiled at the pair; it had been a long night.
“Little witch, are you alright?” Trewoofe asked.
“Not really,” she admitted as she swept her hand around the room. “I do not even know where to begin.” Trewoofe flung himself forward and vomited into the cauldron again. “Well, with that I suppose.”
Chamomile to soothe the stomach.
Avice squinted up to the beams to see if the tiny, dried flowers had survived the assault of Trewoofe’s horns. Spotting them, she dragged over a chair and climbed up.
“Be careful,” Trewoofe murmured, watching her from the pallet.
She dipped her chin down at him. “I will.”
Avice began to pluck blossoms from the hanging bundle while holding up the hem of her dress, using it to catch the flowers. She leapt down from the chair and landed neatly.
The thud must have woken Bramble, as his head popped up. Avice, are you well?
“As well as we can be,” she replied.
She fetched an alternate copper cauldron from beside the hearth, her injured arm protesting at the weight.
She dropped the chamomile flowers in and then stepped over to her stored healing water.
Avice filled the cauldron with ladle after ladle, then added a dollop of her dwindling honey for good measure.
Her nostrils flared appreciatively at the floral scent.
“Trust me to bring home a Knucker with a sweet tooth,” she mumbled.
“What was that?” Trewoofe asked.
Avice glanced over her shoulder at him and grinned. “Nothing!”
Bramble nosed at her, seeking attention, as she hung the tea cauldron over the dozing Wisp. She roughed Bramble’s ears before turning her attention back to the embers.
She crouched over and whispered into the glow, “Ashling?”
A sleepy chime replied, and the Faerie floated up.
“I know we had a long night. I am sorry to wake you so early, but I was hoping you would make some tea?” she asked. “It is for our guest, he is unwell, and I think the way you make it will be just the thing the Well King needs to make him healthy again.”
Ashling flared proudly and dove back into the embers. Avice grinned down at him and dropped some more small logs for the Wisp to burn. She straightened, hands on her hips, trying to figure out what to do in the meantime. Her arm twinged, but she brushed it aside.
This place is a mess, the Grim complained. He sniffed the air. It also reeks.
“Yes, thank you, Bramble,” Avice tutted.
“I am sorry,” Trewoofe called from the bed, a flush of shame on his cheeks.
“It is alright,” she comforted, smiling down at him before returning her attention to what to do next.
She sniffed her sleeve and scrunched her nose, immediately wishing she had not.
Clearly, what her familiar had meant was that she reeked.
Her skin itched with grime, and she knew sooner or later she would have to attend to her own injured arm.
She ran her eyes around the cottage, and her gaze was immediately drawn to the pile of dirty clothing by the door.
Even if she did wash and change, she had nothing clean to wear – and certainly nothing that would fit Trewoofe.
“I wish I had bonded to a Brownie,” she grumbled, referring to the type of Good Neighbour known to happily help with housework in return for food.
Bramble’s head snapped up. What was that?
She grinned down at him. “I said, we are going to wash the clothes. Later, once the Lord feels better, I will also change the bedding.”
Ashling sang from the fire, alerting her that the tea was ready.
After slurping down the sweet, floral tree, Trewoofe thanked Avice. He then yawned widely, showing off his sharp fangs and forked tongue.
He is adorable half asleep. She smiled as his head bobbed. “Lie down,” she ordered, helping him ease back onto his side.
He nodded drowsily. His eyes closed as she helped him settle his head onto a rolled-up blanket.
She brushed strands of his hair from his face; her hands twitched to comb and braid it once he was better.
Avice took the fleeting opportunity to trace her fingertips along his sharp cheek bone.
Trewoofe mumbled something and pressed into her touch.
She flushed as desire tickled at her, before abruptly standing and smoothing out her stained dress with a cough.
Avice smirked at her Grim and his ears pinned back against his head in response. Why are you looking at me like that?
“Because you and Ashling…” She tossed a sharpened gaze at the Wisp, who pealed with alarm. “…are going to help me.”
With washing? Bramble cocked his head.
“Yes.”
Avice dove into the pile of dirty clothes and retrieved a stained cloak, tossing it across her shoulders and tying it at her front. She then tiptoed around the pallet to fetch her boots, shoving them onto her feet.
Bramble looked left and right. Why are you starting with the washing? This cottage looks like a swarm of Pillywiggins has blown through.
Avice huffed loudly, before slapping a hand to her mouth, she glanced over at the sleeping Trewoofe who had not stirred despite their loud conversation.
“Because, only my dancing dress is clean, and I need to keep that for the Equinox ritual. I have nothing to wear.” Her eyes slid over to the man in her bed. “And neither does he.”
Nature’s blessing! He will hardly fit into your dresses; he is as big as a tree!
Ashling floated around them and chimed several times in row – his way of giggling.
“I know that,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can pick apart some of my clothing and make him a shirt and hose at least. I cannot have him running around naked once he is feeling better.”
Her cheeks flushed at the thought.
Bramble missed nothing.
I knew you fancied the King of the Well, he chided. Avice, what are you thinking? He is a Knucker.
Ashling chirruped.
“Thank you, Ashling.” Avice smirked. “I think he is lovely, too.”
The Grim huffed heavily though his nostrils, closing and opening his eyes very deliberately at her. So, what do you need us to do?
Avice scratched behind his ear. “I need you to play fetch for me; bring back as many sticks as you can.”
While Bramble was off gathering kindling, bringing several sticks back at a time in his large mouth, Avice stood outside in the freezing morning, bundled up against the cold. She sized up the Pillywiggin Queen. The Faerie’s wings flicked with outrage, and she let out a rough squawk.
“You heard me, I want you to help me wash my clothes.” Avice gestured widely around the garden. “It is not like you have anything better to do; you cannot do any work for Spring in this weather.”
The Faerie tilted her head and let out a caw.
Avice sighed and rubbed her temple. “You want to know, what do you get out of it?”
Her mind whirled at what she could bargain for this favour.
She could not keep giving them dwindling stocks of her food reserves, especially not with this endless Winter.
She knew she would be looking after Trewoofe for a while and that would certainly impact her supplies.
He was huge, and once he had recovered, his appetite would return.
It was likely he would eat her out of house and home.
She brightened as an idea struck her. “I am about to sweep out my cottage; there will be a lot of healing leaves coming outside. Would you like to take your pick of what enters the garden?”
Avice was careful with her words; she did not want the Pillywiggins to think they could help themselves to any of the herbal medicines hanging from the beams inside. The Queen stared at her as she tapped her chin with her nail, then she bobbed her head down in agreement and let out a shriek.
Avice clapped her gloved hands together. “Good. Then, let us get to work!” She darted back inside her cottage, nearly tripping over the boar’s leg. That is the next chore.
She stole a quick glance at Trewoofe, watching long enough to make sure he still slept soundly. The blankets had slipped down, revealing his bandaged chest; she saw it rise and fall, and watched as his lips twitched. He mumbled something and she was sure he said ‘Avice’.
She suppressed a smile at the thought he may be dreaming about her, before turning back to her tasks.
She ducked behind the hearth, pulling out a tripod and matching washing pot that fit on its central chain.
Hauling it outside – the effort making her injured arm throb and remind her of yet another thing to attend to – she set it up over the pile of sticks Bramble had gathered.
Avice did not like the idea of using healing water for chores, but her arm grew more painful with each passing moment.
She knew she would not be able to wield her axe to carve ice from the closest river; instead, she hauled a cask of healing water outside and dumped it in.
Ashling darted to the wooden fuel below and set it ablaze.
She coaxed the flock of Pillywiggins over and set them to work.
She supervised the Faeries as they eventually found a routine: they mixed the water and clothes with a branch, then hefted the sopping garments out, and finally, a younger gaggle of Pillywiggins would wring the clothing and air dry it with beats of their wings.
Turning back to the cottage as the Faeries continued their work, she focused on the boar’s leg. Her mouth watered at the idea of smoked meat and bone broth. She trudged back inside and fetched a carving knife.