Chapter 21
Avice
As the Sun dipped below the barren trees, Avice finally locked away the freezing night.
She placed her hand on her pendant and scanned her cottage with a contented hum.
The place had been swept, her clothes washed and folded away into her coffers, ash cakes had been baked, herbed bone broth simmered over the fire, and she had cleaned her body before slipping on a fresh chemise and stockings.
Avice wandered over to the hearth and pulled the smoked boar meat from the hooks that hung over the fire.
She was woozy, having not eaten all day, too focused on her need for orderliness.
She tossed some meat to Bramble and Ashling before taking a big bite herself.
She had rubbed the game with thyme and salt, giving it a rich, earthy flavour that she savoured before finally swallowing.
She frowned at the bundles of herbs piled on the table as she took a second mouthful.
It was the only chore left to do that day, besides tending to her arm, but she did not have the energy to climb up and wind them back onto the beams.
Instead, she flopped down onto the pallet next to a still sleeping Trewoofe.
Continuing her chewing, she elevated her aching feet on a bundled bit of fur.
The past two days had made her use muscles she had forgotten she possessed.
With a pinch of regret, she reached for the cup of healing water besides her, hoping it would ease the strain.
Normally she would save the water from the sacred well for her medicines, but she had used a ridiculous amount throughout the day.
She tried to ignore the throb of her arm.
Avice sighed and attempted to tug some of the blankets over her.
Trewoofe had cocooned himself in them, his cheeks flushed from the warmth.
Her eyebrows pinched together as she studied his face.
When did he last wake? He had not eaten since he arrived and had nothing to drink since his early morning cup of tea.
Her arm pounded again.
“God’s blood!” she snarled, sitting up on the pallet.
Are you well? Bramble asked, concern shining in his eyes.
She shoved the last of the meat into her mouth. “I will let you know,” she mumbled.
Biting the inside of her cheek, the midwife gingerly peeled back the many layers of bandages on her arm. The blood had dried, sticking the cloth together, and the closer she got to the wound, the tougher it was to tug away.
“Ow,” she whimpered.
Bramble padded over to her and licked her temple. She finally pulled away the final layer and eyed the wound she had inflicted on herself to save the Knucker that now slept in her bed.
Nature’s blessing, Avice! Bramble exclaimed. You did not have carve yourself up, surely a drop of blood or two would have done the trick?
She blinked down at her arm in shock. She had deeply sliced herself, and the wound still wept tears of scarlet.
“I did not really think.” She swallowed. “I just could not bear to lose him, Bramble. I cannot lose anyone else.”
Feelings stirred within her that she was not ready to address.
Why had she been so willing to risk herself?
To offer the very life in her veins to save the Well King?
Why did her chest ache so much when she thought of him?
The midwife squeezed her eyes closed and took deep breaths to calm her galloping heart.
Focus on the task at hand, you need to sew yourself closed. Your arm will be permanently damaged if you leave it like this. Get going!
Avice tucked her chin against her chest, unable to move.
Her thoughts crashed against one another like waves on the shore.
She jolted at the sensation of claws dimpling her upper arm.
She looked over her shoulder and met Trewoofe’s crimson eyes.
They sparked with concern. A line appeared between his eyebrows as he dropped his gaze to her throbbing arm.
He sucked air through his fangs, lines deepening at the edges of his lips. “I never want you to hurt yourself for my sake again.”
“Do not tell me off, Trewoofe,” she sniffed, burning tears travelling down her cheeks. “I cannot bear to be scolded by any more men in my life.”
He blanched at that and shifted himself around, so they were face to face. It did not escape Avice how he gripped at his bandaged torso as he did so. Bramble snuffled at her ear, and with a whine, dropped his head next to her on the bedding. With her good arm, she curled her fingers into his fur.
“Little witch,” he said softly, “you must forgive me. The words came from my concern for you.” He reached out a hand. “Is it alright if I touch you?”
She nodded, sniffling. He brushed away her tears with his thumb, sending a tingle down her back. A bolt of lightning passed between them as their faces met again. She watched as his throat bobbed several times, and she knew he felt the charge between them too.
Trewoofe coughed. “Will you let me help you?”
She nodded.
His fingers dropped from her face, and he cradled the hand of her injured arm in his wide palm.
The size difference between them befuddled Avice; three of her hands could fit into his grip with room enough to spare.
He lifted her hand to his mouth, and whipped out his long, forked tongue, running it from wrist to elbow.
Her jaw dropped at the sensation. The feeling of his tongue had not changed at all since his transformation.
Hot and wet, sparking desire in her core; she squeezed her thighs together as excitement pooled there.
A gleam settled over the wound. Tingles shot up her arm and fluttered her belly, adding to the sticky pleasure between her legs she tried to ignore.
She stared in wonder as the wound knitted together, as though an invisible needle and thread were hard at work.
The shine settled. Gone was the throbbing and steady pain that had made her restless.
In its place was a smooth iridescent scar.
She tilted it in the light of the fire, and the refractions reminded her of a rainbow caught between cloud and Sun.
She beamed up at Trewoofe. “You should have saved your magic for your own healing but thank you.”
He released her hand and grazed a claw over her pendant. “It does not work like that,” he explained. “I can only heal others. The sacred waters are what I have used in the past to recover from my injuries.”
Avice studied his face. With his sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, he looked like he was still knocking on death’s door.
“Do you think you can eat or drink something?” She roughed Bramble’s ears, and he thumped his tail against the floor.
“Ashling has been working very hard helping me bake ash cakes, smoke the boar meat, and make bone broth. Would you like to try?”
An affirmative chime rang from the hearth, and Avice chuckled at the Wisp’s enthusiasm.
Trewoofe grimaced. “I do not think I can stomach it,” he admitted. “The thought of eating or drinking something makes me want to vomit.”
The midwife sighed, unsure of what do next. She had sewn his wounds, given him medicine, and allowed him to rest. If he could not keep anything down, if the iron still writhed in his belly, all they could do was wait for it to pass.
She fiddled with her necklace and studied him closely. “What do you think would help you?”
“I would like to hold you, again,” he blurted out, a flush passing over his cheeks. “While we sleep,” he added.
Avice smiled softly at his outburst. The Well King looked positively flustered. She had to admit, his embarrassment at the thought of holding her in his arms was endearing.
She rested a palm on his bandaged arm. “Of course. I am exhausted, Lord. Would you mind if we rested now?”
He nodded and laid down on his side. The way he looked up at her though his eyelashes was positively sinful. He opened his arms to her, wide and beckoning.
Her breath caught at his sultry expression before he closed his eyes. “Your warmth is needed, Avice,” he murmured.
She giggled at him, before sliding her back along his chest. He snapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.
The gentle thrum of his heart echoed through her back, matching the pulse in her throat.
As her eyelids drooped, she marvelled at how well they fitted together as they slipped into a dreamless sleep.