Page 18 of Don't Fae With Dragons

Port gazes earnestly at me, pausing a moment, and slowly nods.

I watch his movement, weighing the words left unsaid, and eventually nod back. “Okay, Port. If you think so, I’ll follow your lead.”

His eyes go wide at the heavy words, and I turn away from him to check that my crossbows and knives are still safely tucked in my satchel.

I need to remember to keep my guard up with Port, no matter how close I feel to him. I don’t want to risk our friendship, even if we could have more. I don’t want to opena door that can’t be closed again, anyway, and there’s greater danger on the horizon.

Something wicked stirs in Ethelinda.

CHAPTER 12: MILI

It’s been a fortnight since Kar left. There have not been such troubled weeks in all my life in Ethelinda. It’s been two weeks of drought and illness, two weeks of torment while dry, grey skies stare down heartlessly on our town, almost all frail with illness in the streets. Our crops are dead, and the townspeople have had to disturb the forest not to starve. The clouds cover everything, but they never rain. All we get is dry, brutal grey.

The Sun itself can’t even pierce through the veil of clouds in the sky. Only the Moon’s light reaches us, now.

I realized, this morning, that I cannot manage the devastation alone anymore. It’s become impossible. Not that I was ever truly succeeding to keep up, not really. I healed the first few to fall ill, but in a day’s time, the disease spread out of control. Now at least one member of every household is sick, plagued by the strange illness that’s taken over my homeland. I feel depleted of my magick, unable to recharge properly.

Shaking the wary thoughts off, I steady myself and continue my walk through town, my powers shot from overuse. I feel weak, and I know I am, but still, I stop to give some comfort to the townspeople I see fallen down or hobbling along the cobblestones.

“Mili,” a young faery calls out warily to me.

I kneel before him, holding my hands out to him. He takes them softly as I say, “Dearest, what is it? Do you need help? Are you safe?”

He shakes his head. “M-my mom – my mom said to get you. It’s Chrysthinia.” His eyes well up with tears and he continues, “Will they be okay?”

“Of course,” I say, my own mind sent into a spiral. “Chrysthinia will be just fine.” I smile, and curse myself as I feel it fall just short of my eyes.Godsdamnit, Mili,I think,don’t frighten the boy!

But he must see the worry in my face, because a tear slides down his cheek and his mouth warbles. “They’re really sick.”

I feel my heart tighten and shatter, but I just shake my head and keep forcing a smile. “Well, we’ll just have to go see if we can help them feel better, hm?”

Then the boy sets his mouth in a straight line and stands tall. His eyes harden with childhood resolve, and he sets off running back down the street. As he goes, I notice how pale, how pallid his skin looks, and restrain myself from crying out in frustration that I didn’t ask to heal him.

–––

“Come in,” a somber voice calls out from inside Chrysthinia’s cottage. I push the door open with quivering hands, and my eyes fall on a small pallet on the ground. Chrysthinia lies immobile atop it, covered in a thin, linen sheet. Their mouth hangs halfway open, and their soft, ragged breathing rings quietly through the foyer to me.

“Oh, gods,” I whisper, clutching my heart as I walk to them.

My feet almost stumble as I sit beside Chrysthinia’s prone body and the faery guarding them. The faery, a middle-aged woman, looks sadly at me. I wipe a stray tear away, realizing with a start that I’m crying, and quickly breathe in to compose myself.

The woman says, “I’m glad you could come.”

“How long have they been like this?”

“At least a few hours,” she replies. “I came to check on Chrysthinia and came in when they didn’t answer my knocks. I don’t know entirely how long they’ve been ... like this.” I choke back a sob at the thought of Chrysthinia unconscious, alone, for hours.

“You’re their neighbor?” I ask, struggling to maintain some semblance of composure.

She nods. “Yes. I am Helennia; I didn’t know Chrysthinia very well, but they are a good neighbor, and good for all of Ethelinda –much like you.”

I take in a stuttering breath, and nod. “Thank you for sending your son to find me.”

“Of course,” Helennia murmurs, wringing out the damp cloth on Chrysthinia’s forehead and replacing it with a fresh one. “Chrysthinia spoke highly of you. I assumed you were friends.”

“We are.” I stare into Chrysthinia’s face, tracing every curve of it with my eyes. I follow the lines etched into their shaved black hair, the runes and patterns they asked me to help sketch onto their scalp. I wonder, somberly, whether any of theprotective sigils are working. I wonder if they’re doing anything at all.

Helennia, I realize, is staring at me with a quiet frown. I look up to her and shake my shoulders out, putting on a brave face. “Do you know what this sickness is?” she asks.

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