Page 45 of Trick

“Even Tumble couldn’t calm him down …”

“It was a horror putting the boy to bed …”

“Fought me tooth and nail …”

“Don’t you go making us fret like that …”

Suddenly, she swerved from the door—and her gaze landed on me. The wrinkles across her face multiplied, creasing with concern. “Who’s this?”

Poet strode to a kitchen nook outfitted with a table and chairs. “Funny you should notice.”

She smacked his shoulder while trotting after him. “Don’t be smart. I’m not as spry as I used to be. What do you mean, bringing one of your consorts here? And what’s wrong with her?” The woman squinted, then her eyes shifted to my leg. “Seasons almighty. Poet—”

I moaned as he eased me into a seat. In a rush, he rattled off blurry, indecipherable things that caused the woman to gasp.

She disappeared and returned with a basket. Kneeling at my feet, she rifled through the contents, her movements urgent.

After that, the woman rolled up her sleeves and lifted the skirt to my hips, exposing my bare limbs and the lace trim of my undergarments. Then she unwrapped the material that had been torn from my gown to make a bandage—when had the jester done that?—and blood dribbled from the cleft.

Orders were tossed at Poet.

“Get me a cloth.”

“Get another chair.”

“Get out of my way.”

Amid delirium, the wordsblood lossandinfectionandstitchestolled in my head. I felt the complexion drain from my face and sweat bridge across my palms.

A tiny voice drifted into the fray. “Papa?”

To my left, a fae appeared. A runty figure with an upturned nose and puffy eyes. The little male poked his head out from the hallway, his neck entwined with a log-shaped parcel of fur. A ferret nestled like a shawl along the fae’s shoulders, the animal’s beady orbs fixating on the scene.

Meanwhile, the fae boy’s full lips mashed into a sleepy pucker. At which point, the small pairing blinked at the spectacle occurring in the living room.

The instant the fae spotted me, his eyes sparkled. He stumbled forward, his arms extending in my direction. “Ooooooh,” he exclaimed, gleeful.

Poet intercepted. He rushed over and scooped up the fae. Or rather, the child bore an alarming resemblance to a fae, especially with the ferret still attached to his scanty shoulders.

Not that such beings lived on this continent, as far as anyone knew. While I couldn’t speak for the world outside The Dark Seasons, magic existed here primarily through nature and the elements. In Autumn, there was a legend about mythical acorns, for instance. And in Summer, lore had spread about an uncharted island and its deadly rainforest.

Upon seeing Poet, the child forgot about me and smothered the jester instead. He and the ferret made an elated fuss, chattering and squeaking with enthusiasm until Poet kissed the child’s cheek and whispered, causing the boy to sag as if he’d wiped himself out. The ferret slinked to Poet’s shoulder while the boy wound his limbs around the jester’s torso, his fingers digging into Poet’s back.

I squinted, recognizing the tattered ribbon tied around the boy’s wrist.

The child had saidPapa.

The old woman mentioned a sleeping draught in the cupboard and how the boy wouldn’t hear a thing. On that note, she regarded me. “It could help you, too. Do you have allergies?”

“Willow Dime,” I slurred, listing the Spring herb that had almost killed me when I was three.

My healer traded a clammy look with Poet and shrugged. “Well, there goes that.”

Poet carried the child and fauna sidekick into the corridor, back the way they’d come. The woman spoke to me in gentle tones, but I suffered for an eternity until the jester returned. He produced a jug from an open shelf and coaxed wine down my throat, which I shoved away after two foul gulps.

My breathing grew shallow when I saw the thread, the needle, and the tip.

The healer paused, instrument in hand. “This is going to hurt, miss.”

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