by Kaylee Rymer
That’s how it was with the fae. Anything human was of very little worth to them.
He didn’t care what the goblin said, though, that seal was worth two thousand. If he found a captain dumb enough, he could maybe convince them it was triple that price, but he couldn’t take any chances. He needed the money.
Ivy’s face flew up before him, and he blinked her away. The girl had been on his mind a lot lately. Every time he closed his eyes, there she was, smiling radiantly.
Should he accept the goblin’s offer? It was a measly price, but he did have five hundred at home. That would give him seven hundred in total. Still, Weegel was worth one thousand.
He yanked his hair, suppressing a yell. He’d truly thought this would be his chance, but he was wrong.
The necklace was worth next to nothing in the end.
Ivy’s smiling face appeared again, and it tugged on his insides.
With a grimace, he snatched the necklace from the goblin. “Forget it. I’ll find the gold some other way.”
“Suit yourself.” The goblin slid the shutter over his desk.
Weegel glanced around at his grimy, muddy dwelling, and left, sick of the smell of mould and earth.
Outside, a sign read “Grool’s Pawnbrokers for fae and magical folk.”
A small ball of light carrying a pouch twice its size flew past and entered the burrow. Grool’s shutters re-opened from inside.
Weegel rolled his eyes and headed back to the mountain.
What an epic waste of his time.
WEEGEL STARED HOPELESSLY at his small, wrecked kitchen.
What a mess and his efforts had only proved fruitless.
As soon as he arrived back from Grool’s, he’d ransacked the entire mountain, trying to find anything of value. So far he came up with a golden platter, a jewellery box, and an antique china set.
Silk dresses piled in a corner. His brass telescope lay on top, and the grandfather clock he found in his study.
It was not enough. Nothing in the mountain was worth selling. Not that Grool would care for any of it, anyway, all being human, but it wasn’t as if a human pawnbroker would give him much either. He might get a nice sum for the dresses, but everything else was worthless.
It wouldn’t even be enough to save up for a disguise, something he’d been putting off for a while.
Fairfrith, a famous fae village in the heart of the mountains, was home to a renowned costume designer, Bannog the Bold. Only he was expensive, and hard to get hold of. Fae all over the country were queuing for his custom designs. Every fae would be matched up with the perfect disguise, allowing them to blend in with the humans.
It had always been a plan for Weegel, but as a last resort once he’d exhausted all other options. The idea of giving himself up never appealed to him. It was almost like admitting defeat, telling the humans they’d won.
Weegel couldn’t remember much about other worcogs, but somehow he felt it was a dishonour to his heritage.
He bent to pick up a piece of china, immersing himself in its details. Blue and white floral patterns danced around a humble cottage, one draped in ivy and honeysuckle.
Ivy had come from a perfect home and family. What could have driven her away and made her flee north? Granted, the townspeople had treated her like an outcast, but not enough to make her leave forever.
Weegel skimmed his eyes around the cave. A vase of flowers lay forgotten on the ground, a lace tablecloth at its side. Everywhere he looked, there were signs of Ivy. She had suggested the flowers and tablecloth brightened up the kitchen, and he couldn’t help but agree; it had almost resembled a different room. She’d also painted flowers and butterflies on the walls, and cleared away all the dirt and cobwebs.
Only now he had gone and wrecked all her hard work.
Weegel gazed down at the porcelain shard and gasped. The edges dug into his palm, and he dropped the piece to the ground. Blood dripped from his hand, and he had no other choice but to use Ivy’s beloved tablecloth to stop the flow.
“Stop tainting everything with your disgusting blood, worcog.”
“Go away, Rosemary.”
“Couldn’t even watch what you were doing. Such a beautiful tablecloth, too. Not that it was yours, anyway. Just yet another thing you stole like a common thief.”
“I said, go. I’m not in the mood!”
“And you actually thought the gods would grant you favour? Turns out the necklace was worthless in the end. You’ll never go north. For the rest of your life, you’ll rot alone in this cave, and I’ll be there laughing all the way.”
Weegel covered his ears, trying to block out Rosemary’s voice, but it was no use. She was everywhere.
Until he heard a small cry.
He stopped and listened for the sound. Where had it come from?
The sound didn’t return, and he glanced down at his hand. The tablecloth was completely drenched in blood.
An ear-splitting scream burst through the night, and Weegel’s heart leapt to his throat.
The sound was coming from Ivy’s room.
He bolted out the cave, stumbling up the tunnel until he reached her room. Weegel dashed inside, panting and sweating.
Ivy writhed beneath the sheets, and he rushed forward to set her free. She was nothing more than a screaming knot of arms and legs, and he grabbed her shoulders and shook. “Wake up!”
Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up and screamed.
Weegel jumped back, clutching his chest. His heart thumped like a rabbit beneath as he tried to catch his breath.
Ivy stared around like a frightened child, and something strange stirred inside him. No one had ever looked more vulnerable and innocent than she did now, and he had an urge to go over and take her in his arms but thought better of it.
The last thing he wanted to do was make her scream again.
Recognition dawned in her eyes at last. “Weegel?”
“Yes.”
She blew a sigh and buried her face in her hands. “Thank goodness. They... they were here...”
Her words made no sense, but he humoured her regardless. “Who?”
“Soldiers... and... the wolf...”
Weegel raised a brow. “Soldiers? Wolves?”
Ivy started to shake, and he knew he wasn’t going to get much more sense out of her. Not seeing any point in sticking around, he crept towards the door, but she gripped his wrist.
“Don’t go. Stay,” she pleaded.
Weegel gazed into her dewy eyes, struggling for words. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t leave. So he settled down beside her, and a crunchy, floral scent wafted up from the sheets. Heather. A little too much for his liking, but whatever made her happy.
Ivy cradled his arm and snuggled up under the blankets, and she soon drifted off.
Weegel’s arm started to ache after a while, but he couldn’t move. She looked too peaceful. He studied her face, and his stresses of the day ebbed away. The lamp cast a soft glow against her skin, giving her a velvety texture, and he was tempted to brush a finger along her cheek.
Her hold loosened on his wrist, and he carefully pulled free. With one last glance at her sleeping form, he slipped out of the cave and tiptoed down the tunnel.
He walked into the kitchen, feeling cold and empty once again. Something she’d said about wolves and soldiers returned to him.
What had she been talking about?
“Maybe there’s someone more messed up than you after all...” Rosemary sniggered.
Weegel grabbed a saucer and flung it at the wall. Rosemary’s sniggering echoed around the room, and Weegel knelt, massaging his head.
If only he could dream about wolves too.
10. Ivora
Ivora slunk into the kitchen the next morning, her head pounding. Hopefully, Weegel had gone out hunting; she couldn’t face him today, not after last night.
The dream had felt so real. She’d been absolutely convinced that the soldiers had stormed the mountain and found her. A
nd then the wolf jumped out and attacked, and that was when she woke up screaming.
Nightmares were the worst. She must have looked hysterical, spouting nonsense. But worst of all she’d exposed a vulnerable side to herself. Weegel had once been the subject of her nightmares too after all.
Could she trust him?
Then again, he was on the run so he may understand. Plus, he’d stayed by her side last night and comforted her when he didn’t have to.
He was a true enigma. One thing one moment, and another the next.
Darkness greeted her when she entered the cave. Holding her lamp out before her, she shuffled into the chamber, letting the light fall over the room.
Pots and pans were scattered everywhere, and something cracked beneath her shoe.
She stared in disgust. What in the world had Weegel gotten up to last night?
Ivora stepped further into the room. A shadowy figure sat at the table, and she yelped, losing a grip on the lamp. It slipped to the ground, but she caught it in time.
Weegel stared ahead with a vacant expression. Black shadows outlined his face, settling under the hollows of his eyes.
Ivora inched closer, heart thumping. “Weegel?”
No reply.
Hesitantly, she reached out and shook his shoulder. “Weegel? Are you all right? Speak to me.”
He blinked several times and turned around and faced her. For a moment he didn’t seem to recognise her, but then he sighed and relaxed his shoulders. “I’m... fine.”
Ivora winced at the sound of his hoarse voice; it made her want to run down to the waterfall and fetch him water.
She placed the lamp on the table and sat down. “Have you been sitting alone in the dark all night?”
Weegel glanced at his fingernails. “Wouldn’t be the first time...”
Ivora opened her mouth to speak, but decided against it. Weegel, meanwhile, gazed at the flickering lamp, eyes narrowed in concentration.
She took the chance to check the state of the kitchen. Smashed porcelain littered the floor, and there was a pile of dresses and a brass telescope in the corner.
She never bothered to ask. It didn’t seem the right moment given the shape he was in.
Ivora assessed his appearance again. The shadows under his eyes were alarming; it looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.
Her stomach rumbled, and it only meant one thing. Breakfast.
She heaved herself up from her chair and started making porridge. Ivora had brought a bag of oats up from the pantry. It turned out Weegel had plenty of food down there, such as jars of pickled vegetables, and honeyed fruits. Thankfully, they were kept far from the meat on the other side of the cave.
Ivora ripped the bag open and poured a few cupfuls of oats into the pot. Now all she had to do was carry the pot down to the waterfall, bring it back, and then leave it to boil.
She caught Weegel staring at her from the corner of her eye, and turned, but he looked away the last second.
What was he up to?
“I’ve... been wondering about your parents,” he announced suddenly.
Ivora stopped and swallowed. Just when she thought he may have forgotten last night.
He leaned forward, a light flashing through his eyes. “What happened to them?”
She looked away from him. At least he wouldn’t be able to see the sweat building on her forehead.
“Answer me.”
“No. It’s my business and mine alone. Keep your big nose out of it.”
He rose from his seat. “I have a right to know. You are living under my roof after all.”
“It’s a mountain, actually.”
Weegel growled. “Tell me... p-please...”
Ivora cocked a brow. “Please?”
He breathed a sigh. “Yes.”
She snorted. “You must be desperate. Never thought I’d hear you say such a word.”
Weegel thumped the table. “I’m not fooling around. What happened to them?”
Ivora smirked and tapped her nose.
He chuckled. “You’re cocky all of a sudden. Where’s the sniffling baby gone I had to tuck to sleep last night?”
She whirled around. “I did not cry!”
There he was again, the abominable worcog she knew and loved. The one who consoled her must have gone back to whatever dreamland he came from.
She could almost hear the cogs of his mind turning. His cruel lips stretched into a sneer, making him look like a jack-o’-lantern. “You’ve been crying up in your room the past week. Something happened to them, I know it. And I’m going to find out.”
Ivora turned her back on him and busied herself with her porridge again. “You can try.”
He had nothing more to say. With one last glare in her direction, he slipped out the cave, leaving her alone.
Ivora glowered after him. He had no right to demand information from her. She stared into the pot, losing interest at last. Somehow, she lost her appetite.
Suppose she better clean up the stupid worcog’s mess. Not that there was anything better to do.
Ivora picked up several discarded papers. One was a calendar. The worcog had added notes to the dates, something he would remind himself of now and again. Apparently, he planned the times he scoured the kingdom for gems. He’d even noted down the day he went to Chars-town, and her blood boiled.
The worcog carefully calculated every attack, every time he ruined some poor girl’s life.
That had been a month ago. September the tenth.
She ripped up the parchment. In two days, it would be October the twelfth. Her sixteenth birthday.
Tears threatened to escape, but she held them back.
She’d seen all the signs of autumn approaching: how the geese flew south, and the days grew shorter and colder. Summer had come and gone, and she’d become a woman before she realised.
It only felt like yesterday when she and her mother had that conversation at breakfast. That was the morning the worcog arrived and turned her whole life upside down.
They’d talked about how they would go and see the ocean, and Ivora had squealed for the pure joy of it.
But now she was cleaning up the worcog’s mess, and her parents and dreams were all but forgotten.
Well, not if she had anything to do about it.
She stormed out the kitchen and rushed up the tunnel.
Ivora would see the ocean, and no one would get in her way. Not even a stupid wolf, or an entire army of soldiers.
It was time to find aunt Elly.
IVORA HEADED DOWN THE slope, weaving her way between tall pines.
The contents of her rucksack jostled behind her, bouncing in perfect rhythm to the beats of her heart.
Adrenaline pumped through her veins, filling her with a confidence she hadn’t felt for weeks.
The Blanket had to be close. No matter what the worcog said, she would find it. It was just a matter of time and patience.
The slope evened out as she neared the valley, and her stomach tightened. She was getting close to the place where Belle died.
She’d been wracked with guilt ever since the wolf attack. The least she could do was give Belle a proper burial instead of sitting inside the mountain like a terrified child. Belle deserved it for saving her life.
Voices drifted up the slope, and Ivora stopped. They were coming from the valley below, just ten feet from her current position.
They emerged between the trees, three men carrying various weapons, and Ivora’s body froze. Her best bet was to stay inanimate. She just hoped they wouldn’t look up and see her in her bright blue cloak.
A shadow moved in her peripheral vision, and before she turned, a hand clasped her mouth and dragged her back.
Someone pressed her against a tree, and then Weegel’s face hovered before her.
Relief washed through her. “Wee—”
He placed a finger to her lips, communicating with his eyes to stay silent.
She nodded, and Weegel listened o
ut for the strangers.
The men were below them now. Weegel leaned closer, and a strong, leathery scent radiated off his body. His heart beat against her, and she tensed, horribly aware of the intimacy.
“They say it’s at least eight hundred feet,” a strange man’s voice said.
Ivora’s tongue dried. The men may as well be a foot away.
“Never seen a bigger mountain,” another man replied. “You think it’s still cursed?”
“Why don’t you climb it and find out?”
The men laughed.
Ivora shifted her head. Only one of the three men was visible, who was small and pointy-faced. A long dagger hung at his belt.
“C-come on, let’s go,” he said, a nervous look on his face. “Sick of the sight of it.”
They moved off.
Weegel released a breath, wafting a loose strand off her face. “Thank the gods they didn’t see us.” He looked up. “You all right?”
His face was etched in deep lines. He seemed concerned.
“Yes.”
He smiled faintly. “Good to know.”
They stared into each other’s eyes a moment. His finger was still nestled against her lip, and he drew it back, bright red.
Ivora flushed, still feeling his phantom touch.
Weegel turned his attention to the men and watched as they disappeared through the trees.
“Is the mountain really cursed?” she asked, rubbing her lips.
“Who knows,” he said. “So long as it keeps the vermin away, I’m happy. I’ll have to set traps. Hate it when they make their way up here.”
Weegel looked to the ground. Ivora followed his gaze and groaned when she spotted the rucksack.
“Were you going somewhere?” he asked.
She kicked her sack aside. “I was... just going for a walk.”
“With all your stuff?”
She shrugged. “Sure... why not?”
He narrowed his eyes and moved back up the slope. Ivora stayed put, unable to process the strange feeling inside. Could it possibly be guilt?
“Well, you coming?”
She startled and glanced up at Weegel again. He gazed down at her, his face bored and impassive.
