“Some of the part-bloods within are probably the bastard children of the high fae, dumped here because they didn't want to suffer the embarrassment of the Unseelie Court gossiping about their trysts with the ‘lower folk.’”
I take a deep breath to hold down my anger, but this isn’t surprising to me.
These things happened in the Seelie Court as well, though during the war, a great change happened within the heart of the Sol King. As he watched every race of his land come together and fight the Ureen, tooth and nail, to the death, he came to treat every soldier, no matter their race, the same, with respect for their service. They all fought for their kingdom.
After the war, the Sol King made it clear that, while the princes, princesses, lords and ladies of the high fae would still hold their titles and their lands, they were no longer allowed to rule over the lower fae and part-bloods to the fae folks' detriment.
He couldn't change everyone's minds, and there were still many within the Seelie Court who resented such changes, old prejudices and arrogance running deep, but it was the first step toward change and before I left I saw the way the Sol King and his queen were raising their son. The young prince was surrounded by all the people who lived within the Northern Lands, as his father taught him not only to be their king but to lead them all as equals.
Perhaps that's why I judge Prince Soren and this kingdom so harshly. I've seen a far better path laid out, lived within that culture, and offered healing to them all, only to have the Fates lead me back to the Unseelie Court and their destructive ways. I miss the unity of the Northern Lands.
Giving Reed a sidelong look, I shrug and push open the gate, then step into the courtyard of the orphanage and stride confidently to the front door. It's nearing midmorning, and yet the children are still inside, no one playing or enjoying the clear autumn air around us. I don’t like the implications, but I raise my hand and knock against the old oak door before I let myself jump to conclusions.
The building is made of stone, three stories that jump and twist into the air above us in a fantastic sort of way, with rows of windows far too small to let in good light but enough of them that perhaps it isn't so gloomy within. The front door is old enough—there are signs of wear and decay around the frame—but the front steps have been swept clean and the garden beds have been stripped bare, as though perhaps long ago, before the land died, flowers were cultivated there. Maybe someone within truly cares about this place and its lost souls.
The door swings open, and a part-blood female squints at me, her face apprehensive and slipping into fear when she gets a good look. Reed steps forward and slides in front of me as though hiding me now will help the situation.
“We’re here at the prince's request to offer medicine to the children.”
He carefully doesn't say which prince, I notice, but after giving him a good once-over, the part-blood woman nods her head sharply and steps aside. Whatever challenges she's faced at Yregar, she trusts the soldiers here and the high-fae prince who leads them.
Reed glances over his shoulder to give me a nod before stepping into the building, carefully ensuring I'm following him and this hasn't been one big ruse to slip away from his guard. Stifling my eye roll, I step into a small reception area and blink against the small orbs of magic that light it.
I wasn’t expecting to see magic like this here. The castle has the same lighting, old magic placed there by high fae of generations ago who still used their magic, but someone here is tending to these orbs and keeping them lit. The part-blood woman has pointed ears and blue eyes, some Unseelie high-fae blood within her, but the long curly tresses of red hair that fall over her shoulders and the golden hue to her skin belies other heritage.
“I was just watching the soldiers in the village speaking to the families with children. I did wonder if someone would come to us, but I wasn't expecting the witch.”
There’s an accent to her voice as well, and it takes me a moment to place it. She grew up speaking the goblin tongue first and the common tongue as an afterthought, the words forming in her mouth a little strangely as she works hard at forming the extra syllables and stringing them together fluently.
A part-blood raised within the Goblin Lands, finding herself at Yregar during the worst decades of desperation—she’s a puzzle indeed.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the small vial there, showing it to her on the palm of my hand as Reed looks around the reception room. His eyes widen, and I suspect he finds himself impressed. It's not only clean, but well lived in like only a loving home can be. A rug on the floor that’s seen better days after so many small pairs of feet traipsing over it and a door frame with etchings of heights and names scrawled all over it, the marking of time a triumph in this war. There are small piles of toys in baskets here and there and a large painting hanging over a small, unused fireplace, many little hands having touched the canvas and leaving behind impressions in a vibrant wash of colors.
It’s a testament to a woman trying desperately to create a loving home, and I like her already.
“Foxfire elixir? That's not so easy to get right,” she murmurs, her eyes flicking up to meet mine as she nods to me. “When I first arrived at Yregar, I had such supplies, but they’re long gone now. I’d be very grateful to offer it to my children.”
Hope balloons in my chest—a victory for the most helpless, finally!—and when I hold the vial out to her, she takes it confidently.
“One drop in a glass of water—“ I begin, but she waves me off.
“Yes, I know the dosage. One drop in one glass for every cycle of the seasons. There's enough in here to see us through the next few years, at least for the small ones. I have ten older children who’ll get only a year or two.”
The smile on my face grows bigger. “You have knowledge of such things? I’m glad to hear it.”
There's a thumping noise upstairs, and her gaze creeps upwards. She sighs as only a mother can at whatever mischief is afoot. “I had once hoped to be trained in such arts, but my heart led me to a different calling. Now I only remember the things that are useful to the children—all else is lost in my mind as I try to remember bedtime routines and how to braid hair.”
Reed looks up with her, smiling at whatever noises his fae ears are picking up, but I take the moment of honesty and push it a little further.
“Why are the children inside on such a nice day? There's plenty of space out there to run out their energy and save your furniture.” I gesture toward the ceiling, and her face shutters as her defenses kick back in.
I fear I’ve misstepped and insulted her, but she meets my eye confidently. “It’s too dangerous out there for them at the moment. The extra soldiers and the waves of new folk in the village aren't kind to them, not like they once were. The place is large enough to keep them inside, and the hall upstairs might be bearing the brunt of their play, but I’d rather lose every piece of furniture within these walls than hear the disgusting things some people say to my children.”
Reed's expression slowly loses its joy and wipes clean, becoming nothing but a mask, and I find myself struggling to hold back my own temper. The woman meets my eye and nods at whatever she sees on my face, a knowing look shared between us. Her eyes flick to Reed as she hesitates, carefully choosing her words in front of him, but whatever prejudice lies within the high fae about my kind, it’s not taken root within her.
I’m beginning to suspect I have the Goblin King to thank for that.
“My name is Whynn, and I thank you for offering the foxfire elixir to my children. If there’s anything I can do in repayment, please let me know. I’m the only keeper here—the other women who used to live and work here left as things got worse in the kingdom, but the older children have stuck close as they’ve grown up, and I have enough help to keep everyone safe. I might not be able to spend time away from here, as some of my children are too small to be left unattended, but anything within my abilities is yours.”
