Page 13 of The Fae’s Treasure

“Mm.” Bonwit nods, a serious frown on his rapidly bruising face. “I think... I think it’s being from the mortal realm that does it. Everything tastes like it might be your last bite, so much sharper, sweeter, or more savory. Everything about the mortal realm reminds you that things change.” He looks at me. “I know you don’t like that.”

He’s right. I’ve spent years in my realm, eons in my little crumbling castle, perfect in its imperfections, wild enough and peaceful enough, and most importantly, only changing when I want it to.

I didn’t want a child. I didn’t want a rebellious, traitorous succubus as a lover. I never wanted to visit this mortal realm and learn more about humans.

“If we eat their food, are we bound to them the way they’re bound to us?” I ask, eyes still on the windows of the house holding my son.

“No, there’s no bargain here. Things are paid for in coin or service, or given as free gifts.” He snorts at that and shakes his head. “Seems some fae could learn from mortals, if you ask me.”

“Could be.”

An idea suddenly strikes me. “Bonwit!”

Bonwit is on all fours now, groaning and holding his ribs as he works out standing. “What?”

“The energy here lures creatures of other kinds to the mortal realm. Saz found it. We had no trouble getting in, but I could feel the slightest resistance. We’ve seen vampires. Gargoyles. Do you think there are any of our blood here? Pooka, Banshee, Morrigan?”

“Ooh, I don’t know, Dair.”

“Well, in your quest for food and spirits, keep a sharp eye. If you find any who owe us allegiance, tell them to meet me in these woods. Meanwhile, I will figure out the best way to peacefully extract my boy.”

“Oh. And the dog.”

I look at Bonwit sharply. “You left the dog?”

“No, you left the dog! I got my teeth knocked in.”

His teeth are perfectly fine, and I roll my eyes at Bonwit’s gift of storytelling, but my alarm grows. “I thought you had it.”

“Wouldn’t you have noticed before now if I had it?” he snaps, finally on his feet, limping towards me with a glare.

“I’m a bit preoccupied knowing that Saz may sacrifice that baby to take its half-fae soul!” I hiss. “And you’ve just given the human mortal a gift! A gift of a fae, not a bargain, not a change, not a trade, an out-and-out gift. That means we owe her a boon. And who knows what she’ll want? What if she wants to keep the baby?”

Bonwit’s face is stricken. “She... Well, she wants to keep it anyway, Dairmuid. It’s her child, in her mind at least. She wants it more than her own life, for she was willing to fight, unarmed, in the darkness, against an immortal, just to protect the babe she’s had for only a few days.” His eyes are starlight bright in the darkness now, silvery and piercing. “There’s no bargain you can make to take a mother’s son.”

But Saz willingly put him at risk. Will willingly kill him. Only took my seed to grow a bargaining chip. He’s a pawn to her, disposable.

She was not his mother. She was his creator, growing plants for cuttings. She doesn’t need him, only parts. Doesn’t love him, only needs a piece of him.

I still haven’t seen him, but my heart has already started to grow around this unreachable son, roots growing as fast as a young pin oak. I blame myself that he’s in danger. His life, his peril—they are all because of my selfish, thoughtless ways and my silly, lustful, trusting nature.

“Bonwit, I have to save him and shield him,” I whisper, my heart overflowing with fresh misery. “I love him already, and it is all my fault he is not safe and loved in the bosom of a family that will cherish him.”

“One, it’s only half your fault,” Bonwit says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Two, the boy is in such a family, but he will surely need protecting more than even his hellcat of a foster mother can provide if Saz comes to call. We owe her a boon, do we?”

I’m tempted to say that Bonwit owes it, but technically I left the pup in my botched rescue mission, so... “Yes, we do.”

“Hmm. I’m sure you can find what it is she wanted before the child arrived on her doorstep, Dair. Find that. Offer her that.”

“What if it’s something I cannot create or provide?” I shake my head. Some fae are so much more powerful than me. So much more cunning. It’s probably the reason Saz chose me.

That, and my looks.

Bonwit hums, which isn’t a good sign. When he doesn’t flap his jaws, that’s more concerning than all the howling and lectures in the world. “Do you know when her power is at its peak? How long do we have?”

Thinking in hours, days, and time is tricky for someone who has never used it. “Samhain, likely. Perhaps even in the autumnal equinox, but she’d be a fool to try her hand just then, because that is when I’m at my strongest, too.”

Bonwit taps his fingers on his chin, muttering and counting. “That’s either in ten days or about six weeks.”