Page 66 of My Faire Lady

Lottie looks out over the faire, squinting. “Where is the infirmary? Can we go see Glen?”

I pause. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” She meets my gaze. “I’ve been so worried about him.”

Forcing down a swallow, I nod and guide Shadow toward the courtyard. She crests over the outer wall and eases us down until her hooves make contact with the cobblestones. I hop from her back.

Lottie swings a leg over, but freezes and grimaces. “Can you? It’s such a far drop.”

“Of course.”

Slowly, I reach up and wrap my hands around her waist. She plants her palms on my shoulders, leans against me, and as she eases forward, her weight slides down my front. Her feet touch ground, but my hands don’t leave her waist, and hers don’t leave my shoulders.

“Thank you,” she says, our faces no more than a breath apart. “Not for helping me down, but showing me how to fly.”

A stray curl falls in front of her face, and I lift a hand, tucking it behind her ear. Her gaze drops to my mouth, and the scant space between us heats, coiling tight.

Shadow whinnies, and Lottie drops her hands from my shoulders, backing up two steps.

Burying my hands into my pockets, I clear my throat and tilt my chin toward the doors. “This way.”

I lead Lottie toward the infirmary, keeping my hands pinned to my sides should they reach for her on their own accord.

“How many are sick?” she says.

She follows through the door, and our footsteps tap against the aged marble.

“One of the sprites, Eelroy, was the first,” I say. “For a while, I thought maybe only the sprites would be affected since they’re small and rely the most on magic. But then Glen got sick and Blaire fainted. And the fae—well, it takes a lot for them to be drained.” I pinch my lip, as if I haven’t kept a running tally of exactly how many creatures are ill. “In all, we have thirty-six who are sick.”

We come to the infirmary doors, and Lottie slows. “But when I’m here?”

“Not only does their condition improve, but none have fallen ill while you’re here.”

She huffs out a laugh and looks at her feet. “No pressure.”

“If you want to back out, it’s not too⁠—”

“I’m not backing out.”

Her gaze pierces me. Gone is the lighthearted smile she donned when we jumped off Shadow. Her eyes steel over, the way they do when she’s concentrating on an intricate stitch.

It peels back a layer of armor surrounding my heart. She hardly knows the creatures I call family, but she’s dedicated to helping them—to helping me.

I nod and plant my palm against the swinging door, pushing it open. Lottie follows in my wake, and the infirmary opens before us, bathed in warm, creamy light.

The door shuts behind us, and the gentle breeze ripples the curtains around each cot. Every head turns in our direction, and the steady hum of chatter extinguishes, silencing the room.

They stare at me, waiting.

I clear my throat. “Lottie agreed to help.”

Dozens of eyes shift from me to her, and to her benefit, she doesn’t waver. She pins her shoulders back. I shift, hiding the slight tremble of her fingers.

“I’m going to do whatever I can,” she says, a sadness to her tone as she scans the creatures in the cots who lie motionless.

Dryden floats toward Lottie, stopping inches away from her face. He studies her with his lidless eyes and tilts his head. “It’s been decades since we’ve trusted a human.”

She swallows and tips her head, offering him a bow. “I promise you’ve put your trust in the right human.” She inches closer and lowers her voice. “I’m sorry I called you a fairy.”