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“How does it work?” she’d asked her father once. “What if, say, I’m destined to get knocked down by a carriage tomorrow?”
Markham shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. As long as you are healthy and hale, there’s an energy attached to you… they take a sliver of that. It doesn’t hurt. You likely won’t miss it.”
Juliana paused. “Haveyouever bought something with your years?”
Markham hesitated. Although her father lied, she knew he never did so without thought. “Once or twice,” he said eventually.
“Father!”
“I did not bargain much away, and I have years to spend, a knight of faerie.”
“What did you spend it on?”
“I cannot say,” he said. “But it was worth it.”
Juliana couldn’t imagine wanting anything that much. Her lifespan was minute enough by Faerie standards as it was. She didn’t want to part with any more of it.
Hawthorn had asked her once, over a year ago, what she’d do if she had forever. She hadn’t wanted to answer, but somehow he’d tugged it out of her.
“Travel,” she said. “Seeeverything.Mortal and Faerie and all that lies between.”
There were other things, of course, but nothing she wanted to share. Even that felt too much, because she couldn’t leave Faerie. It didn’t matter how long she had.
But if she had forever, she could become the best knight in the kingdom. She could master every weapon, conquer fear itself.
If I had forever, I wouldn’t be afraid.
Locating Mabel the Witch wasn’t too tricky. There were only two witches at the market that day, two ancient old crones, pruned and wrinkled. Their magic tended to keep them alive beyond their mortal lifespans, but it did little to lift the effects of ageing.
“Beware the young witch,”she had been warned as a child, “and what she has done to appear that way.”
The ancient ones were more likely to be benign, but Mabel’s appearance was unsettling in a land of youth. Her snow-white hair looked brittle as straw, woven in a loose braid and threaded with feathers. Her skin was colourless, her once-rich robes threadbare. Everything about her was worn and shrivelled—except for her eyes, sharp and orange as an eagle’s. An unusual feature for a mortal.
Juliana wondered if they were hers at all, if she had traded a faerie for them, or cut them from a bird to bestow her with enhanced sight.
She cleared her throat. “Are you Mabel?”
“Aye,” the witch rasped. She coughed loudly. “Sorry. Sore throat.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have a potion for that.”
“I use my ingredients in other things,” she said, with a soft cackle. “See Drusila if you want a herbal remedy. I suspect you’re after something more, prince guard.”
Juliana stiffened. She wasn’t wearing her uniform. There was no reason for Mabel to—
“Calm yourself,” said Mabel, which annoyed Juliana more. Did she honestly look so startled? She needed to keep her wits about her, steel herself— “Oberon’s arse, you’re a jittery one, aren’t you?” Mabel continued. “Rest assured, girl, your face betrays nothing.”
“How—how are you doing that?”
“Well, when you get to my age, you gain a few powers of observation…”
Juliana stared at her, not entirely convinced.
Mabel tutted, rolling her eyes. She pulled back the feathered collar of her cloak and revealed a dozen talismans underneath. She held one up for inspection. “Helps me read emotions,” she declared.
“You’ve quite the collection,” Juliana remarked.
“Well, I’m quite old.” She seemed to find this amusing. “What can I help you with, dearie?”
