AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Faeries don’t say thank you.
Maytree’s eyes caught Juliana’s. “He will live,” she said. “Thanks to you.”
The word sneered in Juliana’s chest. What had she done to earn such thanks? She shook her head, refusing to accept it. “I should have known something was off with Algernon.”
“You were not to blame.”
I am. I am, I am, I am.“I won’t take any more days off,” she assured her. “Not until the day.”
“You’re entitled to—”
“I expect to be compensated,” Juliana said swiftly, knowing this would set her mind at ease. “We won’t leave the castle. We’ll limit the staff. No more parties or revels or anything.”
Maytree bowed her head, almost like Jules was the queen, and she the cowering servant. “He won’t like this.”
“He doesn’t need to like it. He needs to be alive.” Aware of the trembling tenor of her voice, she added, “That is what you pay me for, after all.”
“Quite.” Maytree stiffened, regaining her queenly composure. “Will you sit with him?”
“Will you?”
The Queen looked down, ashamed. “He called for you,” she said.
“He was probably confused.”
“I think that was the only time he was lucid.”
Bowing her head to the Queen, Juliana stepped into the room. The curtains had been drawn, making the faint light grey and dark. Over the bed, the vines wriggled softly, almost humming. Juliana wished for the energy to thank them for leading her to Algernon’s body, for giving her the extra minutes that likely made all the difference.
She moved to Hawthorn’s side. His midsection was heavily bandaged, far too close to his chest. A little higher and there would have been no point bandaging him. She’d be standing beside a corpse.
The tip of his left ear was sliced. No one had bothered bandaging that. She reached out towards it, but he moved under her shadow, and she bolted back, as if his touch could burn her.
Close, close, too close.
She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, his slightly laboured breathing crackling against her heart.
She couldn’t watch this. She couldn’t.
She fled from the room, hurtling into her own and sliding to the floor. Hawthorn let out a sound, almost like a cry, a soft, quiet whimper.
I’m still here, I’m still here, I haven’t left, I just can’t watch—
But she would leave. Shehadto leave. And one way or another it would hurt just as much as this.
Once, when she was around thirteen or fourteen, not long after Markham had taken her to the woods, he took her out hunting one morning, and they reached a log—more a branch, really—over a stream.
Markham paused, before gesturing for her to continue. It made sense, of course. She weighed less than him. But still, she was sceptical.
“Go on,” he urged. “Perfectly safe.”
Juliana looked at the log, and back at her father. “Are you sure?”
“Would I ask you to do something dangerous?”
Yes,she thought,but not without purpose. She decided to risk it.
Halfway there, the branch gave way beneath her. It was a short drop, but she still sprained her ankle, bruised her elbow, and ended up sopping wet.
