Page 4 of Their Blood Rite

It doomed us all.

We’reallpaying the price for what the blood witches and their Unseelie court did during the war. Even us earth witches, who fought against the blood coven and sided with humans.

For all the good it did us.

These goblins have been de-clawed. They all have stubs at the end of their hands, but they could still pound your skull to mush. Some look sick from infection. Others look half-starved or void of life after spending their days in captivity.

As the carriage passes, I narrowly miss one of them vomiting through the bars.

I swallow dryly as I see another staring ahead into nothing, cradling a tiny bundle close to its chest. There’s a small limp arm dangling out from the folds.

A baby goblin.

When I’m sure no one is looking, I unbolt the cage, moving quickly and quietly as I pass it. The mother goblin’s gaze catches mine, and she holds the door closed with her elongated finger.

They’re not completely stupid creatures. Once they are beyond the village and on the road beyond, she will open the door and run into the forest.

Hopefully, they all will. When I see the baby’s finger twitch, I offer a silent prayer to the magic in the forest to provide something to heal the child.

Then, I turn away from the carriage and carry on down the busy streets, keen to get to the herbalist.

Nothing has been the same since the war ended with the Blood Coven. The blood witches drew their power from blood. Death. Decay. Pain and suffering. They were powerful beyond anythingever believed possible. It took a lot of strength and will to control the dark realm of power they tapped into.

Touching such darkness made them wicked and as dark as the devil’s soul. As twisted and cruel as they were seductive and tempting.

Death was their true love. Death and pain. Blood and despair. And their Goddess Hel, a queen of the damned, rewarded their depravity with power.

The Blood Coven and its Unseelie Court didn’t only seek to subdue humanity, but everyone. All creatures. All folk.

They almost succeeded, too. Now, the humans take their revenge on those who are left.

The creatures dwelling in the marshes, woodlands, lakes and seas are no longer tolerated or trusted after so many joined the Unseelie court, a collection of creatures that believed a human’s place was in a cage or dead. After the blood queen, Neve, was executed and the war ended, the Fae folk began to be hunted and used for their properties. It doesn’t matter that most never joined the Unseelie. That many fought for humanity, just like the earth witches did.

We were no longer trusted. So they kill and harvest the creatures and keep us on an extremely tight leash.

If we didn’t work the fields and maintain the village soil and crops, bet your life we’d be amongst those bones back on the bridge.

Fairie wings mixed with salt water and crushed seashells are excellent elixirs for illness. Goblins are fantastic miners, seeking out gold and jewels in the dark. Wilderbore are strong. They are stronger than horses and far cheaper to keep. Unicorn rump is supposed to be the most incredible meat to exist. One steak costs three hundred gold coins.

I turn away from the carriage, away from the screams and stench, and carry on down the busy streets.

My first stop is the apothecary. The merchant takes my list, and ten minutes later, I have left with everything my father desired. The satchel over my shoulder is heavy and has a tempting aroma of herbs and spices. When I step outside, the sky rumbles, and rain falls hard and fast in the blink of an eye.

Everyone ducks for cover, darting under doorways or inside the many pubs. The rain, however, never bothers me. I prefer it. The streets are clearer, and the water will help wash away the mud on my dress.

I walk leisurely, feeling the cool water trickle over my skin, and use it to wash off the mess from my hands and the blood from my cheek.

I pass down the side streets and alleyways until I reach the threshold of the pub my father has sent me to.

Peering up, the sign sways overhead, the rust making it creak in the wind.

‘Behave,’ I remind myself, taking a readying breath as I face the door. ‘In and out, Ashe. Grab the whiskey and leave.’

I step inside and choke on the oppressive heat. Three fires burn in wonky fireplaces made of soot-stained brick. A pig is on the largest, turning atop the flames. The smell makes my belly grumble and my mouth water.

I should have asked my father for some money for myself. Not that he would have given it to me.

It takes me a moment to realise that many of the men sitting here, playing cards or betting coins, have stopped what they are doing to stare at me.

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