Page 91 of Faerie Fate
The oldest boys helped their father with the bags waiting in neat piles near the front door. The three of them were similarly sized, their heads topped with rich loamy brown hair.
Elfhame straightened from me slowly, her lips rounded on a silent whistle. “Eight boys,” she confirmed at my less than polite gawking from the floor. “This one will no doubt be a boy as well. My husband’s bloodline is strong.”
I was pretty sure it was Elfwaite in there but I said nothing as I blinked sleep away. “I’ve had worse wakeups,” I assured her. We all had.
As the sun tipped over the burning morsana fields, chaos exploded in the house. Elfhame’s family bordered on chaotic and their energy was limitless. Their smiles were infectious. All in all, they were sweet boys.
Bronwen took to them easily. “I always wanted brothers,” she explained with a shrug.
The moment we left the house, my body grew like a weed pushing through soil to search for the light. I returned to normal size with a slight pop of my ears adjusting. I glanced over my shoulder at Mike. The first step he took had him growing the same way, his chest filling out as though he were somehow even larger now that he’d returned to normal size.
The same for Noren. Only his first majestic footstep into a full-size direwolf was accompanied by a whoop of exuberance. Two of the youngest pixie boys sat between his ears, with another nestled near his shoulder blades.
“This is awesome!” One of them howled and Noren took up the sound.
“My apologies again,” Elfhame said near my ear. She flittered ahead. “They’re taken with your wolf.”
“If he had a problem with it, he’d let them know.”
If anything, I’d call Noren delighted by the attention. He pranced around the yard in front of the dollhouse with his head held high and his tail arched. Show pony style.
Elfhame and her husband used their magic fluidly, without hesitation. I’d seen some spectacular pieces of magic from fae in the city but the pixies were not in the same league.
Several other families of pixies joined us on our way out of Twilight’s Hush. Our small procession grew and swelled, their tiny voices magically amplified the way Elfwaite’s had been.
It was easy to feel comfortable with them. Not only were they excellent conversationalists, but the children were raucous and filled with pure glee. The boys took turns sliding down Noren’s neck into the fur on his back.
We stayed off the main roads as we travelled to avoid any run-ins with the fae.
The wilds around the pixie village reminded me of Scotland although I’d never been there. The forest gave way to moors blossoming with bushy twigs topped by yellow wildflowers. Rocky crags gave us breathtaking views of the rolling hills and cliffs. My spine tingled.
There wasn’t safety in the open this way. We were sitting ducks even with the spells Poppy and Elfhame placed to disguise our movements.
“Relax,” Poppy urged. “You worry too much.”
“We’ll stop for lunch here.” Elfhame waved an arm and sparks burst from her palm, carrying on the wind like so much passing detritus. “That will alert the others.”
“Breaking isn’t a good idea,” I warned. “We should keep going.”
“What did I tell you?” Poppy dropped her voice in a conspirator’s whisper with Elfhame. “This one is wound so tightly she’ll spiral out of control and dig us a hole all the way to Bluelar.”
The two laughed.
“No one is going to find us. Our spells are sound. There are many of us gathered and with Poppy’s addition, we are safe to break,” Elfhame explained.
Bronwen drew a hand over her forehead and mussed her hair. “Yeah, sorry if we’re not the trusting type. We’ve almost gotten killed too many times to count.”
Poppy leaned back on her elbows on the rocky ground. “Would you feel more comfortable running a patrol?”
Bronwen flashed a smile and shifted form into a crow then took off while the others settled.
Conjured blankets spun out of nothing rested against the gravel-strewn ground. There was nothing but softness when I dropped, Mike at my side, Poppy and Elfhame opposite us.
As I’d suspected, I really liked the pixies. It made sense, considering they were Elfwaite’s family, and I loved Elfwaite. Elfhame and her mate were easy to talk to, and rather than the sly run-around fae were so fond of giving, the pixies were blunt.
Mix that in with Poppy’s bluntness and it made for interesting lunchtime conversation.
Her oldest son unpacked a picnic basket. The rest of the village gathered around us in a neat circle, resting on their own blankets.
