Page 52 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
The fairies are trapped in still-hardening bronze, locked eternally in poses of sheer terror on the steps. Running, falling; shielding others, shielding themselves. Dead fairies clawing their way up a bell tower, frozen in time.
At last, Neirin rights himself, shaking his head like it will banish whatever it is he can smell.
He lays a hand on my back. “Come on.”
But I’m rigid, doubled over on my fresh wound. My palms are locked over my ears. He removes them gently, leaving them limp at my sides.
“That was clever of me” is all he says as he returns to the trapdoor and makes his descent into the bronze-covered mass.
All I can think of is Ceridwen and Gran, and how I nearly died and failed them both. I stumble after Neirin, almost oblivious to the strange new statues surrounding us. Neirin cocks his head to the side as he stares at one who died pressing himself against the wall.
He raises a curious fist and knocks on its bronze head. It rings hollow. The fairy inside is already gone.
Gone where, I don’t know.
The wound in my stomach feels like it’s gaping open and my innards could just fall out. My legs turn to jelly and I grip the first thing I can to keep me upright, which happens to be the outstretched arm of a bronzed fairy. I recoil, hissing in surprise, and I drag myself to the final steps before searing pain courses through me like fire. White spots speckle my vision, and before I know what’s happening I’m sitting on the stairs, doubled over and gasping.
“Habren?” Neirin kneels before me.
He tries to remove my arm from where it’s pressed against thewound, and I cry out. The whites of his eyes are wide as he stares down at my blood-soaked shirt.
“One got me,” I grit out. “Holding my arm up… made it worse.”
Neirin’s lips part. “Tell me what to do.”
I blink but his face blurs before me.
“I don’t know what to do, Habren.” Unfamiliar panic leaks into his words.
Neirin’s hand shoots past my own, pressing down on the deep cut as if he can command the bleeding to stop.
I hiss and squirm back. “Doctor.”
His eyes rake over my face, but no grand idea ignites behind them. Neirin’s free hand goes to the back of my head, twining through the strands of my hair. I have the silliest idea for a moment that he’s going to kiss me, until the world falls away from my shoulders like an old cloak.
17
gwledd i ffyliaid
(A FEAST FOR FOOLS)
There’s a soft bed beneath me, and the air smells pleasant. Everything is quiet save for birdsong nearby.
My first thought is that I’m dead, but that would make no sense—this is too comfortable to be hell, and I know I’m not bound for heaven.
I stare up at a canopy of leaves, blinking at my surroundings, before propping myself up slowly. I expect pain in my stomach, but it doesn’t come.
The room is almost shabby, but I like it immediately. The powder-blue walls are littered with intricate murals of trees. Three mismatched rugs cover the old wooden floor. An armchair sits beside a decorated wardrobe and a chest of drawers bears a washbasin. The bed has a patchwork quilt and its four bedposts stretch up into a canopy of leaves, from which burst small yellow flowers. At the very end, just below my feet, is a great, slumbering dog.
I jerk my leg away from it, and the dog stirs. His eyes are dark marbles, and heavy lids slip down immediately, as if he’s disappointed to see me awake. He yawns, thuds down from the bed and leaves through an open door.
It’s daylight outside, but I’m too well rested for this to be the same day that I last left behind.
Ceridwen.
I curse and swing my legs out of bed, black spots appearing in my vision. I manage to stand, but sway and fall seconds later. Ipaw at my soft stomach through the linen nightgown but there’s no pain.
I’m just hungry. And I’ve been asleep far too long.
