Page 1 of The Yuletide Fairy's Curse
CHAPTER 1
It was three nights before Yule, and tonight, a member of the royal family would be kidnapped.
The fires in the forge made Dalla’s eyes water. The air was bone-achingly cold outside and blisteringly hot within. She dabbed sweat from her brow with the furry sleeve of her mink coat.
The blacksmith perspired too, but not, Dalla thought, from the heat. His hands trembled as he offered her a wooden box stamped with his touchmark.
Dalla reached for the box with bare fingers and stroked the smooth wood of the lid. “It’s larger than I expected,” she said.
“It’s standard size, Your Majesty,” the blacksmith said, voice cracking.
“May I touch?” Dalla asked.
The blacksmith dropped the box into her hands as though the object was still hot from the forge.
Dalla found the latch in the low light of the room and flipped the lid open. The dagger inside gleamed. Its pommel was supple leather, and the blade was delicate and well-made, engraved with an intricate snowflake design Dalla had described to the blacksmith from memory. Once, an old lover commissioned hera ring engraved with a similar design. Dalla knew well how she’d misplaced her priorities in the relationship, but she didn’t know how she’d misplaced the ring. The loss of that ring affected her more than the loss of her parents.
Dalla shook away memories of caresses and the warmth of another body in her bed. The royal family boasted many luxuries, but keeping lovers was not one of them. Not while they were being picked off.
“It’s beautiful,” Dalla said. “You should be very proud of your skill.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said the blacksmith.
“Would you pay him, Hals?” Dalla asked the guard with her. The guard began to count coins out of Dalla’s purse, and Dalla added, “Give him all of it.”
The blacksmith balked. “Your Majesty, I cannot take this.”
“I insist,” she said.
Hals held out the coin purse more menacingly than Dalla thought necessary, and the blacksmith had no choice but to accept.
The blacksmith perspired quite profusely now. “I hope you do not mind my saying, Your Majesty,” he started, and faltered, and then started again, “but this is a regular blade. Iron may hurt fae folk, but I could not guarantee your protection againstthatone.”
“Thank you for your concern,” said Dalla. “I am aware of the limitations.”
The blacksmith busied himself with tugging on the fingers of his thick gloves. “It’s just that, Your Majesty… I don’t want to be responsible if something happens.”
“If I die, you mean,” Dalla said.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“My little brother does not know about this transaction,” Dalla said. “So,whenI lose my life, who will come after you? I’ll be dead.”
She smiled, not unkindly.
“I hope she spares you,” the blacksmith said firmly, tears in his eyes. He squeezed the strings of the purse in his fist. “This will help a lot, Your Majesty.”
Stiffly, Dalla bowed her head. “Shall we?” she asked Hals, and he took her arm to guide her back to the carriage.
Compared to the crackling fire and the smacking of metal on metal by the blacksmith’s apprentice within the forge, the noise outside was muffled. Snowflakes fell from the sky and accumulated with last night’s snowfall, barely disturbed by the wheel marks of a few scant carriages.
When Dalla was little, Yule had been a joyous time for all. Wassailers made their rounds, children threw balls of snow and laughed in the streets, bright pops of color adorned every door and window.
There were a few remnants of that now, but it was a pale echo of the past. The smell of cinnamon floated to her from the bakery down the street. Candles flickered from windows. Some were encircled by thin red ribbons, but the businesses within were closed. A few of the trees in and around the square had been decorated with candles and baubles and shiny bits that caught the light of the lamps outside of each building.
Tomorrow, when Dalla was declared deceased, some of the festivities would become more boisterous. She’d seen this happen ten times over—she would know.
Her funeral would pass quickly tomorrow morning, and then her younger brother would become the new king, and three nights hence on Yule when the royal family had gone to sleep, some of the wassailers would come out in remote villages; steaming treats and breads laced with dried fruits would bepassed around; families would sit for a dinner more lavish than any they had the rest of the year.
