Today is the perfect time to introduce Kit’s guide through the fae world: a character called Valentine (most of the time).
In this excerpt Kit and Valentine find themselves spending the night in a safe house in the Faedemesne, though it proves to be far from safe for Kit.
‘I told you, it’s a Safe House. Listen,’ Valentine said, cocking her head towards the door. ‘Pipes and lutes and drums. Doesn’t it make you want to dance?’
He hadn’t been aware of the music until she’d mentioned it but now, listening carefully, he could hear the strains of something that sounded a little like an Irish jig or a Scottish reel.
‘I don’t dance,’ he said.
‘Then you can drink and watch while I dance,’ Valentine said. She took him by the hands and attempted to pull him to his feet. ‘Please. I need to be merry.’
Her eyes had grown wide and pleading and he found himself unable to think of any more reasons to resist.
‘Only for a little while,’ he said. ‘And we don’t speak to anyone.’
He reached for his socks and sniffed them, then reached into his rucksack for another pair. He laced his shoes and caught Valentine smiling to herself.
‘It’s odd how little things mark you out as different. Your footwear is one. If you pass through a town tomorrow, I will buy you a pair of boots. Or you could try win a pair from someone tonight,’ she said.
He couldn’t disagree. His brogues weren’t particularly good for hiking. Valentine wore a light pair of dancing slippers with low heels that looked like they should be uncomfortable to walk in, but she seemingly had no problem. His army boots had taken a while to break in but for a time between then and when they became so waterlogged they refused to dry, they had been the most comfortable things he’d worn. He wished he still had them.
Theirs was the furthest of the three rooms on the floor. From the next room came the sounds of panting and gasping that could only be a couple making enthusiastic love. A third voice joined in. Kit blinked, and Valentine laughed.
‘So innocent!’
‘Come on,’ he said sticking her arm into the fold of his. ‘Let’s eat and go back to our room as soon as we can.’
The voices reached a crescendo that showed no signs of abating.
‘Or perhaps not,’ he added and, when she laughed, he joined in.
Just before they reached the bottom of the stairs, Valentine paused. ‘You’re safe unless you do something foolish and I can’t prevent it. Try not to.’
She took his hand and led him forward. The room was pleasantly warm with a large fire burning in a round grate in the centre of the floor. The landlord appeared at their side.
‘A table for the two of you, Gentle? Or will you join the congregation of travellers?’ he asked, indicating the long trestles and benches that were set around three sides of the fire.
‘The congregation,’ Valentine said, just as Kit asked for a private one. ‘You hear the best stories at the communal tables,’ she explained. Kit was about to retort that he didn’t care for stories but surprised himself by agreeing to her plan.
They walked to the closest trestle, where there was room for two to sit side by side. Valentine nodded to the travellers, who were already eating, as she sat down and gestured for Kit to do likewise.
A barmaid was noting on a pad what the diners asked for. Her hair was pale green and fell to her waist in a thick braid. Her skin was light brown with markings that looked like tree bark.
‘It’s rude to stare,’ Valentine hissed.
‘I’m sorry, I know. It’s just her skin looks like tree bark.’
‘What do you expect? She’s a dryad,’ Valentine said.
‘I’ve never seen anything so odd,’ Kit whispered. ‘And yet she’s beautiful.’
Valentine smiled. ‘You have half a face that looks like it was in a bonfire, and yet you’re passably handsome, too.’
Kit flinched and raised a hand to his cheek.
‘I don’t say it to be cruel,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Just a reminder that oddity is as it appears.’
‘Hogbelly stew or fried cockletails?’ the barmaid asked, finally arriving at their end of the table.
‘We’ll have a plate of each and a flask of rosy wine,’ Valentine replied.
‘It’s pronounced rose-ay,’ Kit whispered to her.
‘Aren’t I lucky that I’ve got you to educate me,’ she replied sweetly, rolling her eyes, and the old woman sitting next to Kit cackled.
The food arrived almost at once, along with a plate of something resembling thin crumpets and a dish of green beans that glistened with melting butter. The smell that rose from the bowl of stew made Kit’s mouth water. He caught a whiff of aniseed and cinnamon, along with garlic in the brick red gravy, but there were more scents he couldn’t identify. The other bowl contained small fried clumps of something in batter, with sprouting fronds – at least, he hoped they were fronds rather than legs. The wine came in a clear flask and had rose petals floating in it.‘ Rosy Wine,’ Valentine said, breezily.She poured two cups and held one out. Kit had it halfway to his lips when he caught himself.
‘I can’t drink this. Or eat anything,’ he added, casting a regretful glance at the stew.
‘This is a public inn,’ Valentine said. ‘A Safe House. What sort of business would it do if your dinner placed you under servitude? Besides, you’re going to pay for it so there’s no exchanging required.’
Kit felt for his wallet before remembering he didn’t have it. ‘Your money won’t work here anyway,’ Valentine explained. ‘I’ll have to pay for both of us.’
‘But then I’ll owe you,’ he pointed out.
‘You’re too quick a learner, that’s your problem,’ Valentine said, scowling. ‘It would serve you right to end up owing me something.’
He got the impression she was quite pleased, though.
Elisabeth Hobbes Writes History 