Bare Your Teeth, Wicked Ones

7. Of Vexation and Yearning

Nicholas

The abandoned village sat desolate, as if built to house the dead. The Dread Peaks spotted the far horizon, scratching the sky and reminding all within that they were trapped. The villagers no doubt knew a gruesome fate awaited them the moment Fearworn raised those mountains. That was why Arden and Nicholas stumbled through a dozen homes containing old remains. Bones lay beneath withered nooses or families huddled together in corners. The ones who didn't see an escape made their own.

Nicholas shuffled about wardrobes in search of attire. Though the cold of Terra held nothing against the winters in Faerie, he had no interest in returning to the army looking like shredded paper. He had a reputation to uphold, strikingly good looks that required equally beguiling clothes. Though none of the villagers had more than dated moth bitten robes. He settled upon a dusty black blouse. Bugs and rodents gnawed at the sleeves, but he rolled them up to his elbows. A loose ribbon along the neckline of another blouse worked well to tie up his mussy hair.

"We should abandon them," Arden said, shifting Nicholas' attention from a dusty wardrobe to ruby eyes. "The mortals are worthless to us now. We can find the army on our own. If they die on their way back, that's on them."

Nicholas' gaze swept over the bedroom where two adults hugged a child between them. Snow covered the right side of the room from the collapsed roof. The bed lay in ruin, bones entangled together so one couldn't determine what pieces belonged to whom.

"We would be quicker on our feet without them," he muttered, imagining the rage burning within William's eyes of frost.

"And we'd be without their annoyance." Arden shuffled behind Nicholas to wrap an arm around his waist. "You seek revenge against the medic. This is revenge. We leave them here to rot and be on our way."

"Thinking of them frightened and moments away from death does put a smile on my face."

Though he would be remiss not to witness William's demise in person. The mere mention of his name fanned a spark that wouldn't disperse from the edge of his mind. A place William had infiltrated and made his own with a few irritating conversations. Though he hated to admit it, Nicholas added, "But if we run into more of Fearworn's creatures, or the bastard himself, a healer would be helpful."

"Mortals are hardly healers without their precious herbs and potions, neither of which he has on hand. The longer we're out here, the more likely there is of an attack. We leave them and we leave here sooner."

"You find them so intolerable to risk that?"

Arden pursed his lips. "Do you not?"

They could be an annoyance, but William was a particularly attractive one, at least. Nicholas found the view almost worth the disturbance.

"So be it," he agreed anyway while rubbing a hand against Arden's arm. "We'll abandon them, though we should find a home to rest in tonight. My wounds are healed, but I remain weary. We'll leave them to their fate before dawn."

With a plan set, the fae continued their search for a suitable home to use for the evening. A hut near the center of town held up the best. The roof hadn't caved in and the door not only shut, but also locked properly. Not a ward against large beasts, but could prevent unwanted small critters or recently hatched spions from entering. Though small, they were born with many and could kill with a few jabs of a poisoned stinger. The windows had been smashed, but Arden took care of those, blocking both with a film of magic to keep the winter air out. Charmaine proved not to be utterly useless. She and William acquired firewood by the time the fae returned. After tossing them into the hearth, she whispered the words of mortal magic and breathed into the wood. It lit in a blast that warmed the room instantaneously. Arden retrieved water from a nearby stream they saw during their search. He sat the buckets in the backroom, what used to be a washroom.