Prince Nera Mossveil's Arc

Chapter 15 of 23

Nera sat on the step with his son against his chest and looked at the gray mount at the gate. He could not tie a newborn to the saddle and hold a dying fawn at the same time. One would slip. One would freeze. The map at his knee said three hard days north. The child in his arms said hours, not days. He had traded for a mount and a road, and neither answered this. Rosalind came out with the milk cloth. "The fawn drank a little. Not enough. It needs a proper nurse, and it needs one before you clear the ridge." She looked at the child. "You cannot carry both at that pace. Choose." "I am not choosing," Nera said. He stood. "Find me a fairy who works with animals. Send now." Glacienne spoke from the doorway. "There is one. He rides the low woods for hurt creatures. My scout can reach him before dawn if I send the dragonfly." She did not wait for thanks. She stepped inside and wrote a short line on a strip and tied it to the insect's leg herself. The wings cut the air and were gone over the roof. The rider came in before the sky changed. He walked into the yard with his wings folded flat and his hat pulled low. He did not look at the prince first. He went straight to the basket by the hearth and put a hand on the fawn's ribs. "Late," he said. "But not too late. I can hold it." He looked up. "I will take it to the woven house down the creek. The animal fairies keep it. Warm floor. Milk on hand. Two nurses." He paused. "I lost one like this in winter. I do not lose them anymore if I get there." Nera knelt by the basket. The winged kittens lifted off the fawn's flank and drifted to Atletha's shoulder. He touched the spotted throat and felt the pulse, thin but steady. "It is from the sacred herd," he said. "If it lives, it goes back to the herd. Not to any hall. Not to any market." The cowboy nodded once. "My word." He lifted the basket against his chest, bound it with a strap, and walked to his horse without another sentence. The fawn's small wing showed once above the rim and folded down. Nera watched the rider clear the gate. Then he turned to Atletha. She was already tying the sling higher on her ribs so the child would ride against her heart on the road. "North," she said. "Together." He fixed the jars to his saddle, took the map, and mounted. The fawn was alive and going the other way. His son was warm against Atletha's chest. The road was still three days, and the fire riders were still coming, but the load in his arms had become one load, and it was one he could ride with.