Thornhedge

by T. Kingfisher

“It has been five days, in the mortal world, since you were taken.” He smiled faintly. “And so I have another few years to teach you what I can, and then I will send you back to the mortal world so that you may arrive on the seventh day, to stand as godmother to the child left in your place.”

“He is as curious as I am. It’s a dangerous thing, curiosity.”

Fayette was weaned early, because the wet nurse said that she was done being bitten and if the king wanted his child nursed, he could do it himself. The king was weak, but he had a sense of humor to make up for it and found this amusing, even if the queen did not.

He had reached the dry wood of the heart instead of the living outskirts—thorns die from the inside out, like priests—so the stems no longer bent away from his axe,

The only curse is that she is a changeling. And she will be as cruel as she can, because that is the nature of changelings. Good spirits do not steal away babies to take their place. It is only the wicked that are sent to make mischief. And only the dutiful that are sent to try and stop them.

The greenteeth had never told her that she was human, but it did not have the feel of a lie. She had never asked. The greenteeth had not told her. They had not cared. It was of no more import than Fadeweed’s paleness or Reedbones’s speed. She was theirs; they were hers. The love of monsters was uncomplicated.

“The door is bricked up,” said Halim. Toadling nodded. The mason had done his work well two hundred years ago.

It never occurred to her to doubt her welcome. Such was the gift of a child raised with love.

“There was someone in the mortal world who helped me. I left without telling him goodbye.” “Was it important to tell him?” Toadling stared at her fingers, at the little webs at the base. Was it? Did it matter? He was mortal and Toadling was … something else. Something betwixt and between. Something less, not more. She had no family, no people, and the little that she knew of the mortal world was two centuries out of date. She might be no more than a burden to him. And yet … and yet … He likes stories. And I know so many. And he says his mother is kind. “Yes,” she said. “I think it was.”