How dare he. It wasn’t my fault I was cursed!
A heaviness settled over my heart, each beat carrying a weight that seemed to grow with every passing second. Ariyon’s rejection stung more than I would ever admit.
Tossing an angry glare at his retreating horse, I ran back to my hut and past my father before shutting myself off in my room to retreat into much-needed solitude.
I never wanted to think about Ariyon and The Gilded City again.
* * *
I slept nearly all day,and my father woke me for my dinner shift at the tavern. He hadn’t said a word after the awkward exchange with Ariyon. He knew something had gone wrong, but not what, and neither did I. Somehow, telling Ariyon about my curse had triggered him and now he hated me.
I shook myself, not wanting to think about it anymore.
I got ready for work, donning a long-sleeved blouse, pants, and my gloves, then I tied up my hair into a tight bun. Everyone in the village knew of my curse and was accommodating in making sure I wasn’t touched, but mistakes happened. Mistakes which could be avoided by dressing this way.
“Bye, Father,” I mumbled as I passed him to leave.
His hand snaked out and grasped my gloved one, squeezing hard.
A hug squeeze.
“Fallon, I don’t know what happened today with that boy, but hearing about your curse genuinely affected him for whatever reason.”
“I know,” I growled, shame washing over me. As if I didn’t already feel like a reject, the one guy in the realm who could touch me had completely tossed me away once he’d heard about my curse.
“But.” My father kept a tight squeeze on my hand. “This doesn’t mean that there aren’t others who can touch you. Other healers maybe?”
I looked at him to find that he was smiling at me. “Just don’t give up hope, okay?”
It was a sweet thing to say, but another thing to think through logically. Like where would I find these other healer fae to test this theory out? Don’t give up hope? All the healers were in The Gilded City, the same city that Ariyon had just warned me not to come to. Ever. How did my father think I was going to find some other healer to one day have my first kiss with?
“Okay,” I told him with a fake smile and squeezed his hand back before letting go and heading to work.
As I walked to Hipsie’s Tavern, I replayed my conversation with Ariyon this morning, and laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Poor Ariyon touched me one time, and I had immediately started planning a future with him. Just because I was able to be touched by him, not because our personalities meshed well, or we got along, or he thought I was pretty.
I felt like a stupid, desperate girl and now I was depressed at having lost something I’d never acquired in the first place.
I slipped inside the back of the tavern and passed into the kitchen.
I found Hipsie stirring a giant pot of stew. Hipsie was older than death and yet she still got up at sunrise and made her stew, and brewed her mead, and ran the tavern without complaint. Which meant I could get through tonight without complaining about Ariyon being a jerk.
“Hey, Hip!” I gave her a warm smile.
She glanced over at me just as a waft of steam rose to cover her face. Some thought Hipsie might be descended from the Ealdor Fae, a group of beings who were known to live forever unless killed. My father said she was at least two hundred, and most common fae in The Gilded City died around a hundred years old. Here in Isa, we had about half that amount of time. No healers, no running water—you didn’t last as long without luxuries like that.
When I turned fourteen and graduated from village schooling, I knew people in town might be afraid to hire me due to my curse. Not Hipsie—she told me to get my cursed arse into her tavern and start a shift. I’d worked here ever since.
She peered at me sternly. “Breaking into The Gilded City and dragging a healer back here to save your father!”
I winced. Rumor traveled fast in a small village. “I—”
Hipsie grinned. “I couldn’t be prouder. Show those bastard pompous magic-born that we’re worth saving.”
I couldn’t help but return her smile. Hearing an old woman call people bastards was funny.
“Thanks, Hip.”
I grabbed the broom and stepped out into the main dining hall to start my duties. Hipsie’s Tavern was built with solid notched wood. It had stood for over two hundred years, and we all sheltered here once when a bad storm hit. The heavy, lacquered logs and roaring fire always gave me a warm feeling of home. As I swept the floor, readying for customers, I was struck with a memory of last night.
