Sweetness Bled and Brindled Read online

  Table of Contents

  Author's Note

  Content Notes

  Sweetness Bled and Brindled

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Thank you for reading!

  Author's Note

  Dear reader, welcome! I'm honoured to have you along for the ride. Whether you're a returning reader or one entirely new to my work, I hope you'll enjoy it. This novella, however, is much darker than most of my other work, and deliberately so. I just about have not thrown the kitchen sink of horribleness at this book. (But the answer to "Does the dog die in this?" is a resound "Yes, animals die, including an off-screen dog".)

  This is partially so I can make a point about the reason people include warnings even if their works are predominantly seen as wholesome, and largely because, within narratives, it often feels like victims of abuse, whatever form that takes, only have one allowed path to take and it's not necessarily one that people see themselves in.

  Please take care of yourself however you need to. You are important and you matter. If this book makes someone feel more seen, even briefly, I will be happy and it will have done its task. But it isn't a book for everyone. It's raw with jagged edges, for all I've tried to amp up the sweetness to cushion it as much as I could, and those edges can cut. There is no shame in being cut by them. Fiction is rarely "just fiction". In it we can find great sources of strength and healing, but sadly also sources of pain.

  So treat yourself with kindness, and if you need to walk away do so. Wherever you are in the world, there will be resources to help you if you need it, though reaching out to someone, or even just admitting to yourself you need help, is one of the hardest things a person may ever do. I don't know what the hotlines in your corner of the world are, I'm sorry. I can only say they're out there and encourage you to reach out.

  Remember always: You are worth the world.

  P.S. As not everyone wants to see the content notes before the story starts, the next page will send you straight into the stories. If, however, this note has made you want to review them, you can use the table of contents (one page back or through your reader's menu) to access it or click here to jump straight to them.

  Sweetness Bled and Brindled

  It was, of course, a full moon. She only ever visited during the full moon, bringing sweet whispers and silver laughter. Jewel glanced over, taking in the way Briar tilted her head to look up at the sky, at that soft curl of her lips that turned into a smile she only ever wore when the stars shone down and nothing existed but them and the grove.

  And Mattie. Though the squirrel hardly counted while they were asleep on a bough above them, tail occasionally twitching. Awake, Mattie would be in their faces demanding attention or nuts. Jewel smiled and turned his attention back to Briar. She’d cut her hair since the last time he’d seen her. It suited her, the way the unruly red strands wouldn’t stay put. Though he did miss the way he could braid and do it up before. Now it wasn’t even long enough to pull a hand through to comb it.

  “What are you thinking about?” Briar asked, though she was still looking up at the moon, and the shreds of clouds drifting past. She reached out a hand, feeling for his. Jewel took it, squeezed it lightly, and she pulled him towards her, turning her head to kiss his knuckles.

  Jewel, not having expected this, wasn’t sure if his heart beat in his throat because of the warm breath against his skin or because of the way he’d toppled onto her because he’d lost his balance. Briar laughed, her other hand moving to push him slightly away.

  “Are you thinking about me?” She smiled.

  Always. The answer was always, but Jewel had forgotten how words worked. He leaned down, nose brushing past hers, and didn’t know what to do next. Briar looked up at him through her eyelashes, a gleam in her eye. Right. He leaned down further and kissed her. Briar invited him, ran a hand along his side and then, firmly, pushed him away.

  Her smile was gentle when he looked at her. “You know you don’t have to.”

  “I want to.”

  He did. He just didn’t know how that worked for people.

  “I know,” Briar whispered and leaned up to kiss his nose. “But I like slow.”

  Jewel nestled himself against her, head resting on her shoulder. “Do you have to go?”

  “You know I do.” Briar’s lips brushed his crown. “It’s summer.”

  And in summer she flew free, and he might catch a glimpse of her, now and again, at the market whenever the estate’s healing supplies were low and no one else had bothered to fetch more because ‘Jewel could fix it anyway’. Or he’d see her whenever he managed to sneak away and into town to treat the wounded or the sick there. Or just the strays. He’d healed more cats than he could ever hope to remember.

  Jewel hated summer.

  “You should come to the estate.”

  Briar laughed, rich and deep and true. Jewel didn’t know what to do with the bubbles in his belly either because… It wasn’t sex. He’d listened to enough stories, both from people seeking aid of a more personal nature and some of his siblings’ boasting of their skills, to know it wasn’t that. He moved to snuggle against Briar’s side a little closer, breathing in her scent, mint and leather. He just wanted to lie against her, feel her arms wrapped around him and her chin tucked against his head, the warm breeze rustling through the trees around them. He wanted the world to be contained within this one clearing that smelled of roses and clean, fresh earth. Just him and Briar.

  “You should head back,” she whispered into his ear. Nipped it gently, which wasn’t fair because she knew he’d assent to almost anything if she did that.

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “I’ll see you in a few weeks and be back in a month. You’ll know.”

  Briar got up, slowly and languidly, stretching as she did. She brushed Mattie off the bough above them. The startled squirrel chittered at her angrily, but she already had them in hand and deposited them directly on Jewel’s chest. He was still lying down, but now he gathered the angry squirrel to him, thumb stroking the critter behind their ears as he made soothing noises.

  She offered him her arm to pull him up, but he shook his head. Not when he didn’t want her to go. When drawing close to her and asking her to take him away from all his responsibilities was so tempting. He’d never forgive himself.

  They walked in silence until they got within sight of the estate boundaries. Briar had tied her horse to a tree here, beside the ruined high wall that marked an old stable building or something. Jewel had given up his surprise at the lack of theft of an obviously abandoned and very expensive horse. Fourscore-and-twenty was always there, black coat gleaming in the darkness. Briar took her hat from the saddle.

  “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself,” she said before mounting. Jewel reached up for her hand to squeeze it. Mattie perched on his head now, restless creature that they were, still chittering angrily and unsoothed.

  “Wait.” Jewel felt around his pockets and the purse that only ever left his side when he was asleep until he could hold up the small pot of ointment he’d brought. “You’re the one who needs to take care of herself.”

  Though he supposed she was getting better. He’d only had to heal a few scars this time instead of the couple of dozens she’d had when he first met her. She hadn’t been able to make a fist with her right hand either because it’d healed all wrong.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He watched her ride off along the road and towards the forest. Mattie only calmed after she’d disappeared from sight. With a sigh, Jewel turned around to face the wall. Two months. And likely a single visit during each. He could handle two months. Maybe three. I
t’d be autumn then, and his falcon would come circling back home more often.

  He wished he’d asked her to swing him onto her horse and take him with her.

  Jewel had every intention of staying in bed all day and avoiding the rest of the world, but there was a kitchen help who’d got too close to the fire, a gardener who’d been pushed — and it had to have been pushed — into the roses, and the queen mother who probably just wanted him to read to her.

  At least it was near enough lunch now that his siblings were out hunting. He picked his clothes carefully, uncertain what he wanted, and opened the door to Mattie’s cage. The squirrel snuffed at his hand, then ran up his arm and curled up on his head. He hated locking animals up, even if only in the night and while he was in the room. He was never leaving them trapped in one when he wasn’t even there again. Never again. Some nights he still had nightmares.

  He wasn’t a violent person, but if he’d caught Henry alone that day… With an effort, Jewel unclenched his fists, let the tension inside his arms dissipate as he reached up one of them to stroke Mattie’s head. Muscle-memory meant he succeeded because he wasn’t near a mirror and he just needed… The squirrel took his fingers into their little paws and nudged their nose against the thumb.

  Perhaps he’d start with the kennels and the stables. Whenever people went out hunting, there were inevitably hurt animals before and after. He took the servants’ routes and found, unsurprisingly, that they’d had to hide River. And her newborn pups.

  Jewel closed his eyes and took a deep breath before entering the empty storage shed the servants had moved the dog into. Someone had been kind enough to clean, though the tang of blood still stung his nostrils. River bared her teeth at him, ears pressed far back, and he had to wonder if the servants hadn’t so much hid the new mother from his siblings as risked themselves to get her away.

  He stayed in the door frame and knelt, holding out a hand, though even Mattie wisely stayed on his head, bushy tail drooping against the back of his skull. He tried to control the tremble in his arms, hide the wobble in his voice as he muttered soothing words to the dog. She only calmed gradually and he inched forward until he could look at her.

  The shed was dark and the careful shuffle was its own blessing, even if it meant he had to stay longer and force himself to keep his breath from coming in ragged gulps. His panic would set River off again. Would set the whole litter off. They were safe here, all of them.

  Eventually River let her head drop and Jewel looked her over. She didn’t look hurt. He ran his hands over the dog’s body, not surprised at the snap when he reached her paws. It was just a warning bite, so he didn’t mind. Some damage not even a healer’s magic could fix. It didn’t stop him trying, now that he was here, but the leg itself was fine.

  River was fine, and he let out a sigh of relief, before turning to the puppies crawling around her. Most of them were as white as she was. The runt was a brindle and he wanted, so badly, to scoop it up and take it far, far, far away.

  He had one option. He’d done it before. Sometimes there wasn’t anything to be done except offer ease and oblivion. It was easier than he felt it should be. But the pup was healthy, just small, and might surprise everyone, and it wasn’t Stripey. He let the pup suckle on his finger for a moment longer, pushing some more strength into it, and helped it find one of its mother’s teats.

  Task done, he all but fled the shed, leaning against the nearest wall outside and pressing a hand against his sternum. He should’ve asked Briar to take him away.

  Briar wouldn’t be standing beside a shed, trying desperately to get air into her lungs while the world spun about her because she was afraid. Nothing at all had happened and he stood there, shaking like a leaf and praying that no one would see him, no one would notice.

  When Jewel’s breath was merely shaky and he could at least move without anyone expecting him to keel over, he went in search of the kitchen help. The burns weren’t bad. Honestly, only needed a bit of salve and time, but the bustle of the kitchen steadied him. And the cooks forced food on him, telling him he needed to take care of himself.

  The gardener too wasn’t difficult to heal. There wasn’t much Jewel could do about wounded pride and others had long since picked out the thorns and cleaned the cuts. All he could do was speed up the healing, which he did. He slipped away as soon as he could. The man was new, and he’d tried to thank Jewel.

  He did his best to dodge people on his way to the queen mother, but he was pulled into healing others several times more. Once, it was a young maid who’d lost a tooth in an apple. Jewel eased the pain a little, but mostly he distracted the child with a trick his old tutor had taught him. It wasn’t special. Just sleight-of-hand, but the little girl was delighted, and was still clutching the penny he’d pulled from behind her ear tightly when he left her.

  The queen mother, it turned out, didn’t want him to read to her. She had the beginnings of a cough and a sore throat. Jewel asked the servants to bring her some honeyed tisane. He stroked her throat, startled by how much older she seemed, and teased the cough out. He could no more help easing her than he could breathing.

  “You look sad, my boy,” his grandmother rasped. It startled him, not because she spoke to him — she always did; always asked how he was doing — but because her voice sounded so laboured. It shouldn’t. Mattie stirred on his head and jumped onto the bed. The queen mother chuckled, and coughed.

  Jewel didn’t understand. He knew. He couldn’t lie to himself. A frail hand squeezed his. “Don’t be sad, my little sunflower. Be bold and brave and strong, like I know you can be.”

  He wasn’t. He was weak and timid and cowardly. And he proved it by running from the queen mother’s room to the one place he knew no one ever came. Up, up, up he ran to the old wizard’s tower. Through the door, slam it shut, stir up so much dust you sneeze.

  The darkness didn’t bother Jewel. Far better it was dark than that the window shutters were open and someone remembered the haunted tower was there. This was his spot, and though the books crumbled at a touch and he didn’t have the heart to brush away any of the cobwebs or disturb the place any more than necessary, he could breathe here.

  Here, Jewel could cry and cry he did. Let anyone who might, somehow, hear through the thick stones and distance, think the tower was haunted. Here, he could grieve. Could scream and stomp and shout and curse the world and no one would —

  He’d left Mattie.

  The queen mother liked the squirrel. She’d never let anything happen to them. It was fine. It would be fine. It would.

  She was dying. It wouldn’t. Jewel flew down the stairs as fast as his feet could carry him, ignored everyone calling to him, threw out a few ‘sorry’s when he’d had to dodge servants going about their work.

  He knew before he’d even got to the door. He knew where death was. He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye because he’d run off like the craven coward he was. He hadn’t even granted her his company, or eased her suffering. If he’d been braver. If he’d been faster. If he’d been sooner. If he’d put the queen mother above all else that day…

  Jewel stood just inches from his grandmother’s bed, forlorn and bereft. They’d already removed her body. Mattie wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He tried not to startle when a hand fell on his shoulder. “Old bat finally went, did she?”

  Jewel supposed he should be glad it was Haven instead of Henry. He didn’t turn to face his brother, didn’t shake the hand off either. He kept his eyes on the empty bed, already being stripped of everything valuable like the queen mother had never mattered at all.

  “Henry’s having a wake tonight,” Haven continued, squeezing Jewel’s shoulder lightly. Henry knew awfully quickly. “He wants you there. I suggest you come this time. He’s in a mood.”

  The worst part was knowing that Haven was trying to be kind, and there was genuine sympathy in his older brother’s voice. Ice, he was ice. Cold and hard and untouchable.

  “Where?”
<
br />   For a moment, Jewel believed that his brother wouldn’t answer, that this had been the cruelty. It wasn’t, of course. It never was. “The wizard tower.”

  Jewel wanted to throw up.

  “I’m sorry,” Haven muttered and, unexpectedly, swung Jewel to look at him. Jewel let him. “Your squirrel’s gone.”

  Tears pricked at the corners of Jewel’s eyes and he just about managed to hold them back. “Be strong, baby brother,” Haven said. But the thumbs brushing past his eyes said more than Haven’s words ever could.

  “What happened?” Jewel asked, cursing the way his magic didn’t work on himself, not how he wanted it to, and pushing his hurt deep down instead, past the ice and the rock and the steel.

  “I know you don’t believe it, but that squirrel w— is vicious.” A part of Jewel, small and aching, appreciated the attempt to lie. “I came here to ask grandmother if she wanted to look after River’s pups. You know how much she loved dogs. I thought it’d cheer her up, and here would be a better place for River to nurse them anyway.”

  Jewel was quiet. Even if he’d had anything to say, he wouldn’t have been able to talk. “When I got here, it was going for a servant. Just. It was vicious, sparkle. No other word for it.” Jewel let his brother pull him close, let the hug happen because anything else would shatter him. Haven hadn’t called him ‘sparkle’ in years. “I tried to get it away, but it wouldn’t stop. And, well, she stabbed it. With a hair pin. It was going for her eyes, sparkle.”

  Mattie would never. Jewel pushed Haven away. “Liar.”

  He couldn’t look at the sympathy in his brother’s green eyes. “Be there tonight, Jewel. Please.”

  It was the plea that did it. It was the plea that sent Jewel running down the training yard and grabbed a staff, even though the thought of hitting someone made him sick to his stomach. Straw men weren’t people. Wooden dummies weren’t people. By the time someone dared approach him, he was covered in sweat and aching all over. He could’ve pushed the pain away, eased the exercise with magic, but he turned the fire in his muscles into a shield against the world. Or tried to. It probably worked. People left him alone, after that.