“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Mr. Hennesy, Insbridge’s clockmaker, muttered again as he ran his thumb along the blade of the kitchen knife Taric made the night before. Around them in the little shop front, the clocks quietly marked the ticking seconds.
Mr. Hennesy took the leather scrap Taric had brought along and gingerly sliced off another strip. The honed edge of the knife whispered through the thick leather scrap as if it were water, leaving a clean cut behind. Four delicate strips already lay on the countertop.
Expression bland, Taric took the knife back, flattened his own palm on the countertop, and slammed the knife point down into the back of his hand. The knife bounced harmlessly from his skin.
“Holy Josephine!” Mr. Hennesy reeled back, lips paling beneath his handlebar mustache. “Oh, law’s mercy!” He nervously adjusted the jewelry loupe pushed up onto his forehead.
Taric spun the knife between his fingers. “I’ve made an entire set. Fair deal?”
“Law’s mercy,” Mr. Hennesy muttered again, agog eyes fastened on the kitchen knife. “That’s quite a trick. It won’t cut through living skin? How have you done such a thing?”
“Magic.” It wasn’t even a lie. The winter fae’s “payment” was a powerful thing. Taric had already put it thoroughly to the test, with impressive results. It almost made him wary to go through with his plan.
Almost.
“I couldn’t say what such a thing would be worth.” Mr. Hennesy fiddled with his jeweler’s loupe. “But the missus would certainly be willing to commit murder if I turn you down. She’s always nicking her fingers in the kitchen.”
“You have enough parts?” Taric confirmed. Not everything could be forged with hammer and tongs.
“Oh, certainly. Though why you would need so many…?” Mr. Hennesy lifted an eyebrow, inquiring.
Taric smiled. “A surprise for a winter fae.”
The winter fae returned at the height of the full moon, as threatened. Taric waited, the fires of the forge banked and the automaton quiet.
This time Taric felt the creeping cold that heralded the winter fae’s approach, no longer masked by the heat of the forge. Taric stood ready, heart beating fast and sledge in hand, because there was every possibility this could go wrong and an angered fae was nothing to dismiss.
Even so, it wasn’t fear that set fire to Taric’s blood, but an unexpected thrill. Bloodshed was the horror of every war, but not every battle required blades. This part - matching wits with an opponent who might take the opportunity to freeze his flowing blood in his veins - he’d missed this. Clearly he was insane. But to any fae, rules were vitally important - even if those rules could vastly differ between individuals. There were always rules. This time - Taric thought - the rules would be on his side.
The winter fae breezed in through the door and took in Taric and his stance - and the small latched box sitting on the anvil.
“Twelve pairs of dancing shoes as ordered,” Taric said before the fae could speak. Taric inclined his head toward the box. “Beautiful and delicate as butterflies.”
The winter fae’s eyes narrowed at the size of the box, but Taric said nothing and made no move as the fae opened the latch and flipped the lid.
Instantly the smithy filled with the shimmer of metallic wings as springs released and clockwork butterflies with bodies shaped like dancing shoes flew into the air. They careened drunkenly across the room until the springs wound down and dropped them to the floor.
The winter fae’s features tightened and so did Taric’s grip on the sledge.
But then the corner of those frosted lips drew back in a tight smile.
The winter fae inclined his head. “Twelve pairs of dancing shoes, made of steel. One pair to fit the feet of each of the faery king’s twelve daughters, rigged with your -” the fae gestured toward Taric “-contraptions. I will send models for their sizes. Thirty days. You may name your price at my return.”
The sledge slipped out of Taric’s hands to crash to the butterfly-strewn floor. Dancing shoes for the faery king’s daughters. This had to be a joke. Twelve pairs of steel shoes in thirty days? But the winter fae had already turned to leave.
“Do not disappoint me.” The door swung shut.
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