The Song of the Fae

The Song of the Fae E H JAHR Copyright © 2022 by E H Jahr All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info]. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Book cover, illustration, and design by Patricia Moffett Editing by Sean Fletcher, Doreen Martens, and Mary Kate Mulligan 1st edition 2023 To my husband, Ryan, without whom this book never could have been. And to young people everywhere, who are struggling with inheriting a broken world and want to play their part in fixing it. Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author Chapter One Kiera reeked of yeast. It was in her hair, in her skin, and on her clothes. Everywhere she went, the scent accompanied her. It went with the sticky residue of flour on her hands. For as long as she could remember, it had been as much a part of her as her sky-blue eyes and chestnut brown hair. Its consistency in her life gave her a sense of comfort in this new land that she and her father had come to six months ago. While the land, people, and customs were strange to her, the yeast would always be there, anchoring her to her history and her family. The yeast filled her nose in the darkness of the early morning as she kneaded and beat the dough for that day’s bread into submission. She had spent the night welcoming autumn by dancing at the Equinox celebration. Her eyes were heavy and her feet ached as she stood at the counter. Kiera was used to being up before the sun, preparing bread to rise, ensuring it was fresh when she brought it to market to sell. She had only just finished when she heard a knock on the door and, through its small window, saw a figure in the dim lamplight outside. As she opened the door cautiously, Kiera noted a sharp urgency in his eyes. She blocked the way in. “You are Kiera, the baker’s daughter, come to our village from Sarehavah?” he asked, frantically. “I am, yes.” Kiera's heart sank as she anticipated what the stranger had come for. “I am Kel.” He lowered his voice, even though no one was around to hear him. “They say you are a healer—” “I cannot help you. I am human.” “Please,” the man begged. “My neighbor told me what you did for him. He said he fell so violently from his horse his leg was shattered, and you healed him.” Kiera’s heart beat frantically in her chest as she thought of her encounter with that man on the way back from the market two weeks ago. She should have run for help, but the pull inside her to help him was irresistible, and his cries of pain were unbearable to hear. She should have known better. Word traveled fast in small villages. “Sir, I have some small abilities. I can’t always control them. Please, I don’t want to give you false hope; you should go to a proper healer.” She tried to shut the door, but the man wedged his foot in the frame. “I have three children,” he pleaded. “Four, now. My wife gave birth late in the night. The midwife said she has lost too much blood. We live on a small farm, only a short ride from here. We will never reach the healer in time.” Kiera felt it again. The dreaded pull in her heart to help, to save. The irresistible urge to use the force that seemed ever-present under her skin. As if sensing that her resolve was beginning to crack, the farmer continued, “I will give you everything I have to save her.” Kiera sighed and listened for any movement upstairs. It was silent as the farmer stared at her, waiting for her decision. She would sneak out quietly and break the news to her father once the deed was done. “The only thing I want from you is your silence.” “I promise I won’t tell a soul what you can do,” the farmer insisted. “Please, wait here while I fetch my cloak.” Kiera moved quietly to the upstairs rooms to collect her cloak and traveling boots. She heard her father’s faint snores from his room. She found a scrap of parchment and scrawled a note to him before returning to the farmer and joining him on the back of his horse. He took off, riding as fast and as hard as he could down the road. When they arrived at Kel’s farmhouse, Kiera dismounted and ran inside. She followed the cries of a newborn child to a back room, where the lady of the home was in bed, lying back, her head propped up by pillows. Her face pale and gaunt, she lay amid blood-stained sheets. In the corner, a midwife bathed what appeared to be a healthy babe. “What happened?” Kiera demanded of the midwife. “I do not know. The baby came healthy, the afterbirth followed shortly after, but there’s so much blood, and it won’t stop. There’s nothing I can do.” The woman, still half-awake, sobbed. “Please, give me my