The Worth of Hair

By A. A. Freeman

The Midwife is summoned to a decaying seaside kingdom to assist with a royal birth. Upon arrival she finds herself trapped in a strange, dying land. The kitschy trappings of the Prince’s fan club are everywhere, but one of the adoring fans conceals a darker secret. Death hangs heavy in the air, wielding a twisted blade forged from tears of the brokenhearted, threatening the life of the royal baby. The Midwife has defeated her share of monsters, but how will she handle a kingdom cursed by the sea itself? No matter what happens, The Midwife swears she will deliver the baby, save the kingdom, and get the smell of dead fish out of her apron—even if it kills her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. A. Freeman
• Release date: Oct 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005600761

A. A. Freeman

A. A. Freeman is an author, crafter, and all-around geek that lives in the foothills of North Carolina and spends her days writing fantasy and science fiction with a hint of romance. When not writing she knits, cross stitches, plays video games and works on perfecting her dried rose petal shortbread cookie recipe. She's probably not a robot. Beep boop.

Book preview

The Worth of Hair

A Midwife Tale

by A. A. Freeman

Copyright © 2020 A. A. Freeman

The Worth of Hair

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions please contact:

[e-mail]

Cover design by: Jay H. Holloway

https://www.bonesnail.com/

This book is available in print from most online retailers.

Dedication

To everyone that helped when things went dark

You made my world a little bit brighter

Acknowledgements

Extra thanks to Jay, for the beautiful cover art,

to Emma, Michelle, and Sarah, for fixing my words,

and to Jennie, for putting up with my screaming.

And of course, to my Patrons:

Annie Wanschura

Bananajamboree

Clare Freeman

Elysia Holland-Kyzer

Jathis

Jess Richards

Merry Peterson

Omaano

Robert Freeman

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Section 1

Section 2

Section 3

Section 4

Section 5

Section 6

Section 7

Section 8

About the Author

Connect with the Author

The Midwife hated kingdoms by the sea. They stood in defiance of nature, those weather-worn castles of salt and decay, propped up by nothing but cheap paint and memories. Each building she passed seemed to be inching closer and closer to the black waves. Devour us, the piers whispered. Eat our bones and drag us under, sang the boats on the horizon. Such horrid things, those kingdoms. They also smelled like dead fish. She hated fish.

The only reason she was putting up with any of this seaside nonsense was due to the young man who sat across from her in the carriage. Too young in her opinion. The man—the boy—had the hunched shoulders and bony fingers of someone three times his age, yet his eyes sparkled with the folly of youth. He was The Prince of the Seaside Kingdom, and The Midwife knew when a prince asked for your help, you gave it, the smell of fish be damned.

I cannot thank you enough for this, said The Prince. That was, in fact, the first time he had spoken since his entourage showed up to her sleepy village. The procession of carriages, bards, and flag-wavers could have only been described as ostentatious. Ridiculous. Outrageous. So immensely loud that by the time The Prince showed up at her doorstep she was already packed and ready to go.

I should be thanking you, Your Highness, The Midwife said with a tone that suggested The Prince should be the thankful one. To deliver a royal child is a high honor indeed. It wasn’t. The Midwife knew it, The Prince knew it, and she was almost certain the horses pulling the carriage knew it, but all here were aware that polite society requires a level of pretend in order to function.

You were recommended by my father, The Prince said. He told me tales of the miracles you have performed.

The Midwife huffed. They aren’t miracles, witchcraft, or any fae nonsense, if that’s what you’re going to say. I’ve birthed half the people of these lands with my own two hands, and smarts. Never used a drop of magic, and never will. I am The Midwife. Nothing more, nothing less.

Oh, I um, I was talking about the time you killed a dragon.

That doesn’t count.

Doesn’t count?! The Prince waved his hand and smacked it unceremoniously into the carriage’s ceiling. That beast had been destroying towns and devouring souls since before the dawn of man! Ancient societies painted the monster’s image on their temples! That creature came in on a wind of fire and left nothing behind but ash! I have personally seen the destruction that behemoth has wrought! Bards have sung of your victory over that bloodthirsty juggernaut–

Chet.

I’m sorry?

The Midwife leaned into The Prince’s personal space. The dragon’s name was Chet. He was not a beast, nor a monster, and certainly not any of those other words you used. He was a dragon named Chet, who is now dead. Nothing more, nothing less.

If pressed, The Midwife might have admitted she enjoyed watching the sickly prince squirm. There was always something very cathartic about royalty losing their composure.

The Prince of the Seaside Kingdom did his best to squeeze himself into the uncomfortable corner where his seat met the carriage wall. Sorry! Sorry. I am so sorry.

You are forgiven, Your Highness.

The Midwife leaned back, allowing her gaze to wander outside the carriage window. She’d only seen a brief view of the ocean before it had been swallowed by a seemingly endless stone wall. The wall, far taller than the carriage, was made of varying sizes of rocks piled on top of one another. No matter how The Midwife shifted in her seat all she could see was the wall continuing far down the road and out of sight, the stones only broken up by the occasional ladder against its side.

Amazing, isn’t it?