The Faceless Woman

by Emma Hamm

  Lorcan looked up at him. “No.”

  The other faerie glanced at the sky. “I forgot how much I hate cat sidhes.”

  She recognized Lorcan’s quivering whiskers as a warning sign. She didn’t know what the tiny witch could do to such a massive faerie but didn’t want to tempt fate.

  “About that binding curse…” She bit her lip. “Just how bad did I curse you?”

  “Enough to knock me back a few steps.” He stuck out the taloned foot, motioning to peeling skin with a grimace. “And enough to share the pain.”

  “Bollocks.”

  “Mine are fine, thank you for asking.” He arched a brow. “How are yours?”

  She hated him. She hated him with a burning passion that festered worse than the blisters. Huffing out a breath, she opened her arms wide. “What do you want me to do, faerie? I can’t remove the binding curse.”

  “You must. I am not giving up immortality for a mistake made by a pathetic little human witch,” he ground out.

  “This pathetic little human witch managed a curse so powerful a faerie can’t break it, so I’ll ask you to watch your tone.”

  “I can use whatever tone I want. You stole my life, and now you aren’t willing to give it back?”

  She wanted to tear her hair in frustration. “I’d give it back if I could.”

  “Try harder.”

  “Did you not see the giant lightning bolt that just came out of my hands? That’s where my magic comes from. I can hit you with it—believe me, I’d love to—but I don’t think it would end well for either of us.”

  The raven eye stopped spinning and focused on her with such intensity that she took a step back. His lip curled. “I’ve been kind thus far. I haven’t asked much about the curse or tried to figure out who you are. Don’t make me be unkind.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Only if you refuse to undo the binding curse again.”

  “I’m not refusing.”

  He visibly relaxed.

  Before he could speak, she licked her lips and continued. “I can’t undo the binding curse. There’s a reason spell books warn against casting them. They don’t want to let go. It’s like trying to unravel a tapestry tied in knots and then felted.”

  “I will not tell you again—”

  “And I will not keep repeating myself,” she interrupted. “You can threaten me all you’d like, but the binding curse is not something I know how to break.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have cast it!”

  Aisling tossed her hands in the air. “Finally, something we can both agree on.”

  A blast of air blew the hair back from her face, and downy feathers touched her cheek. He had leaned down to intimidate her, crowding her with his body and great height. His breath fanned across her face as he whispered, “Remove the curse.”

  “Remove it yourself,” she hissed.

  “I will not be bested by a grubby little girl—”

  “Who are you calling grubby?”

  “—with subpar magical powers who is incapable of—”

  “Subpar? I cursed you, didn’t I?”

  “—controlling her own curses because she does not understand how to work magic.”

  “How dare you?” Aisling gasped.

  “Oh, I very much dare.” He was so close she could smell his unique scent of oak and moss. “You have no idea who I am, witch. You have no idea what I can do.”

  “Likewise.”

  Lorcan’s voice cut through their argument. “Why don’t we all take a few steps away from each other?”

  She curled her fingers into a fist and shook it at him, daring him to step away first. She wouldn't take the hit to her pride when he was the one in the wrong.

  Other than the binding curse. That was likely her fault.

  Lorcan hissed. “At the same time if it makes it easier. Three, two—”

  They both stepped back. The Unseelie’s chest heaved in anger, and Aisling had to pinch herself so she wouldn’t send yet another curse hurtling through the air. He’d look pretty with a hole in his chest. Or his head.

  Lorcan glanced back and forth between them. “It looks like the binding curse will stay, at least for a little while. Which means you two need to stick together and figure out a way to break the curse.”

  “I’m not working with him,” Aisling vehemently spat.

  “I’m not working with her,” the Unseelie growled.

  “Well, that’s too bad, because your lives are bound together now. You either have to live with sharing a life force or figure out a way to break it.”

  The Unseelie’s raven eye rolled in its socket. He turned away from them and stalked toward the forest. “I need to think.”

  Aisling plopped back onto the ground. “I wish you the best of luck! I’m certain it’s impossible for you to have a thought in your head.”

  When they could no longer hear the Unseelie’s footsteps, Lorcan turned toward her and blinked. “Was that really necessary?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You don’t have to be so rude.” Lorcan stretched, his paws flexing in front of the fire before he turned and flicked his tail. “Why do you push everyone away? Hm?”

  She rubbed her hands over her arms and stared into the flames. She remembered all too well what happened when people got close to her. Aisling preferred to never have them than lose them.

  Bran stalked through the forest, slapping branches out of his way and snapping them in his anger. How dare she? What human had any right to refuse him anything?

  Him? An Unseelie prince?

  But then again, she couldn't be entirely human. No mortal witch could cast a curse this strong, and no mortal witch had a face hidden by magic. There was more to her, and if he wasn’t so infuriated, he might have been able to figure out her secret. He didn’t have time to deal with a binding curse. He had his own mess to deal with.

  The forest opened into a hidden glen. Trees gave way to emerald green hills and water trickling from multiple streams, gathering in the middle to create a still silver pool.

  Bran blew out a breath. He only meant to stop in the human realm for a short time, a passing dalliance, before he continued on his journey. After all these years, he had finally found a way to break the chains that bound him.

  He lifted his hands, almost expecting to see silver glinting in the moonlight. But his burden was not entirely physical. It was the weight of being an Unseelie prince and the cursed future that title came with.

  He was so close he could taste it. Freedom beckoned with the dying of the light.

  Paws pattered on the ground, and the cat sidhe scampered up a stone to sit next to him. “She’s not all bad.”

  "I wasn't thinking about her at all."

  "Sure you weren't."

  Bran cleared his throat. “I thought a lady would be more pleased with the man who saved her life.”

  “She wouldn’t be pleased with anyone who saved her life. She’s independent to a fault.”

  “Not all that intelligent then.”

  “Easy there, prince”—the cat gave him a sidelong glance—“you’re both too young to be throwing insults around that hurt. You’ve yet to learn how to curb your tongue.”

  Bran didn’t want to agree with the creature, but he had a point. As the youngest of his family, Bran had always gotten what he wanted. He wandered away from them when he wished, but always had a home waiting in the Unseelie palace. “Spoiled” was an accurate word to describe him.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. The feathers coming in on the side of his head itched, only adding to his ornery disposition.

  “What is her story?” he asked. “She can’t be human.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look at her. She’s too graceful, her temper runs too hot. And anyone with any magical knowledge can see that curse on her face is faerie made.”

  “Would you like me to tell her your story?”

  Bran felt the cat’s eyes sweep him fr
om head to toe. “What do you know of my story?”

  “The field mice speak of the Unseelie prince searching for a way to free himself from his family’s responsibilities. Considering you are the only Unseelie prince who has left the dark castle in centuries, a cat can draw conclusions.”

  “You see too much, sidhe.”

  “You may call me Lorcan.” The beast hopped from the stone onto the ground. “Follow me.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.” Lorcan shook his head, padding to the edge of the pool. “You’re more like the girl than you know. She’s just as stubborn.”

  “And far more prickly.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  Not in most situations, Bran mused. He liked his women with a little more fight than most. He’d always chased the “wrong” kinds of faeries because it was just a bit more interesting.

  This woman was an entirely different situation. She was stubborn, senseless, foolish… He rubbed a hand over the burn mark on his chest. She couldn’t think past a few minutes before doing whatever she wanted.

  “Stop rubbing at it,” Lorcan grumbled. “It’s not coming off any time soon.”

  “I wasn’t touching the mark.”

  The cat gave him a disbelieving look.

  “Fine, I might have been. But you would be, too, if you were bound to a witch.”

  “Come here, Unseelie prince. Let me show you something.” The cat reached forward and drew a rune on the ground with his paw.

  Bran stepped beside the cat sidhe, staring down at him in curiosity. “What is it?”

  “Look.”

  He glanced down at the pool and frowned. Two men stared back at him, both warped by the magic streaming from the glowing runes that created waves rolling with power and truth.

  The cat sidhe’s reflection was a man with wiry arms and legs. He wasn’t as tall as a Tuatha de Danann, but perhaps tall for a human. His hair was long but his face neatly shaven. Dark hair and eyes matched his other form.

  Bran’s gaze locked upon his own reflection. A pang struck him over the binding mark as he saw himself as a man, entirely whole and without Unseelie disfigurements. His eyes matched, his leg was sturdy and strong, and he had a full head of hair. It was the dream he had always desired but had never seen come to life.

  “This is what we both desire,” Lorcan said. “But that end cannot be reached without her.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Oh, because we’ll love and hate an Irish lass, but neither of us will get her out of our hearts.”

  The words sank like a stone deep into Bran’s belly. They pulled him toward a future he didn’t like the look of. “My end can be reached without help from a witch.”

  “Is that so, prince? The lake never lies.”

  Bran rolled his eyes. “That’s all well and good if you want to sound mysterious, but this is a temporary pool caused by an overabundance of rain. A rune etched in the ground doesn’t change my plans, and how do you know any of them?”

  “Cat sidhes aren’t always faeries.”

  The pieces fell together in Bran’s mind. “You’re a witch,” he accused. “A real, honest-to-god witch who’s used up one of his lives to become…what? Another witch’s familiar?”

  “She’s not a witch. But you already knew that.”

  He had an inclination, and it wasn’t sitting right with him. Bran cleared his throat. “Is she Fae then?”

  “Did you ever think she was human? You already know the answer.” Lorcan twitched his tail. “How many humans could survive this long with a faerie curse placed on them?”

  The cat sidhe had a point. Bran stared down at their reflections and wondered how he had gotten here. Had some ancient Tuatha de Danann sent him down this path for a reason?

  “I cannot afford to be distracted,” he replied.

  “I think, if you asked, she’s more likely to help than hinder.”

  “With all that arguing? I’m uncertain you’re right.” He crouched and placed a hand on the cat’s soft fur. “But I appreciate the help.”

  “You must take her with you, wherever you plan on going. The villagers will try to burn her again.”

  “And our lives are tied together,” he said with a sigh. “A binding curse neither of us can seemingly break.”

  “Despite what you may think, she is gifted in the magical arts. If the curse could be easily broken, she would have managed just fine.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” He didn’t want to bring the girl. She would distract him as much as he was loath to admit it. She was a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve.

  That was the only reason he was interested, Bran told himself. It was nothing to do with the milky pale skin of her legs, softer than velvet, and the way her muscles had tensed under the stroke of his fingers as he healed her.

  His own thighs burned in response. It was their binding, an answering ache he felt because she was feeling it. That was the only reason he was thinking of touching her again.

  Bran refused to believe it was anything else.

  “If we must travel as companions, then we shall.” He met Lorcan’s gaze and ground his teeth together. “Now, the question is if she will agree.”

  “If I will agree to what?” Her voice cut through the darkness and shattered his mood.

  Frowning, he straightened his shoulders in anticipation of yet another argument. “I know of another way to break the binding curse, but you will need to help me first.”

  “A smart man would try the other way around. Break the curse so my death won’t affect you, and then ask for payment afterwards.”

  “Does everything have to be an argument with you?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Not everything, but you make it so easy.”

  Traveling with this wench would be harder than he thought. Bran recognized wickedness when he saw it, along with mirth dancing just under the surface as she widened her stance and crossed her arms over her chest. He heard her quiet huff of breath, and though it likely she was holding in laughter.

  She wanted to make this a challenge for him. She enjoyed the annoyances she caused and wanted it to be difficult.

  The girl expected him to give in.

  He narrowed his eyes like a bird of prey homing in on a mouse. “Do you want the binding curse to remain intact?”

  “I’d rather break all ties with you now.”

  “Good. I know the way to do it, but you have to help me first. Which means we both have to keep each other alive. Think you can do that?”

  She recognized the challenge in his voice. Her shoulders squared, and she did her best to look down her nose at him. “As long as you stay out of trouble, I’m sure it will be an easy enough task.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about myself. What we’re going to do is not for the faint of heart.”

  “Out with it then. What are we doing that is so dangerous?”

  Bran sent her a wicked grin. “First, we need the blood of a dead god.”

  A Journey Begins

  “The blood of a dead god?” Aisling asked for the tenth time. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  She hadn’t wanted to go with the Unseelie, but Lorcan could be convincing when he wanted to be. The cat sidhe had yowled directly in her ear for an entire night in the forest before she gave in and agreed she would entertain the idea.

  They had traveled for a few days across dale and glen. They passed by clusters of sheep so white they blinded her eyes and others so dirty they blended into the countryside.

  She hefted the small pack the faerie had given her with their provisions. The Unseelie did not carry a single thing. Instead, he sauntered ahead of her with his hands in his pockets, whistling and pretending he didn’t hear her asking questions.

  “Unseelie,” she growled, “I won't stop until you explain.”

  “I think it explains itself.”

  “It most certainly does not. How are we supposed to get this blood? How is there blo
od left in a dead body? Are we killing the god first and then gathering its blood? There’s a thousand and one questions, and you aren’t answering any of them.”

  “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

  She jerked to a halt and stared incredulously at his back. “That’s your plan?”

  “I haven’t had any issues with it yet.”

  “Because we haven’t gotten there!”

  “At which point, I’ll figure it out. There, you see? The plan hasn’t changed even after we argued about it.”

  Blasted man. Had he no interest in keeping himself alive? She stared at his silhouette and wondered if he would burst into hundreds of ravens and disappear at any moment. The man obviously had a death wish or was sent by the Tuatha de Danann to plague her.

  Any moment she would wake up attached to that tree again with the flames burning her knees. The villagers would yell at her, she would realize she wasn’t on an adventure with a mysterious faerie, and this was just a fever dream.

  Aisling pinched her arm hard.

  When the green rolling pastures didn’t fade away, she huffed out a disappointed breath. She wasn’t certain whether she preferred certain death by fire or uncertain death with an Unseelie who hated plans.

  The grass parted in a wave rushing toward her at full speed. Just before the rustling line reached them, Lorcan bounded up into the air. His ears flopped against his skull as he bounced. “I think I might have found a portal,” he called out.

  The Unseelie grinned. “Good! Lead the way then, sidhe.”

  That smile was as dark as midnight and just as mysterious. Aisling pressed a hand against her chest, suddenly uncomfortable. He was almost too pretty when he did that.

  Shaking her head to clear it of the ridiculous thoughts, she hurried to catch up with the two faeries. “Wait a minute, portal?”

  “We need to get into the home of my people, to the Otherworld,” the Unseelie replied. “I thought that was rather painfully obvious. No?”

  “You omitted going to the Otherworld. I can’t go there.” Her heart raced at the mere thought of that cursed faerie land. She rubbed her grumbling stomach that threatened to toss her meager breakfast onto the ground.