The Faceless Woman

by Emma Hamm

  He cleared his throat. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know what nonsense she’s spewing either. She obviously doesn’t understand that the relationship between master and servant is sacred. I would never lower myself to her station.”

  The duchess barked out a laugh. “I had forgotten how entertaining you are, my dear Unseelie prince.”

  The doors behind them burst open, slammed against the wall, and sharp cracking footsteps echoed to the broken ceiling.

  “Not as entertaining as I.”

  The Duke of Dusk strode into his home with a confidence few could afford. Black boots with silver buckles glinted in the light, dark breeches tucked into their brim. His tunic might have once been an elaborate jacket, red leather stitched carefully to black wool, but now was moth-bitten and ragged. It lay over his thighs and chest perhaps a little too tight, but emphasized his natural strength.

  Perhaps strangest of all was that the duke wore a metal mask. Bolts held it against his skull, the skin red and raw at the edges. The last time Bran had seen him, the duke was a whole man. He remembered striking features and eyes that saw straight into his soul.

  “Duke,” Bran said, nodding in the other man’s direction.

  “Unseelie. Here to steal my wife?”

  “Hardly. That is your own doing, and I will not save you from it.”

  At least the duke found Bran entertaining. His laughter rang through the court and eased the tension that thickened the air.

  “Wife,” he said. He strode to the throne, bent down, and pressed a kiss against the duchess’s cheek. “What mongrels have you brought to our court?”

  “Only the Unseelie.”

  Aisling snorted again. “I’m no Unseelie.”

  “Are you not?” The duchess leaned around the duke and pointed at Aisling. “A woman without a face, without a people, without a reason. Just what are you?”

  “A woman far from her home who needs your help so that I might return to it.”

  “Why should I help you?”

  “You may be Duchess of the Underfolk, but I am certain you are still Fae. Mine is a story very few know, but you will now be part of it.”

  The duchess lifted a hand for her husband to take, then slowly stood from her throne. She barely reached the duke’s chest, and yet somehow still looked as though she were the stronger one. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, the heart glowed brighter.

  Bran hoped she wasn’t about to throw them out. Or worse, ask for their head. Aisling played a dangerous game, although it was one he had planned to play himself.

  The Fae always liked a good story. They enjoyed telling them over and over again until the words twisted themselves into something new. Hers was a strange tale.

  He stepped forward. “I will offer my story. It is how an Unseelie prince became bound by a mere witch.”

  “That’s not an interesting story. It has happened a thousand times, and I know each tale in its original tongue.” The duchess waved a hand, and the couple began to walk away.

  Bran was stunned. How could she say no that easily? That had been the plan. How else was he to capture her attention? Had she just dismissed them?

  “Wait.” Aisling’s voice rang true and strong.

  The Duchess paused but did not look back.

  “I offer my story.”

  “What part?”

  “The whole of it. My story, word for word, in exchange for allowing us to remain in your palace for a few nights more and for your secrecy regarding my tale.”

  “What good is it to know a story no one else can hear?” the duchess scoffed.

  “Because then you will be the only person in the world other than myself who knows it.”

  And just like that, Bran knew Aisling had caught the duchess in a web. Faeries loved a good story, that much was true. But holding something infinitely important and being the only person to know it?

  That was an addiction none of them would ever shake.

  The duchess turned slightly, the dark fabric of her dress gathering around her legs in a pretty swirl. “You have my attention, witch. I accept your offer.” She pointed at Bran. “And yours. We’ll start with you, Unseelie prince. Come with us.”

  Ominous.

  Bran stepped forward, sliding the back of his hand across Aisling’s in a way he hoped was reassuring. The duchess had promised safety, and her word was law in this palace.

  He hoped Aisling wouldn’t do anything foolish, but that was like wishing the tide still.

  The Duchess Of Dusk

  Bran followed the duke and duchess to their personal chambers. The winding hallways and weak, filtered light were exactly the same as he remembered. It was strange how little the Palace of Twilight changed, even after all these years.

  The first time she’d dragged him here, he was a young man with a chip on his shoulder. He was still young to the Fae, but Bran liked to think he’d grown up since then.

  Now, he traversed the halls with new eyes. Carvings decorated the ancient stone, each magnificent creation a sign of someone who cared enough to leave their mark on this place. Though the duchess and her people were twisted, they loved each other fiercely.

  The duke pressed his hand against the duchess’s waist, guiding her every step of the way. He wore love on his being the same way as the duchess had described Aisling. The duke never took his eyes off his wife.

  “Your mask?” Bran asked as he followed them. “That’s new.”

  “It is.”

  “The last time I saw you, you were sporting six sets of arms.”

  “I grew tired of having so many limbs. Everyone expected me to do six times the amount of work.”

  “Sound reasoning.”

  The duke snorted. “I wasn’t fond of it.”

  They paused in front of a red door, handprints decorating the edges where hundreds of small goblins had held it open for the duke and duchess. Bran hesitated, allowing them to enter their domain first. He wouldn’t put it past them to hide an assassin, just to see the expression on Bran’s face.

  Inside, a small fire crackled in a gilded hearth. Worn, plush furniture awaited them in a room filled with golden ornaments and red wallpaper. It was a room fit for royalty, and as such was surprising to Bran to see in the duchess’s home. She liked the aesthetic of dying things.

  “This is a strange room to find in your home,” he observed. “I thought you despised bright colors.”

  The duchess gestured for him to take a seat. “We all change, Unseelie. Even you.”

  She had him there. He couldn’t say her castle had changed without admitting he was a different man than the one who’d wandered these halls all those years ago. A shame, because he dearly loved to criticize the Duchess of Dusk.

  Shaking his head, he sank onto the loveseat and extended his arm along the back. “A story for a safe night was the deal I believe?”

  They sat down across from him, the duke’s hand never far from hers. The duchess smiled and asked, “Tea?”

  “I don’t trust you not the poison it.”

  “Silly. I’m not going to poison you before the story.” She reached forward and hooked a finger through the handle of a teapot on the small table before them. “I’ll poison you afterwards.”

  “Then by all means, pour away.”

  While she played house, the duke watched him through the slanted eyes of his mask. Bran recognized the look. He was being measured, tried, and slowly stripped of all his shields. He pitied the man who forgot how talented Bran was at hiding his emotions and inner secrets.

  The duchess held out a small teacup, the porcelain cracked but still holding the steaming tea. He took it with a frown.

  “Are you in the habit of trying to make your house guests comfortable now?” he asked.

  “Only those I want something from.” She passed a cup to her husband. “Or perhaps the ones who want something from me.”

  “I want nothing from you. We were merely passing through when your personal guard accoste
d us. You really should be kinder to travelers,” he said sarcastically.

  She leveled him with an unimpressed look. “We all know why you’re here Bran.”

  He hoped she didn’t, or this was going to be harder than he thought. Keeping his face still as a midnight pool, he dipped a finger into the steaming water and muttered a quiet spell. When it darkened to a deep black, proving the tea wouldn’t harm him, he took a sip.

  “Enlighten me then, duchess. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” He kept his tone purposefully calm and collected.

  “You want my heart.”

  Bran choked, spitting tea back into the cup. “Excuse me?”

  “Not everyone is as foolish as you seem to think.” She smiled. “I’m not going to make it easy for you to steal my heart.”

  He didn’t have to dance around words anymore. She knew he wouldn’t lie, nor would he try to convince her of anything other than the truth. Bran licked his lips and stilled his bouncing knee.

  Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “I would be disappointed if you made it easy for me.”

  “Good. Now that all that madness is cleared up…” She leaned forward and set her teacup back on the table with a clack. “Who is this woman you’ve brought into my kingdom, and why can’t I see her face?”

  “I don’t know the answer to either of those questions,” he replied honestly. “She’s a secretive little thing. I was traveling by a small human town and paused to watch them burn a witch. Somehow, she saw me through my glamour and flung a binding curse at me hard enough to scar.”

  He rubbed a hand over his chest, although the mark no longer ached. The memory didn’t make him angry now. It filled his lungs with fire of an entirely different kind.

  The duchess chuckled. “She cursed you?”

  “And threatened to do more than that.”

  “This creature is intimidating indeed. Cursing a faerie prince is a death sentence for most.”

  “She didn’t know I was a prince.”

  “But she saw through your glamour?” The duchess tapped a finger against her chin. “Stranger and stranger. I’ve never heard of a witch who could do that.”

  “Neither have I.” And it still bothered him. Lorcan had alluded she wasn’t human, but she couldn’t possibly be a faerie. He’d know. She couldn’t be that good of a liar.

  The duke caught his wife’s gaze, humming under his breath. “We have met something like that before, although it was a strange meeting and I couldn’t guess what the creature was.”

  “Oh really? Do share.”

  “He was human, but more. A cousin of mine met him as a child, saw how talented the boy was in sculpting and art, and brought him back to the Otherworld. They tried to teach him magic, but he had no talent for it. In the end, they cut off his hands and replaced them with a faerie’s so that he might create the work they so desired.”

  It was an unsettling thought, although Bran had heard of such things before. “How long did he remain in the Otherworld?”

  “Long enough to cause quite the dramatics within the family he’d stayed with. Foolish mortals should never fall in love with faeries.”

  “You think she’s human then? Otherworld touched, so perhaps a little more than human, but was born in the human realm?”

  “What else could she be?” The duke set his teacup down. “She’s not faerie. I think we all can agree upon that.”

  Bran certainly did. Aisling was an enigma, but she wasn’t an accomplished liar. Everything about her screamed human, from her toes to the top of her cursed head. He wanted her to be faerie. A strange part of him desired nothing more than to know she would exist as long as he.

  But dreams were meant to be broken.

  The duchess shook her head. “No, I don’t believe she’s Otherworld touched. I think she’s an oddity wrapped in shadows. She’ll surprise all of us when the truth comes out.”

  If it were possible for the duke’s mask to look surprised, it did. “Wife?”

  “There’s something familiar about her, don’t you think? I spent countless years in the faerie courts before coming here, and she has an air about her that isn’t human. It’s not the way she speaks or her mannerisms. It’s the way she moves.”

  “I would say she moves as any might,” her husband grunted. “There’s nothing special about the girl other than a strange curse.”

  “I will agree most faeries would have removed such a superficial curse a long time ago, not being able to see her face is an annoyance, but there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on…” The duchess tapped her finger again, as if the gentle movement could rattle her thoughts to the correct order. “I will speak with her. Perhaps then I can understand what is truly going on.”

  Bran was almost insulted. “What do you think she will tell you that she won’t tell me?”

  “Unseelie,” the duchess said with a chiding tone, “women tell each other things men couldn’t even imagine. You’re fooling yourself if you think otherwise.”

  He met the duke’s uneasy stare. A silent message passed between the men. They understood the duchess spoke of an unwritten code and the mystery of feminine secrecy.

  Clearing his throat, Bran stood. “On that note, I’d like to retire to my room.”

  “Yes, I suppose I did promise you that.” The duchess tsked. “A shame, I’d love to put you out with the livestock.”

  “A shame you agreed to my story for safety.”

  “I intend to collect on that, Unseelie Prince.”

  “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” He swept into a graceful bow. “Another time, my lady. Travel has fatigued me.”

  She snorted. “Nothing could fatigue an Unseelie prince, but your twisted words are appreciated. There will be a guard waiting for you beyond the door. He’ll take you to one of the noble quarters.”

  “And the girl?”

  “You aren’t in any position to be demanding a room for that girl, Unseelie.”

  Bran held his ground, squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for whatever fight the duchess was going to throw at him. “She will stay in a better room than mine. After all she’s been through at the hands of the Fae, she deserves that much.”

  “The Fae?” the duchess quietly asked. “Or you?”

  He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Don’t try to twist my words, Duchess.”

  “I’m not twisting your words, prince. As you’ve said, you’re the only faerie she’s been with these past weeks.”

  “I already weary of your sharp tongue.”

  “As I’m sure she is weary of yours.” A wicked smile spread across her face. “Don’t worry, Unseelie. I’ll take care of your little witch. And when I’m done with her, I’ll have all the answers I could ever desire.”

  “She isn’t used to our cruelty and doesn’t mince her words like us.”

  “I know.”

  The door opened, and an invisible hand pushed him through the crumbling frame out into the waiting grasp of a guard. He growled but allowed himself to be pushed through.

  “Oh, Unseelie?” the duchess called out. “I trust you won’t be causing any issues for me while you’re here. This truce will only last as long as you are amiable.”

  “I don’t plan on stealing your heart tonight, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Her laughter rang in his ears as the guard dragged him away.

  “Hopefully this will be a suitable room,” the maid said, placing her back against the wooden door and shoving with a grunt. She was a tall, willowy thing with limpid eyes too large for her face. “The duchess went to great trouble to find you the perfect accommodation.”

  Aisling doubted the woman had gone through any trouble, but she wasn’t going to correct the maid. Having a room at all was a blessing. She could have been in the stables.

  Blowing out a breath that stirred the hair covering her face, she waited as the maid wiggled her way through the small gap and then squeezed herself past the door
that appeared stuck halfway open. Nothing in this castle worked the way it should. That included doors that didn’t open as expected.

  The room beyond was remarkable in its own way. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, small spiders skittering across the gossamer threads. Dust-covered blood-red curtains hung limp around a mound of pillows, likely meant to be a bed. Adjacent to the pillows, a small hearth crackled with flame, and a still pool of water glistened in the farthest corner.

  It was a modest room by all accounts, and any who were accustomed to finer living might have noticed the cracks on the floor, the swirling eddies of dust, and the slight green tinge to the water. But Aisling was a creature born in the shadows of both worlds. To her, this room could not be finer.

  The maid watched her with a severe gaze. “Well?”

  Aisling blinked. “Well what?”

  “Is it suitable, or shall I tell the mistress to find you another room?”

  This had to be a test. The duchess was too intelligent a woman to give her the finest room available. Aisling was certain this was one of the worst, but she wanted to keep the upper hand.

  She affixed a smile on her face the maid couldn’t see and clasped her hands to her chest. “It will suit just fine. Shall I beat the pillows?”

  The slight jab raced up the maid’s back. Aisling smirked at her stiffened posture and waltzed to the bed. She wasn’t afraid of a little hard labor, and if they didn’t want to clean her room, then that was no skin off her back.

  She grabbed the first pillow and smacked it hard. Dust billowed into the air, white and cloud-like, striking her nose with surprising force. She rocked backward, sneezing multiple times until the air cleared.

  The maid covered her mouth and giggled.

  “Goodness,” Aisling gasped. “How long have these pillows been sitting?”

  “About half a century, madame.”

  “That explains it.” She placed the pillow down and gently backed away. “We’ll leave it there then. And please don’t call me madame. I’m anything but.”

  “You travel with the Unseelie prince. You must be equal in rank to the Duchess?”

  “Unlikely. Didn’t you hear him say I was his servant?” It was all she could do not to make a face. “I’m no lady.”