Beauty

by Sophie Oak

  Yes, it was harmless because it gained the mayor something, but not three days before Siobhan Hannigan had been jailed for placing a blessing spell on a newborn child who was struggling to breathe. The babe had survived, but both of her parents sat waiting trial, too, for hiring a witch. They probably wouldn’t hold their babe again. Yet a little gossip was all right.

  Still, she pretended to care because it kept his hands off her. “Tell me.”

  He looked around, leaning in a little and pulling away from his guards. “The rumor is that the princess might have survived the king’s coup. My source said the king is initiating a countrywide search for Bronwyn Finn.”

  Bron felt her stomach lurch, her heart stop.

  Micha rolled his eyes. “I think it’s ridiculous. They buried the Finn bitch. She was a stupid child. She couldn’t have survived. The king was very thorough when he liberated us. And if she did survive, she’s more than likely with those brothers of hers, eking out an existence on some third-rate plane.”

  The world seemed to tilt a little, throwing her off-balance. Micha continued to speak, but his words seemed to come from someplace far away. What had happened? Thirteen years had passed and not a word of her survival had been heard. There hadn’t been a whisper about her in all the towns and villages and provinces she and Gillian had sought refuge in. Thirteen years and now Torin believed?

  Panic threatened to suffuse her. She felt that odd tingle that started in her hands whenever she was truly frightened. That tingle that always came before the fire.

  Not now. Tears pricked her eyes. She had to get it under control. She couldn’t lose it now in front of everyone.

  Over the years, she had been truly afraid a few times, and each time a fire began. The first had been an overzealous suitor who had plunged his hands down her bodice. The chair beneath him had caught fire mysteriously.

  Then there had been the vendor buying vegetables who thought she was a part of the bargain. His warehouse had gone up in flames.

  Each time she’d felt her hands warm and tingle before whatever she was pointing at had caught fire. It frightened her. She knew not what it meant except her death if she was caught.

  “Dear Isolde.” The mayor clucked and hauled her close, his arm going around her waist. The guards chuckled behind her, making rude statements. She could smell the perfume he used to mask his odor. “I can see this news has frightened you. Please, my love, do not worry your pretty head. There will be no revolt. You are absolutely safe with me. Bronwyn Finn is as worthless as her brothers. She’s dead or as good as. She’s no threat to anyone.”

  No threat. Useless. Yes, she felt it.

  There was a loud shout, and the crowds began to move, opening up for the guard charging toward the mayor. The dancing stopped as a high wail could be heard. Everyone—peasant, farmer, noble—turned to the edge of the crowd.

  The guard strode forward, the small body in his hands no impediment to his movement.

  Bron gasped. Ove. She looked so tiny in the brutish guard’s hold, her delicate feet dangling. The bastard had the wee brownie by her throat. Ove’s eyes were bulging already as she struggled to breathe.

  “Let her go!” Bron shouted, tearing away from the mayor. She thought about nothing but the fact that Ove couldn’t last long. The guard’s hand fit easily around her throat, and he could break her little neck without even thinking about it. “You’re killing her. She’s just a child. She didn’t mean any harm. She just wanted to see the dancing.”

  She was barely two. A child in brownie years, not quite on the cusp of her womanhood. She was just a baby who had wanted to come to the party, hold a ribbon in her hands while she pranced around the maypole with the other children. Bron knew what had happened. She’d snuck from safety, hoping to catch a glimpse of the party she should have attended. Ove didn’t understand the principles of purity. Ove wanted to play with her friends. And now she was dying.

  “Seize her!” The mayor ordered.

  It wasn’t until the guards grabbed her arms that Bron realized he was talking about her. She was brought back to the mayor. At the edge of the crowd, Gillian stood, shaking her head, her eyes begging Bronwyn to stay calm, to play her part. They were surrounded by guards, at least one for every five villagers, and food had been scarce. The villagers were weak. They would be no match for the huge guards.

  “You will have to excuse my fiancée. She is a gentle soul who needs a firm hand to guide her.” Micha’s eyes narrowed on her, his mouth a flat line that promised retribution. He turned and looked at the guard who held the brownie. “What is that thing doing here ruining my party?”

  The guard dropped Ove to the ground, her body hitting the dirt with a thud. The little brownie dragged air into her lungs, her long fingers touching her throat. “I found the thing in the bushes watching the dancing.”

  The mayor sneered down at the sweet little girl. “Take it away. Throw it on the fire. I don’t care, but I want no further disruptions.”

  The tingling in Bron’s hands was stronger than ever, and she couldn’t deny it. Without thinking, going only on instinct, she called out to that power inside her and pointed at the guard who held a sword to Ove’s throat. Fire sparked on the guard’s tunic, a flash that erupted in all-out flames, engulfing him.

  A hideous scream filled the waning day, and all eyes were on her.

  The fire had come from her hands. She had held them up, and like a sorceress calling her power, she had directed it to her enemy.

  The mayor gaped at her.

  “Witch,” he whispered.

  And then a horrible pain hit the back of her head, and darkness took her.

  Chapter Six

  Shim felt her panic. It started like a hundred ghostly fingers brushing across his flesh, making bumps appear in their wake. He sat straight up in the chair he’d been occupying while drinking some of the tea Paige Harper had poured with a practiced hand. The young sidhe looked very much like her mother with strawberry-blonde hair and a wide smile. She appeared to be between fourteen and sixteen years of age, but she proved her maturity as Shim began to shake.

  “Something is wrong.” Her hands moved as though she could feel the air around her. “It’s coming from the outside, but it’s focused on you, Your Highness.”

  Someone had said the girl had a way with witchcraft, and it seemed that she was, at the very least, sensitive to psychic episodes. But Shim didn’t have time to think about it. He could feel Bron’s heartbeat as though it was his own. He was suddenly out of breath like someone had punched the air out of his lungs.

  He heard Paige calling for her parents, felt Duffy’s arm on his own, but Shim couldn’t see him anymore. His vision was clouded, miles and miles away. He saw a small brownie on the ground, dirt swirling the earth beside her. A large leather boot reared back in a kicking motion.

  “Damn it, Shim. Don’t!” Duffy shouted, his hand coming off Shim’s arm.

  Shim tried to hold on, but Bron’s pull was so great. She called to him, demanding his fire, his protection. Shim felt his power shimmer, skimming along his skin from someplace deep inside him.

  Now his own panic began to take over. He remembered the last time he’d lost control. Lach had nearly died. His brother had been marred for the rest of his life. If he lost control here, in such a small setting, he wouldn’t be able to save the men in the house. Much less the children. Gods, the Harper children were here.

  He stumbled up, not quite able to see the world in front of him. He tried to concentrate. Tried to force his brain back to this reality. It was so hard because he could feel Bron’s emotion. She moved from pure terror to a rage that threatened to completely overtake him. He had mere seconds before the fire would no longer be containable. He could already sense it building. It would be a blast that flowed between him and Bronwyn, the flames shooting into both places. The Harper’s nicely kept house would become their children’s tomb.

  And then he felt a calming presence. Paige. She put a han
d on his elbow, whimpering a bit because she surely felt the heat in his skin. She was like a wash of cold water, quenching him briefly.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  Duffy’s hand was suddenly in his. “Damn me, Shim, you’re blazing hot. Come on, we need to get him outside before he blows.”

  “Blows?”

  He heard Paige’s shout through the chaotic mess of his brain. His world? Bron’s world? It was hard to tell what he was seeing. He held on tightly to the power, but it was growing. Bron’s need was overcoming his will. She was so strong, and she didn’t know what she was doing.

  He stumbled, forcing his eyes to focus on his feet.

  “What’s happening?”

  It was his brother’s voice. Shim could hear feet pounding and voices calling out, but he wasn’t sure where they were coming from.

  Bron was so angry. Her rage filled him. Years of impotent anger had been bottled up, and now it would not go away. His anger. Her anger. Their power.

  “Damn it all.” He felt his brother’s hands on his shoulders. “Get away! Get away now!”

  But his brother was still here. Lach had lost too much. Lach could die if he got caught in the fire, and it would be a big one. Grabbing on to the final vestige of his will, he pushed his brother away and ran.

  He knew he was outside now, could feel the air on his skin as his clothes began to burn off.

  He stopped, his vision utterly taken over by Bronwyn.

  He saw a guard standing in the middle of a large crowd, a brownie child at his feet and his mercy. The guard had none. Bron’s memories assaulted him. It was so much stronger than ever before. Being on the same plane with nothing between them but miles, he could feel her power. She transmitted so strongly, but not only could she transmit, she pulled power from him.

  The fire built and Shim gave in to his instincts. He forced the fire into his hands, Bron’s hands, and directed it in a thin line, trying to keep it away from the crowds. Once he let it flow, it immediately became easier to control. Flames shot from his fingertips. His skin was on fire, every inch of his body engulfed in flames, but he could control them.

  The guard screamed, but the brownie Bron had been trying to save skittered away. A long breath came out of her body and then he heard a single word.

  “Witch.”

  Shim fell to the ground, like a puppet that had its strings cut. The flames went out, and Shim was aware that he was alone again.

  His hands shook as he sat up. Something was very wrong. The connection had been brutally severed. Bron was in trouble.

  Shim struggled to his feet. His naked damn feet. As his power grew, he’d found his skin could handle the flames that engulfed him, though his clothes never survived.

  “Holy crap balls,” Dellacourt said, staring at the ground surrounding Shim. A perfect circle of burned grass had formed when he’d finally let his power go. “You’ve already come into your power.”

  Shim’s voice was a little shaky. “I think we mentioned that.”

  Dante pointed toward the woods where Shim could clearly see the line of fire he’d made when Bron had seized his power.

  “It could have been worse,” Lach said, handing him a blanket. “What the hell happened? I felt something. My power surged.” Lach looked back at the porch where the Harpers stood staring. “I am so sorry. Do you have a lot of bodies buried close by?”

  “What?” Rye asked. Then he took a startled step back, pulling his wife toward him.

  A partially decomposed dog was trotting out of the woods, a large black dog running beside it.

  “Quigley!” Rachel started trying to run toward the black dog. “Get away from that thing!”

  One of the younger Harper children, a boy Shim remembered was named Patrick, stepped forward. He couldn’t be more than seven, but he looked at his fathers with outrage. “That’s Queenie! You told us Queenie went to the city.”

  His brother rolled his eyes. “Dummy, don’t you know that’s what Da says when one of the animals dies? He’s too chicken to tell you so he pretends he took it to the city. Queenie got into a bad patch of berries and got herself poisoned. Da buried her in the woods.”

  “Well, it looks like Da was wrong.” Patrick started to go out, but Rye held him back.

  Shim wrapped the blanket around his body, his mind only half working. He looked at his brother. Lach had gone a pasty white. The dog wasn’t the only thing crawling back from wherever it had been buried. There was a horse skeleton prancing and whinnying.

  “Buttercup?” Max said, with a smile on his face. “Damn, but I would know that gait anywhere. Look at you girl! You can still run. What the hell is happening?”

  “Shim is a fire adept. It’s his special power.” Roan stepped up, examining the ground beneath Shim’s feet. “Lachlan is a necromancer. They came into their powers in a unique fashion. They bonded, but from a distance.”

  Dante nodded. “They should have more control once a full bond is completed. But I don’t understand how it goes crazy like that. Did Shim mean to blow a path through the woods?”

  “No. It was Bron. She was afraid, and then she was mad. She pulled the power out of me.”

  Lach took a deep breath. “And mine always flares when Shim’s goes crazy. I’m sorry. You’ll be reburying corpses for days.”

  Shim’s head was starting to clear. He was still shaky, but his ability to think and feel were coming back, and he didn’t like what was left. Lach helped him back on to the porch. “Something’s wrong with Bron.”

  His brother leaned over. “I know. I could feel a bit of it, but we have to get you calm and strong again before we rush off. Tell me what happened. I could feel it. I couldn’t see it. I never see it.”

  Shim knew his brother felt cut off, but he didn’t have time to deal with that now. “It’s a jumble. I know she was trying to protect a brownie. A youngling, I think. Why was a guard trying to hurt a little brownie?”

  Max Harper started to walk out toward the corpse formerly known as Buttercup.

  “Damn, Max.” Rye looked a little green.

  Lach shook his head. “The horse won’t hurt him. It doesn’t know it’s dead. Same with the dog.”

  Rachel nodded, and the kids, with the exception of Paige, ran out to greet Queenie.

  Rachel frowned, her eyes on her children. “You were told that Torin is systematically killing non-sidhe.”

  Shim leaned against the porch railing. “I guess I really thought you were talking about goblins and ogres. You know, the rougher creatures. Brownies are helpful. Gnomes keep the gardens growing. How does Torin think he’ll feed everyone?”

  “He doesn’t care,” Rye replied. “I have no doubt he’ll enslave a few, but he’ll think that a little starvation will keep the lower classes in line. We can’t rebel if we don’t have the energy to fight.”

  “I don’t understand what he’s thinking.” Shim couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Why would anyone want to upset the balance? It was one thing to kill an ogre who threatened hundreds of villagers, quite another to systematically wipe them out. Ogres played a part, too. The same with pixies and even sluagh. They all served a purpose. The flowers would die without the pixies. The crops would struggle without the gnomes. Ogres were predators who culled herds. And they were living, thinking beings.

  What was happening with Bron?

  “He called her a witch.”

  Lach’s eyes went wide. “What?”

  Rachel Harper took a long breath. “What do you mean? You can really see her? Hear what’s happening to her?”

  Shim nodded. “It can be confusing, but I know what I heard. There was a man there. He was dressed in rich clothes. He was older. Bron didn’t like him. She was a little disgusted by him. He called her a witch, and then the connection was gone. I think she was unconscious.”

  He didn’t like the thought of how that had happened. He’d felt her one minute, and she’d been gone the next.

  Paige Harper had paled a bit
. “Witches are considered bad here. At least for the last few years. Anyone with psychic ability is labeled a witch, and Torin deals with them the same way he does non-sidhe.”

  Rachel put an arm around her daughter, obviously lending her strength. “He’s taken bondmates, especially the strong ones, and they disappear. We don’t know if they’re dead or if he’s got them held somewhere. We’ve been safe here because we’re so isolated, but we’ve lost a few when we leave the village.”

  Dellacourt spoke up. “According to the sluagh, he’s trained a number of consorts to turn on their masters. He’s turning over a hundred consorts to the vampire ambassadors. They’re set to go off somewhere down the line, like a number of bombs he’s planted.”

  Paige put a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. She turned and ran back into the house. Rachel sent Shim an apologetic glance and then ran after her daughter.

  Rye sighed. “Paige’s best friend is a boy named Charlie. He’s the sheriff’s son. Well, Nathan was the sheriff until Torin took over. He sent another sheriff in. We killed that asshole, but Torin doesn’t know it. Two years ago, Charlie disappeared. Nathan and his partner Zane and their wife Calliope have been searching for their son ever since. He could bond. He was very strong. They tracked him to the palace, but they haven’t been able to get close.”

  Shim didn’t know what to say. He knew what Torin would have to do to make the bondmates into his own personal timebombs. He would have tortured them. He would have warped them.

  They couldn’t get Bronwyn out of here fast enough.

  “Do you think they’ll kill her?” Lach asked, his eyes tightening.