Veins of Magic

by Emma Hamm

  “That’s not your name to have.” Cait growled.

  “And my life is not yours to take.”

  They stared each other down, neither wanting to let go of the anger that burned behind their eyes. Sorcha’s tension eased when Cait shrugged and sighed.

  “Fine. So you’ve got a little bit of fire in you. That’s not a bad thing. Now, how do you plan on protecting yourself?”

  “Against who?”

  “Everyone. The dwarves. Faeries who don’t want a human in the Otherworld. Your lover’s twin who obviously wants you gone,” Cait ticked off fingers as she spoke. “Seems to me like everyone wants you dead.”

  Sorcha blinked. The dwarf flitted from emotion to emotion so quickly that even the heat of the air changed. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because it’s important that people know how to protect themselves. And you’ve proven to me that you plan on keeping yourself alive, even though that little escapade with the king was embarrassing to watch. What do you know?”

  “Eamonn has been teaching me to fight from the high ground.”

  “Fight? With what?”

  She repeated what she had told Eamonn only moments ago, slowing as Cait shook her head. “What? Why are you making that face?”

  “What do you do if no one comes to help you?”

  Sorcha didn’t have an answer to that. “I fight them myself I suppose.”

  “And what happens if they grab you?”

  “Then I struggle.”

  “With what?”

  “Kicking and screaming until they let me go.”

  “Right,” Cait snorted and crossed her arms. “Let me tell you how that will go. You’ll scream, they’ll slap you so hard you taste blood and then once more just to make sure you see stars. Then they’ll pin you down, and you won’t be able to move. You’ll be lucky if they kill you at that point. So let’s start again. How are you going to fight?”

  The dwarf had a point. She had argued a similar fight with Eamonn, who refused to even entertain the idea that he would be so far away he couldn’t protect her.

  And then he left her here alone.

  She straightened her spine. “I don’t know.”

  Cait snapped her fingers and pointed at Sorcha. “That’s the right answer. Come on then.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to teach you how to fight.”

  A part of Sorcha hesitated, wondering why the dwarf would helping when she obviously didn’t like druids. But another part wanted desperately to know how to protect herself.

  Perhaps that was the druid coming out. She had only felt the strange yearning in her heart a few times, but each instance was a powerful one. There was a creature inside of her that longed to be stronger than ever before.

  “All right,” Sorcha said. “When?”

  “Right now, unless you want to stare at the door for a little while longer.”

  She didn’t. Sorcha narrowed her eyes and said, “No. We can go now, if you are prepared to teach me.”

  “Come on then, out into the yard with you. What weapon do you 'ave experience with?”

  “None.”

  They moved past dwarves singing to their stones. Not a single one faltered in their work, but their gaze burned against her back. Perhaps they were merely curious about who she was. More likely, they wondered why she was walking with one of their own.

  Cait shoved a dwarf aside that stood in their path. “That won’t do. Swords?”

  “I don’t own one.”

  “Can’t make you one any time soon in this pit. Knives?”

  “Just the kind that carve food.”

  “That’s a start,” Cait jabbed at the air as if she were stabbing a person. “People are a little bit like meat. A little more sticky. We can work with that, and every woman should have a 'idden blade. Bow and arrow?”

  The mere thought of stabbing someone made her queasy. She had dedicated her entire life to helping and healing, not harming. “I used to hunt with my father when I was young.”

  Cait perked up, bouncing. “Did you ever get anything?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Well then you don’t know how to shoot a bow.”

  “I was a good shot.”

  “You could hit still targets you mean. Moving ones are a lot different.”

  She imagined they were. Sorcha treated such wounds before, and knew that an arrow stuck in bone sometimes. She shuddered at the memories.

  “Don’t get squeamish on me now,” Cait said with a chuckle. “We’ll get you ready for anything that might come our way.”

  “I have to ask again, why are you interested in helping me?”

  “The way I see it, you’re right on the way to becoming our queen. I already don’t like the man who’s trying to make himself king. The last thing I want is two royals who have little sympathy for my people.”

  “Eamonn cares,” Sorcha said. She skirted past a dwarf who stepped in her way, his song deepening for a moment in disapproval. “That’s why he’s working so hard to take back the throne. To give your people a voice.”

  “Funny, that’s not how we see it.”

  “Then how do you see it?”

  They walked into a training yard. Only a few dwarves lingered in this area, most of them choosing to work with stone rather than practicing their battle skills. Sorcha found it strange for an army to not train every second they could.

  Cait kicked a bale of hay as they passed it. “How do we see it? Just more of the same. Another noble who thinks he can make a difference because his ideas are a tad different than the last one's. Nothing ends up happening, no matter who is on the throne.”

  Sorcha had seen a very similar situation in her own world. The peasants, those who worked all day to make their living in life, had never cared who was king. They did what they wanted, worked hard, gathered food and water for their families, and the royals lived entirely separate lives.

  “That’s disappointing,” she said. “It is similar in the human world. Royalty has no connection to the people. I always wished they did, but those of us who lived hard lives never even saw them.”

  “You want me to believe you ain’t royalty?” Cait snorted. “Right.”

  “I’m not. I was raised in a brothel and became a midwife to heal my sisters and prevent them from filling the brothel with children.”

  “You were raised with whores?”

  Sorcha winced. “It’s a rather cruel word, but yes. My sisters made a good living and kept us all alive. I value them greatly, no matter their choice of employment.”

  The more she spoke, the further Cait’s jaw dropped. “You don’t care at all that they sell their bodies to whomever will pay the most?”

  “Not in the slightest. What they do with their own flesh is none of my business.”

  “And you don’t judge 'em for that?”

  “Not unless they get with child, and that would only happen because they didn’t take the tea I gave them. If they were foolish with their bodies, their hearts, their minds, then yes. I would judge them. But they are highly intelligent women. I have never once thought less of them for their choices.”

  “You know, I could like you.”

  Sorcha’s jaw dropped. “That’s all it took?”

  “Guess so.”

  “How?”

  Cait turned and rummaged through a few of the sacks lying on the ground. “Dunno. Guess you’re more of a person now then you were before.”

  “I wasn’t a person?”

  “Royals ain’t people. They don’t know how to be people.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Sorcha glanced around the yard that the dwarves had repaired. A short knee wall surrounded three sides, the remaining side abutted the cliff peak which stretched up two men’s height. Targets leaned against the wall, not yet set up or used. She recognized a few of the straw dummies. Eamonn had used them in his own training yard.

  Hay littered the ground, not yet distu
rbed by footprints. Everything was pristine, perfect, exactly how it would be when they were first made.

  “Are you not practicing?” she asked. “Everything seems to be untouched.”

  “We ain’t an army, that’s why.”

  “What?”

  Cait walked over and handed her a bow taller than she was. “Dwarves don’t have an army. We don’t like to fight, other than brawls in pubs. That we’ll do. Now take the bow, 'ere’s your arrows, and shoot that target.”

  “What do you mean dwarves don’t fight?”

  “Shoot the target.”

  Sorcha could hear the iron in the dwarf’s voice, and didn’t know how to take it. Faeries didn’t lie. There wasn’t any reason for Cait to twist the truth. But what did she mean that dwarves didn’t have an army?

  What had Eamonn done?

  She took the offered arrow, notched it, and lifted the bow. She could hear her father’s voice in her ear. Breath out before the arrow is released. Sight the target with one eye. Keep the arm straight.

  She exhaled and released the arrow.

  It sang as it shot through the air and struck the edge of the target. Letting out a whoop, she turned to Cait with a grin. “I hit it!”

  “Well that’s just great, princess, but if that had been the size of a person then you’d have missed them entirely. There’s a giant red dot on that target for a reason. Again.”

  “I thought that was all right for someone who hasn’t picked up a bow in years.”

  “I don’t care if you’re all right. Just aim again, would ya?”

  Sorcha grumbled and lifted it to her eye. “Are you qualified for this, if you aren’t a soldier?”

  “I can teach a person to fight. Not to be in an army and march in a line towards their death. Dwarves fight to stay alive. That’s how you should fight too.”

  She exhaled and let her next arrow fly. This one was closer to the center, although it stuck weakly in the bottom, drooping towards the ground.

  Cait tossed her hands into the air. “Well this will take all day. Again!”

  Sorcha met with Cait every day, setting up lunch in the training yards and eating in the dirt. At first, the dwarven woman seemed nervous and uncomfortable around the consort of a would-be king. But, the more Sorcha showed she didn’t care about the state of her skirt, the quality of her hair, or getting mud on her hem, the more the dwarf loosened up.

  On the third day, she arrived in the courtyard with her bow already strung, Cait pointed at her dress and shook her head. “That won’t do.”

  “What won’t?” Sorcha looked down. “It doesn’t matter if I get it dirty. There are hundreds of these musty things in the castle.”

  “Skirts will only trip you up. I already talked with Oona, she’s waiting in the kitchens.”

  “In the kitchens? With what?”

  “Your clothes.” Cait hopped up onto the fence of the training grounds and tossed her beard over her shoulder. “Go on then. I’ll wait.”

  Sorcha narrowed her eyes and pointed. “You’ll let me braid your beard?”

  “Why would I ruin a good beard by doing that?”

  “Agree, and I’ll wear whatever clothes you want.”

  “Fine. Just hurry up, I don’t 'ave all day to waste training you.”

  “That’s exactly what you’ve been doing!” Sorcha called out with a laugh.

  She left her bow and arrows with the dwarf, racing to the kitchen with laughter ringing in her ears.

  Of all the time she had spent in the castle, these few days training had been her favorite. She missed Eamonn and even Cian, who had gone with him. But there was something so refreshing about learning new things, using her hands and body as they were meant to be used.

  Her hands were already strong from healing, her arms larger than most women. Every night she went to bed with aching muscles and a smile on her face. She wasn’t a delicate creature, nor had she ever wished to be.

  Banging open the kitchen door, she sauntered in, calling out, “Oona!”

  “Here, dearie!”

  Sorcha brushed aside a large sheet hanging up to dry. The pixie was elbow deep in soapy water, but grinning from ear to ear.

  Sorcha smiled. “There you are. Cait said you had something for me?”

  “It’s long past time you accepted the faerie way of dress!”

  “Please tell me it isn’t made of spiderwebs, I’ll tear it the first second I put it on.”

  “Oh no, dearie. It’s much better than that.” Oona nodded towards a table. “I think you’ll be able to figure it out, but let me know if you need help. I’ll dry my hands off!”

  Sorcha stood stock still when she saw the clothing laid out on the table. Leather leggings, so smooth and supple that they were perfect. A loose tunic, split over her hips for ease of movement, and a leather corset. Twin wrist guards sat atop the small pile.

  “These?” she asked.

  “I know they’re considered men’s clothing in your world, but they're much more comfortable.”

  “You wear skirts.”

  “I’m no warrior. I work in the kitchens and I’m not expected to do anything other than that. You need speed on your side, whether you’re working as a midwife or fighting. It’ll make your druid ancestors proud.”

  Sorcha could feel it was true. Hands smoothed over her shoulders, tightened on her bicep, and pushed her forward.

  “Grandfather?” she asked.

  Fingers tapped on her shoulder in agreement before pressing down on the cloth, leaving a handprint behind. Even the druids wanted her to wear the outfit.

  Sighing, she gave up her sense of propriety and took the clothes with her to change. Sliding the leather leggings over her skin brought a strange sense of self-reliance. She shed the dresses and petticoats with relief, and became a new woman dressed in men's clothing.

  Smiling, she walked into the kitchen and gave Oona a small twirl.

  “Well would you look at that,” Oona said with a giggle. “What a pretty faerie you would make.”

  “Don’t my ear tips qualify me as one?”

  “Doubtful, but we’ll let it slide. You really are beautiful, dearie. Eamonn won’t know what to do with himself when he returns.”

  Sorcha’s smile dimmed. “It’s been quite a while.”

  “It can take a bit to find the deer. Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours, I’m sure nothing has happened to them. Now off with you.”

  Sorcha saw the worried expression that Oona carefully hid. A part of her wanted to push, to see whether her newfound power could force Oona to speak. The faerie was hiding something.

  They all were. Shaking her head, she wandered back out to the training grounds where the dwarf sat.

  “What’s the matter?” Cait asked immediately.

  “Nothing.”

  “You look like you just watched someone kick a child. Don’t give me that bullshit.”

  Sorcha let out a frustrated groan. “I feel as if everyone is hiding something from me! No matter how much I try to get everyone to give me a clear answer on why it’s taking Eamonn so long.”

  “Oh well that’s easy.”

  “Is it?”

  “They don’t want you to know that he took out a whole troop of dwarves to find more people to force into his army. And if they happen to find some of Fionn’s forces along the way, well, that’s all the better.”

  Stunned, she blinked a few times. “Thank you for the honest answer, but you can’t possibly be right.”

  Eamonn couldn’t have lied to her, could he?

  Cait gave her a look that suggested he could. “Fine, if that’s what you want to believe. I’m just training you.”

  She released arrow after arrow, her mind a turbulent sea of crashing waves. She didn’t want to believe he had bent the truth. They had only just found each other again, and they had agreed this was the best course of action.

  There wasn’t another choice. Fionn had to be stopped, but the real concern was the peo
ple of the Seelie Fae. They didn’t need to go through another war. It had been five years already, and that tactic hadn’t worked.

  Eamonn had understood her point of view. He’d agreed with it, acted as if he was relieved. Was he that good at deceiving her?

  The sun arched overhead and dipped down to kiss the horizon. Still, she didn’t stop. A frown furrowed her brows, her biceps trembling from the stress. Her tongue swelled, mouth dried, body ached for water.

  Her mind wasn’t done yet. She wasn’t done processing that he might have betrayed her. That he might still think she was a foolish little human girl who couldn’t understand Faerie politics.

  “Sorcha!” Cait’s voice cut through the fog of her mind. “You’re still here? Enough!”

  She couldn’t —wouldn’t — stop until he returned. Until she could look him in the eye and accuse him of all the wrongdoings Cait said he had done.

  “Enough!”

  The bow flew out of her grasp, clattering across the stone ground and scattering the hay. Breathing hard, Sorcha whirled to glare at Cait.

  “I’m not done yet.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “You have no right to order me,” Sorcha pivoted and reached for the bow.

  “Stop it! You’re bleeding, can’t you see that? You’ve practiced enough today.”

  She could see her hands now. Fingers raw and blistered, blood dripping from beneath the nails and landing in fat droplets atop the discarded bow. When had she begun to bleed?

  Pain seeped through her skin. The gut-twisting ache immediately stiffened her fingers, locking them in place.

  Crying out, she fell onto her knees and held out her hands. Foolish, she berated herself. Now all her training would go to waste.

  Cait reached out, at eye level now that Sorcha sat upon the ground. The dwarf grasped her hands and winced. “I should have known it would upset you. I apologize, Sorcha. This wasn’t the time, nor the place, to voice my concerns.”

  “Was it true?” She looked at the dwarf with hope in her eyes. “Please, tell me it was just rumor.”

  “You’ll have the ask the king for the truth.”

  “Then you don’t know?”

  “I know where the men went, and why they packed their armor. I know they all expected to meet an elven army on the road because the path chosen is a known trade route. Can I say that the High King chose this with full knowledge? No. I cannot read his mind.”