Heart of the Fae

by Emma Hamm

  “Where is your master?”

  “The throne room, I would imagine.”

  Sorcha growled. “Why is he always in that damn throne room when I need him?”

  “He’s expecting company.”

  “Company?” Sorcha glanced around the room with surprise. “You’re preparing a feast?”

  “Yes. It’s a rarity that we have visitors.”

  “Who’s visiting?”

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to say,” Pixie glanced over her shoulder at the brownies frantically cooking. “You should remain in your home tonight. It would be safer.”

  “Who’s coming?” Sorcha repeated.

  Pixie did not respond. Instead, she turned on her heel and hustled back towards the table where she’d been decorating tiny pastries.

  Frustration surged through her and gathered in her clenched fists. Sorcha didn’t like being left in the dark. Who was coming? This was a cursed isle impossible to even see for another seven years, so who would have the power to find it?

  There were so many questions no one would answer. No one in this room, at least.

  All the more reason to go bother the master of the isle.

  Resolve settled upon her shoulders like a well-worn cloak. She wouldn’t be intimidated by visitors who might frighten her. She’d met the terrifying Macha—a woman who rode through battle and cleaved men in two. There were few worse than that.

  Her footsteps echoed down the hall as she marched towards the throne room. She vaguely remembered where it was, although she caught herself turning into empty rooms.

  One held shattered stone statues. Her foot caught upon a head, empty eyes staring up at her and carved so realistically that she expected it to blink. Unnerved, Sorcha backed out of the room as though the statues might call out for help.

  Rounding a cobweb covered corner, she finally saw the grand entrance. This time, she paused to really look at it.

  Carved white marble arched over the double doorway. Tiny flowers, slithering ivy, even beetles crawled from the floor and arched into the ceiling. This wasn’t just an intimidating entrance, it was a work of art.

  The green double doors stood open, golden rivets and foil outlined each individual plank. It was the only thing in the castle not falling to pieces.

  She brushed her hand along the worn wood as she passed. It was clean, she realized in shock. Every tiny piece of the grand ballroom shone as bright as the sun.

  Although cracks still traveled through the floor, this was now a place of rare beauty. The chandeliers dripped rubies and emeralds, light striking the gems and casting colored shadows upon the floor.

  Sorcha gasped. She hadn’t realized paint covered the walls. The Wild Hunt stretched on either side of her. Fae in chariots, armored and terrifying, chased down human and animal alike. Larger than life, they seemed to move on their own as she stared.

  All this stretched towards the throne which remained cast in shadow. New curtains hung from the ceiling, blood red and so silken they dripped onto the floor. The staircase to reach him was made of pure gold.

  “You are early.” His grumbling voice raced down her spine in shivers and trembles.

  “I hadn’t realized I was expected.”

  “It’s you?”

  He stood. The great height of him at once overpowering and overwhelming even though she was still far from him.

  Sorcha was intensely aware of her simple appearance. She should’ve chosen the emerald gown—she might not have looked so out of place. Her mother’s dress looked more like a wildflower placed incongruously in a porcelain vase.

  Each thunk of his footsteps made her blush burn hotter. What had she been thinking? Of course he would entertain guests in a finer way than he lived! She was a fool.

  Embarrassment did not suit her. Sorcha reminded herself that she was a midwife, not a princess. This was her best dress before Pixie had given her something else to wear. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

  She lifted her gaze, and her mouth went dry.

  A warrior stood before her. Commander, chief, lord. She sucked in a rasping gasp as he strode across the wide expanse of marble.

  He wore elven armor. Each dark silver plate meticulously hammered to fit the movement of his arms. The symbol of a stag embellished the wide leather chest piece. Chain mail swayed against his thighs, knee high boots striking the floor with hard purpose.

  Metallic threads wove through his long braid that was tied off with golden clasps. The sword she had so admired was strapped to his side.

  “You should not be here,” he growled.

  “I see that now.”

  “I am expecting visitors.”

  “Yes, yes it appears so.” Sorcha was tongue-tied.

  He was so handsome, so overwhelming, so otherworldly that she was incapable of finding her own thoughts. She turned to leave, but paused when he reached out and grasped her arm. Crystals bit through the delicate fabric.

  “All is well?”

  She shivered. “That depends on your definition of well.”

  “How can I help?”

  “You have to come back to the mainland with me,” she whispered while staring at the door. “I cannot linger here any longer.”

  “You know my answer.”

  “Then I will have to force you!” Sorcha whipped around, her green eyes sparking with anger. “You did not tell me that time passed differently here! My family could be dead in a few days, have you no care for that?”

  “Who told you?”

  Her heart stopped. His words tumbled over and over in her mind. Sorcha’s throat closed as she asked, “Why didn’t you?”

  “There wasn’t an appropriate opportunity.”

  “The first moment I stepped into this throne room and told you my purpose, you should have let me know that my chances were limited. I cannot give up! My family needs me.”

  “Family is who you choose, not who is in your blood.”

  Sorcha wrenched her arm from his grasp. “Then I choose them! A thousand times over I choose them!”

  “You have been given a good home here! In time, I would move you into the castle—”

  “In time?” She pressed a hand against her mouth and backed towards the door. “As if it’s some kind of reward for good behavior?”

  “I had to make sure you were trustworthy—”

  “Trustworthy? Do you have some kind of initiation people must go through before you lower yourself to call them friend?”

  “No, it’s not like that.”

  “Then what is it like, master? What must I do before you consider my family worthy of your attentions?”

  She was even with him now, four steps up the stairs. He lifted one foot and placed it on the next step, hesitating in the face of her anger.

  “I cannot leave this isle. I cannot help your family, even if I wished to—”

  A choked sound escaped her lips. “Even if you wished to?”

  “That’s not how I meant it—”

  “I understand perfectly how you meant it. Thank you for making things so clear.”

  “Wait—”

  She whirled and raced from the throne room. Sorcha rounded a corner, pushing through back rooms until she recognized where she was. She had to avoid whatever horrific guests he might be entertaining. She didn’t want to know what beasts consorted with such a horrible man.

  He had no care for her family. And if he had no care for them, then he didn’t care what happened to her.

  It shouldn’t sting as much as it did. She barely knew the man, although he had become a regular figure in her thoughts. She’d even given him a name.

  Foolish, she berated herself. Childish. Friendship with him was wishful thinking.

  She hurtled down the steps, pushing through the kitchens without pause. Pixie shouted behind her. Stopping would only result in more anger, and Sorcha couldn’t deal with any more.

  A storm cloud brewed on the edge of the isle. It barreled towards her as she sprint
ed directly into its electric power. Storms didn’t bother her, not when she knew shelter was so close.

  The sweet scent of peat filled her lungs. Bleating sheep scattered as she charged through their midst. The tie in her hair loosened in the breeze, flying free to let her hair stream back in a banner of bright red.

  Her lungs ached, but she did not slow. She wouldn’t stop until she could slam the hut’s door behind her. The crash might stop her whirling thoughts.

  A tear slid down her cheek. How dare it? She dashed it away with an angry slap, leaving a mark of red against her freckled jaw. Then another slid free, this time hitting her face so painfully that she realized it wasn’t tears at all.

  It was rain.

  The clouds unleashed their fury. Rain pounded the ground and echoed in her ears. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning cracked far off in the ocean, a bolt zig zagging from the sky and into the water.

  She squinted and kept running. Her mother’s dress would be ruined, and it was another thing she could blame on him. Yet another ruined thing she loved that he stripped from her arms.

  How love starved was she that she would trust such a monster?

  The raging storm echoed the tumultuous emotions beating at her breast. He had no right. He had no right!

  She lost her way in the sheets of rain. The hag’s hut was barely visible below the small cliff she stood upon, but she would not let that deter her. The rocks were slippery and dangerous. She skidded down, sliding her hands into cracks and crevices, gripping with strong fingers. A small, romantic part of her whispered that this might be what it felt like to touch the geodes of his skin.

  She grunted and yanked a stone from the ground. It tumbled down the small cliff side and splashed into the foaming waves. Good riddance. She shouldn’t be wondering what he might feel like. She shouldn’t be wondering anything about him at all!

  Sorcha would leave this isle empty handed and find another way to save her family. There had to be more she could bargain. She could promise her life to Macha just to get away from this place.

  From him.

  Lightning cracked and struck the ground above her head. Sorcha flinched, glancing up to see the bolt strike a tree hanging onto the edge of the small cliff. Blinded, she hugged herself close to the rock and whispered a silent prayer.

  The tree screamed. Sizzling electricity raced through her, standing her damp hair on end until it passed. Then she heard it. The creaking groan, the snapping cracks of roots being pulled from the earth, and the rumbling of stone.

  She looked up although she already knew what she would see. The aged tree released its precarious hold on the cliff and plunged towards her.

  Sorcha tucked her body closer to the stones, wedging her side into the cliff, and shredding the delicate skin of her stomach. The roots slid past, the trunk smashed against the stones but did not touch her.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, and then a wayward branch passed by her makeshift shelter. She lifted her head at the wrong moment and shrieked as a flame red strand of hair wrapped around the slick wood.

  It yanked her backwards, tossing her into the deep mire where ocean met bog. Sorcha hit the water with a loud slap. Her back burned, and her mind screamed she hadn’t gotten a deep breath. She hadn’t inhaled before striking the water.

  Bubbles obscured her vision. Air twisted, leaving the tree which dragged her further and further down. She reached her hands for the surface, dark waters swallowing her whole.

  The tree hit the muck with a muffled thump. Billowing mud floated up like smoke, and Sorcha watched with horror as her limited view of the surface disappeared. She twisted, chest aching, and grasped onto the tangled bit of hair.

  She tugged, but there was too much for her to yank free. Her fingers felt along the strand until she touched the tree branch. Something slithered through her grasp.

  Sorcha flinched backwards in fear, stopped by a yank against the back of her skull which twisted her around. The foggy water was too dark for her to make out more than vague shapes.

  But which way was up?

  Her heart thudded painfully. She didn’t remember which way was up. The branch was attached to her so certainly directly above it would be up? But the tree angled down… Didn't it?

  She tugged on her hair again, frantically placing her feet against the branch and pulling hard. She felt more than heard the ripping, but it wasn’t enough.

  This wasn’t how she wanted to die. People didn’t often swim in Ui Neill; they were too far away from the selkies to have that bloodline in their midst.

  She wanted to die on rolling green hills or in the middle of a field of heather. Why did it have to end like this?

  I love you, she thought. I love you so much, Papa and all my sisters. I wish it could have been different.

  Black spots blurred the edges of her vision. At some point, she would have to suck in a deep breath. She would breathe and that would be the end.

  Sorcha had always been a fighter. She wouldn’t suck in the salt water until the very last second or until she passed out. Her body convulsed, arguing with her mind that she needed to breathe. Her eyelids drifted shut so she could forget for one second that she was underwater.

  Just a moment longer, she thought. Just one more moment to enjoy being alive. To feel the cold water on my fingertips and remember that she lived.

  A warm hand wrapped around her arm. Her eyes snapped open. It was too dark to know whether the shadowy figure was a merrow man, but she didn’t care anymore. She just wanted to breathe.

  Heat spread from the gentle touch as it slid down her forearm and found where she still clutched her hair. An odd scrape of scale abraded her skin, slicing through the lock of hair easily.

  No, not scale, she realized. Crystal.

  She clutched onto his shoulders with clawed hands and desperately kicked. If she could just get to the surface. If she could just inhale.

  His hand wrapped around her jaw, forcing her head down. She didn’t want to look down into that darkness. Why wasn’t he moving? Didn’t he understand that she was moments away from inhaling water and—

  Warm lips wrapped around hers. He squeezed her jaw and her mouth opened for a moment. He exhaled. She breathed in his air desperately. The pain in her lungs eased.

  It wasn’t enough, but it would do. Sorcha squeezed her eyes shut and hooked a leg around his waist, anchoring herself to him. She tried not to take too much of his breath, he’d need it to get them back to the surface. But it was addicting.

  The crystal running down his upper lip sliced through the waterlogged skin of her cheek. She winced at the pain and drew back. Salt stung the wound.

  With her securely held in his arms, Stone pushed off the bottom of the ocean. They shot through the water like an arrow from a bow. She held tight to his broad shoulders, ripples of muscle shifting beneath her fingertips.

  They broke the surface, and she gasped in air. It was too much, she choked violently and hung onto him for dear life. He wasn’t even breathing hard. He simply waited until she stopped coughing and then rolled onto his back.

  When she struggled, he brushed the wet strands of hair from her face. “Easy, relax. Let the ocean take you back to shore.”

  Sorcha coughed again, “I can swim on my own.”

  “Let me do the work, Sorcha. Stop fighting me.”

  She felt as though a bolt of lightning had struck her. That was exactly what she had been doing since the moment she reached this isle. Fighting him, in every conversation, in every rule he made. And yet, he still saved her.

  Waves rocked them, white caps growing dangerously high as the storm raged above them.

  “I trust you,” she whispered and let her body go limp.

  He wrapped a strong, bare arm across her shoulders and drew her back against his chest. Crystals bit into her spine from his gaping shoulder wound, but she refused to complain. He swam them back to shore with the grace of a selkie. The waves rocked forward, seaweed brushed her legs, a
nd the wound on her cheek bled freely.

  “What were you thinking?” he growled.

  “I wasn’t.”

  Lightning cracked overhead, casting his face in a grim light. Sorcha turned away from the disappointed expression. She had already disappointed herself, she didn’t need him to be, too.

  “Obviously.”

  The wind rushed overhead, drying her hair in stiff coils. She shivered violently.

  He cursed. “We’re almost there. Just a few more moments.”

  How had she been carried so far out? Sorcha hadn’t noticed the tree moving, but it must have slid along the ocean floor.

  His feet touched land, and Stone dragged her forward into his arms. The steely bands wrapped around her as if she weighed nothing. Perhaps she didn’t to him.

  The bulging muscles of his chest were distracting. Not a single hair covered his skin, not even on his arms. Up close, the crystals were so much angrier. The wounds carved into his skin and deep past his bones. It was a miracle he could even move.

  “I can walk,” she rasped.

  “Enough.”

  “I’m not so weak as to—”

  “I said enough, Sorcha.”

  She looked up at his severe face, unable to resist tracing the smooth line of his jaw. “That’s the second time you’ve called me by name. I don’t remember giving that to you.”

  The muscles under her fingertips bunched. “I have my ways.”

  “Obviously.”

  Shivers rocked her body, and it didn’t escape her notice that he tucked her tighter against him. Sorcha shifted until her head was underneath his chin. He was so large she could tuck her knees into his armpits and still be comfortable.

  “Why are you so much bigger than me?” she asked, teeth clacking with chills.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “I just want to know. All the other Tuatha dé Danann are the same. Y-You’re all larger than life.”

  “I’m not that much bigger.”

  “You’re a veritable giant compared to me.”

  “We’re not human,” he grumbled. “That’s the only answer I have.”

  Sorcha glanced over his shoulder, brows furrowing in confusion. “Why aren’t we going to the hag’s hut?”