by Emma Hamm
How badly did he want to connect those dots? Enough to clench his fists and lock the muscles of his legs, restraining himself from leaning forward and tugging the furs away. He had forgotten to bring her anything to wear.
Bless his forgetfulness.
“Are your visitors gone?” she asked.
“Excuse me?” His mind had been elsewhere. There were freckles dotting her arms, so it would make sense if they spread to her legs as well. Was she freckled everywhere?
“Your guests, the dangerous ones. Have they left?”
“Yes.”
“Is it safe for me to wander your halls again?”
“I—” he shook his head to clear it. “No, it’s never safe to wander the castle halls. There are many hidden secrets and spirits who keep them.”
“I haven’t met a spirit yet, just faeries.”
“Then you are lucky.”
“This place is one of the strangest I have ever seen. Spirits wandering the castle at night. Faeries in the kitchen. You do keep strange company, Stone.”
His name hovered on the tip of his tongue. Just once, he wanted to hear her say his name. His given name. But he knew how dangerous it would be to tell her. A human in possession of a faerie's name was bound to use it.
Even that danger would be worth hearing her lilting voice caress the syllables of his born name.
If he was any other man, he might have told her, but he buried the desire for the safety of his people. Eamonn was a creature bred for war and destruction. He could not take the risk.
She leaned forward and coughed again. His fists clenched, reminding his mind that she could take care of herself. She was human and not worthy of his instant reaction.
His father’s voice echoed in his mind. She was beneath him. A base creature on par with the lesser Fae. Ignore her struggles, but use her as a servant or slave when the time was right.
He’d never believed those words.
Eamonn stood and settled next to her on the bed. Her bare back shook, ribs expanding until he could see the bumping lines before hacking out air in the next second.
His hand was so large against her skin. It spanned the entirety of her back, rubbing gently back and forth. He did not pound, that wouldn’t help, just tried to comfort as his nursemaid used to do.
“Thank you,” she said on a sigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect a simple dip in the sea to affect me so.”
“That was more than a dip.”
“Venture?”
“Mistake.” He caught himself again. Why was he so cruel to her? He couldn’t understand why he tried to make it an argument every time she spoke. Other than the red peaks of color on her cheekbones that he so thoroughly enjoyed.
Eamonn didn’t clench his fists this time. He reached and ran a finger over the high arches of her cheeks, tracing the spaces between freckles.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
He could get lost in those eyes. Green like ivy leaves, like moss when the sun first strikes after days of rainfall. How was she holding him captive? Had she cast a spell on him?
Or maybe he was simply so starved for attention he couldn’t help himself. She was the first person to see him as a man, not a monster.
How could he stop?
Eamonn leaned down, eyes darting between her wide gaze and pouting lips. He’d never noticed her lips before. Berry red, thinner than most but still pleasing. Would she taste like the raspberry color staining her mouth?
“Master?” Cian’s voice cut through the silence, jolting him to his feet and back to reality. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s been an unexpected complication.”
“How so?”
“It’s the visiting Unseelie, sir. He’s requesting an audience, demanding really, and said he won’t take no for an answer.” Cian rubbed the side of his head. “He nearly took my ear off pulling at it.”
“Bran,” Eamonn grumbled. He glanced back at Sorcha, who clutched the furs to her chest. Her eyes were too wide, her chest heaving.
That was the fear he’d expected. He should’ve known that although she may someday trust him, she was unlikely to ever want him. What a fool he was.
Eamonn nodded and ducked out of the room. He’d made enough of a scene to want to hide from her for the rest of his existence. Bran had done the right thing by causing a mess only Eamonn could fix.
Damned Unseelie usually ended up being right.
Chapter Nine
THE UNSEELIE COURT
Sorcha moved permanently into the green room after her incident at the cliff. Boggart panicked, rushing around the hut and shattering plates until Sorcha caught her and explained the faerie was coming with her. That soothed her troubled mind although she didn’t let go of Sorcha’s leg for a few hours.
The faeries helped get all her things to her new room. She insisted everything go the bathroom; the clothes remained in the drier bedroom. She didn’t want to ruin the pristine image by filling it with wardrobes.
Thankfully, the faeries agreed.
Sorcha spent hours in the room, enjoying the quiet solitude. Boggart mostly stayed with the other brownies in the kitchen, having found a new appreciation for a large space to work with. She brought every meal to Sorcha and spent time listening to her talk. She still didn’t speak.
The warning Macha had issued rang in Sorcha’s ears more often than not. She’d tried to find Stone for several days, but he’d disappeared. She suspected he was in one of the castle towers. Pixie had whispered the suggestion a few times, but no one would tell her which tower.
Time was ticking. Every day passing by felt like a nail in her father's coffin. She had to do something! But there wasn’t anything to do—not as long as the master of the isle hid himself from everything and everyone.
She sat on the edge of the faerie fountain, watching minnows dart towards each other. Every tiny movement flashed their silver bellies as they playfully zipped away from her fingers.
It was late, and she should be sleeping. The longer she stayed on this isle, the less she felt the need for rest. Energy sparked in the air. It made the hair on her arms stand up and her body yearn to move, to dance, to do anything other than fall asleep. Again.
There was so much more she could be doing.
“But they won’t let me,” Sorcha breathed with a sigh. “They think I’m some well-to-do lady with no need to be in the garden.”
She snorted. She had mucked stalls, pulled weeds, and stuck her hands where they shouldn’t be. The scars on her arms and legs were proof enough!
They’d heard it all. Every time she argued with them, the faeries shook their glamoured heads and sent her back to her room, or for a walk in the fresh air, or heavens forbid suggest she might need something else to eat.
Sorcha ran a hand over her soft stomach. She’d eaten enough in the past month to feed three people, and still they said she was too skinny!
A minnow swam towards her swirling finger, tapping it before dashing away.
Sorcha smiled. At least the animals were welcoming. Even a few of the sheep had taken a liking to her, and they didn’t mind when she trudged through the fields with a dirty hem. The faeries would not make her a lady. She had no use for being a lady.
All she needed was their master to agree to return to the mainland.
“Sorcha,” a voice whispered on the wind. “Sooorchaaa.”
It exhaled her name, elongating the syllables until it sounded like a long drawn out moan. Frowning, Sorcha peered into the shadows. No eyes blinked back at her, no faeries stood in her doorways.
“Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone there?”
“Sorcha.”
“Yes?”
A soft breeze brushed against her face and stirred the hair hanging around her cheeks. This room was closed in the depths of the castles, with no windows or cracks where the wind might sneak through. A breeze was impossible.
And yet, there was.
She reached out her hand, fully expecting to meet a solid invisible body. It was not a solid beast, nor was it a faerie hiding in plain sight. This was truly air tangling around her.
Again, her name whispered through the room. This time it was accompanied by movement on the wall furthest from her. Ivy shifted in a waterfall of movement as if a hand brushed against the other side.
Sorcha rose from the fountain and gingerly made her way to the wall. She was certain there was nothing behind that wall. She’d checked a hundred times, running her hands over the plain stone as she checked for secrets the faeries may have hidden.
The ivy shifted again.
She held her breath and reached forward. The leaves were cold to the touch, far colder than the room.
“Sorcha,” the voice whispered. “Come to me.”
Magic swirled through the room. The ivy rustled, then suddenly blasted the greenery away from its surface. A burning white light grew so bright that Sorcha tossed an arm over her eyes. The sound of ringing bells filled her ears.
Then all was silent.
Sorcha dropped her arms, blinking at the swirling wall of darkness before her. The wall had turned into water. Dark water, like the bottom of the ocean that had nearly killed her.
She shivered. What kind of magic was this?
“Sorcha,” the voice warped as it passed through the liquid portal. “Sorcha, come to me.”
Her stomach dropped, but she couldn’t quell her own curiosity. Someone was calling for her. Were they hurt? Was it someone she knew?
She reached out and touched the wall. It quivered and quaked. A small piece of it broke off, floated over her shoulder, and popped in the center of her bedroom.
“Strange,” she whispered.
Everything here was strange, and she found that it didn’t shock her anymore. Watery portals, faeries in kitchens, boys made up of a menagerie of beasts. What else could happen in this strange and unusual place?
“Sorcha, there is not much time.”
She glanced over her shoulder. No faeries stood in her doorway, no whispers suggested they were listening. Would anyone know if she disappeared?
Someone would have an opinion about this. The angry lord of the castle would notice she had disappeared without his say so. A rebellious part of her wanted to plunge through the portal just to anger him.
“Why is that considered rebellious, Sorcha?” she asked herself. Her voice bounced back through the portal, echoing her words. “You’re curious. Go through the portal.”
“Yes,” the whisper repeated. “Go through the portal.”
“It could be dangerous.”
“It is dangerous.”
“But that has never stopped me before.”
“You are brave.”
“What if this is an Unseelie?” she peered through the waters, trying to see if anyone stood beyond.
“It’s definitely Unseelie.”
“They’re unpredictable.”
“They’re everything you ever desired.”
“How so?”
Apparently, the voice didn’t want to answer questions, as it didn’t respond. She waited to see if it would speak again.
It didn’t.
Sorcha understood what it was doing. The voice, or owner of the voice, wanted her to go through the portal and it wanted to convince her to do so. This couldn’t end well. She had read countless tales where faeries lured humans into their worlds. The Unseelie were not kind to humans.
“This is a terrible idea,” she whispered. “You’re going to end up hurting me, or trapping me in the otherworld forever.”
“We wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“You want to do harm.”
“We want to provide knowledge.”
“What could you know that I do not?”
The wind coiled around her ankles and wrists. “We know much, little human. Your beast is not what he says he is.”
“My beast?”
“Stone.” The voice moaned the word, dragging out the syllables as it had her name. “He is not who he seems to be.”
“Then who is he?”
“Come to me, Sorcha. I will explain all you desire to know.”
Her scalp tingled.
This was a trap. This was an Unseelie who wanted to lure her into the Otherworld and toy with her.
How did the stories always end? The human would lose their minds in the depths of the Unseelie kingdom. They would find themselves slaves, left to the mercy of the hideous creatures crawling through the muck and mire
But so many of these creatures were different than the stories. The Seelies weren’t what she thought. Could it be that the Unseelie were also not how the myths portrayed?
Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the portal.
The liquid clung to her body, sticking to her hair and clothing. It pulled at her. Did it want to drown her? The sticky fluid clawed at her lips and eyes, but never sank into the wide gape of her scream.
Cold sank into her body until she was certain it would freeze her. She would die here and the Unseelie would win. Her toes curled, her fingers grew numb and the coils of her curls solidified.
What a fool she was.
The bubble of portal popped and threw her out. She gasped, tumbling onto a stone floor. Air whooshed from her lungs as she struck with such force that her ribs creaked.
Laying on the ground, she tried to find her bearings. Dim, grey light revealed shadows but no solid forms. The floor was solid stone, so she wasn’t outside. The air was stale. It tasted like dust and something she couldn’t quite name. Rotten, but sweet. She could hear a soft sound above. A dull shush, a scrape of something heavy brushing against stone.
That was impossible. There couldn’t be anything above her, not something that weighed enough to make that sound.
Curling her hands into fists, she squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. She was brave. She was strong. Fear would not force her to curl into a ball and weep.
Sorcha’s fingers began to shake.
“Sorcha,” the voice called out to her again. This time it wasn’t through the portal, but echoing from above. “Look at me.”
“I wish not to.”
“Look at me!” The voice boomed so loud that Sorcha flattened herself against the floor in fear.
Cold seeped through the front of her dress. She blew out a breath and wondered what Macha would do. Would she draw her sword and threaten the Unseelie’s life?
Probably, but Sorcha was not Macha. She couldn’t condemn anyone when she hadn’t spoken to them, judged their character, heard their story. There was no reason for her to be frightened of this creature who commanded her gaze. She placed her hand flat against the floor and pushed herself onto her back.
A monster anchored herself to the ceiling above Sorcha. At first, she couldn’t make out the shape hovering in the air. It was too large, too much of a blob made of shadow.
Then she made out the bulbous stomach, bloated and larger than three horses combined. Eight legs stuck out from the wide belly. They shifted as she watched, smoothing across the stone ceiling, and creating the sound she had heard.
Attached to the body was the torso of a woman. Heavily muscled, so pale she was almost blue, with long lanky hair that hung down towards Sorcha. The smile spread across the creature’s face split from ear to ear.
“Hello, Sorcha of Ui Neill,” the monster murmured. “Welcome to Caisleán dorcha.”
Not just Unseelie then, Sorcha realized. This was their castle, the home to the royal family of Unseelie beasts. The family who were kings and queens of monsters.
She swallowed the scream rising in her throat, and instead stared in horror at the woman trapped in a white blanket of webbing. “Lovely to meet you.”
“Is it?” The woman cocked her head to the side. “You look positively terrified.”
“I am.”
“Then why don’t you scream?”
“I do not wish to offend.”
“A scream is a gift.” Thin legs scraped the ceiling as she untangled herself. Muffled thumps echoed, one leg striking the ground near Sorcha’s legs. More followed, thumping again and again until the creature was looming over her. “It is an agreement that I am a terrifying creature whom you respect and fear.”
Sorcha swallowed hard.
The woman leaned down, until she nearly touched Sorcha’s face with her own. A hairy leg balanced her right next to Sorcha’s ear. “I wish to hear you scream.”
She couldn’t contain it. Sorcha squeezed her eyes shut and screamed out her fear and terror. This beast wasn’t just going to scare her, she would devour her whole.
No stories whispered this creature’s name. Nothing had hinted to the little midwife from Ui Neill that something like this ever existed. Faeries were strange, yes, but they were never so deformed as this.
A leg stroked her stomach. She pushed backwards but knocked her head against a thick leg. The tiny fibers of hairs brushed the back of her neck. Trapped, she was trapped. There was nothing she could do but scream and scream.
“Enough!” The booming shout splintered through her skull in tiny points of pain. “You have done me a great honor with such terror.”
She traversed over Sorcha, heavy belly brushing against her side. Sorcha swallowed the gorge that rose in her throat. The stomach was smooth, not hairy like her legs. A red splotch of color resembled an hourglass on her belly, but Sorcha had never seen the arachnids in Ui Neill.
The creature pressed her hands against Sorcha’s chest, forcing her to stare up at the ceiling. Shock tied her tongue in knots. The creature only wanted to hear her scream? What other purpose did she have for dragging Sorcha here?
Of course, there might not be a purpose at all. The Unseelie might have found herself bored and merely wanted a plaything. But how had she known where Sorcha was?
The cobwebs on the ceiling moved.
“Please, don’t let there be another,” she whispered.