by Emma Hamm
“I do not wish to see my future.”
“I wish to see it.”
Sorcha frowned and remained where she was. “You want to see my future? Why am I so important to the Queen of the Unseelie Court?”
“Look.”
She wanted to. Every fiber of her being screamed for Sorcha to look into the future and see what would happen. Who didn’t want to know what their end would look like? How much time she had left?
But what would she find? If she stayed on Hy-brasil her family would die and she would’ve done nothing to prevent it. If she returned home without Stone, it was likely she would die from the beetle plague. There was only one suitable ending, and it was slowly slipping out of reach.
Sorcha shook her head. “I have no wish to see my future. I will stand before the mirror if you need to see it, but I will not look.”
“You have no desire to see the end of your life?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “I want it more than anything, but I am also frightened of it. I make my own choices, and I would rather believe they have not already been destined.”
The Queen’s expression softened, a strange look on such a monstrous being. She lifted a hand and beckoned Sorcha forward. “Then I will look for you, child.”
Her footsteps echoed in the altar room. Each steady sound beat in tune with the pounding of her heart. She closed her eyes as the mirror began to move and turned her back.
Even the air seemed to hold its breath. The Queen was silent as she watched the images casting light on the floor. They twirled and moved at Sorcha’s feet and she watched them with rapt attention, but could not make out what they meant.
One of the daughters gasped, and a thick body moved above them. Sorcha held still until the cold sank into her bones. Her toes ached, her fingers trembled, and her breath fogged the air.
“So that is your choice,” the Queen said. “You are an interesting woman, Sorcha of Ui Neill.”
“Is it an agreeable choice?” She wanted to ask why she was making a choice at all. Thousands of reasons danced through her mind, but none seemed important enough to tempt a Queen. Of course, even the wing beat of a butterfly could change time.
“It is agreeable to me.”
“And to me?”
“I do not know you, human child, how should I know what you will find agreeable?”
Sorcha licked her lips. “May I turn around?”
“Do you wish to?”
“No.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“I have never flinched away from something I was afraid of.”
Thumping from the ceiling made the cobwebs twang. They vibrated as the great king of the Unseelie Court descended from his throne. He was so much louder than his wife. She prayed it was because he did not care to be quiet or dainty. She had a feeling she was wrong.
Sorcha slowly turned, holding her breath so hard her lungs hurt. She would not scream again. These creatures could try to frighten her time and time again, but she would not scream.
He stepped from the ceiling, long legs clacking as they struck the ground. Armor covered the hairy appendages that rubbed together with a grating sound. Like his wife, the king was too muscular to be attractive. His body bulged, swollen with meat and strength.
“This is the girl?” he grumbled. His eighth leg touched the ground and he lurched towards his wife, rubbing a leg against hers. “Did you find out what you need to know?”
“I found out enough.”
“If I may,” Sorcha asked. Her voice wobbled. “Will you now tell me why you summoned me here?”
“You’re going to find out soon enough. You are welcome to leave now, human girl.”
Sorcha wasn’t sure if she should. The entire situation was scarring and terrifying, but there was something strange about the faeries.
“You aren’t telling me everything,” she murmured. “Why are you meddling in my life?”
“The master of your isle does not know there are Unseelie living in his household. You must be careful, for you do care for them.”
“Who?”
“Oona is her given name, and as she is of my Court, I gift her name to you.”
“Who is she?”
“Your Pixie.”
So, her name was Oona. It was a beautiful name for a beautiful creature, and Sorcha was honored that the Queen thought her trustworthy enough to gift it.
“That still doesn’t answer my question.”
“I have no intention of answering.”
“Fair enough,” Sorcha murmured. “I’ll have to ask Bran if he has any idea.”
The Queen froze, and the King stiffened. He cocked his head to the side and lifted a long finger to point at her. “What does this Bran look like?”
Sorcha gestured at her face. “Half raven, half man. He has feathers, a raven eye, and the leg of a bird.”
Echoes of laughter came from all directions of the room. They bounced atop the ceiling and shook the webs.
The Queen shook her head, still chuckling. “Ah, you have met my ugliest son then.”
Ugly? The royals in front of her were anything but pretty. How could Bran be considered the ugly one?
The King shook his head. “Unseelie do not value beauty in the same way the Seelie do. He is too human, too weak, and can only change his form into a raven. Pathetic excuse for a child, but then, he is the youngest. We do not have to worry about him taking the throne any time soon. Be gone, human. Tell my boy to come home soon. His sisters miss him.”
One of the albino daughters lifted her hands as if she were pleading. Were these creatures even capable of such emotions? Did they miss their family or did they miss the way they might torture them?
Sorcha didn’t plan to stay and find out. Bowing so low that her forehead nearly touched the floor, she whispered, “It was an honor, Your Majesties.”
“An honor?” The Queen tsked. “Oh dearie, the Unseelie do not like lies. You may want to run, for my children are hungry and your fear tastes sweeter than wine.”
Sorcha did not have to be told twice. She’d counted each step as she followed the Queen and knew the way back to the portal.
Spinning, she raced down the stairs taking them two at a time. It didn’t matter that she might trip and fall. Breaking her neck would be a blessing if it meant freedom from this hellish castle.
Breath sawed in and out of her lungs until she tasted blood. Screaming laughter chased her, goblins and trolls whooping and hollering as they tracked her. Down the corridors she flew until she couldn’t hear them anymore.
She slowed to a walk, holding her ribs as they ached from overuse. Why did she ever wear the dresses Pixie gave her? They were too tight!
Oona, she corrected herself. Pixie’s name was Oona.
She smiled at the thought. Oona might not be pleased, but it was a beautiful name and Sorcha would never use it without permission. It was the third Fae name she held. How lucky a woman was she?
The portal room remained untouched. Fog swirled across the ground, lifting in tendrils that looked like hands reaching for help. Sorcha walked through them. She had to remember that these were Unseelie Lands and did not live by the same laws.
She couldn’t help those who were suffering without condemning herself to the same fate.
Sorcha pulled her cloak around her when cold air drifted underneath its folds. She shivered and peered into the darkness to find the watery portal, or even the barest hint of leaves.
There. In the deepest shadows between leaves and branches, she recognized a familiar stone wall.
Brushing aside ivy and moss, she placed her hands against its cold stone surface.
“There you are,” she said. “It’s time to go home.”
Nothing happened. She scraped her hands all over the edges, but couldn’t open the portal. Nothing seemed to work, no gemstone in a sword that she could push, no whispered words.
“Oh, what have you done?” she whispered into the night. “Ho
w am I supposed to go home now?”
“Portals are magic, you know,” a familiar voice echoed. Deep and baritone, she had only heard it once before.
Sorcha turned on her heel, pivoting to glare at the Unseelie Fae who stood behind her. “Bran.”
“Sorcha.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I should ask you the same question. Don’t you know that the Otherworld is dangerous for humans?”
“I could say the same for Unseelie. It’s worse here, so I’ve heard.”
“Ah, there are so many bad stories about my kind.” He grinned, his raven eye dancing to and fro while the human eye remained locked on her. “Not all stories are true, little human.”
“You’ve been kind thus far.” She pressed her spine against the wall. “I would ask you continue to do the same.”
“I hear you met my parents.”
“And some of your siblings as well. I would never have guessed you came from such parentage.”
“Where did you think I came from? A bird?”
“Certainly, something that suggests the same species,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “You lied to me. You didn’t tell me you were an Unseelie prince!”
“I was not aware that you were privy to such knowledge.”
Sorcha blinked in shock, her jaw falling open. “How dare you even say such a thing? You traveled across the sea with me! You followed me from the MacNara’s, and you teased me in front of Stone. I would even go so far as to muse that you were behind him moving me into the castle!”
“Do you think I’m looking out for you, I wonder?”
“Why else would you be following me?”
“Because the MacNara twins paid me to? Perhaps I wished to infiltrate your ‘Stone’s’ castle. Or maybe I wanted to drag you here to be my slave.” He cocked his head to the side. “There are plenty of reasons and none of them kind.”
“And none that I believe.”
“Is that so?”
“You are far too smart a man to be bought, even by the MacNara twins who appear to be intelligent and manipulative people. You don’t want to harm Stone; you practiced with him like an old friend and teased him quite mercilessly. And if you wanted to drag me back to Unseelie with you, why haven’t you? Why wait until your mother summoned me?” She tilted her chin up, refusing to be cowed by this dark man.
“Ever so brave,” he whispered. “You are a remarkable little human. Did you know that? There are few who would dare stand up to me in such a way, but you didn’t even flinch. You are quite the match for him.”
“For who?”
“No one.”
She arched a brow. “Really? That’s what you have to say?”
“No one, everyone, someone.” He shrugged. “There are plenty of people of whom I could be speaking. The long and short of it is that you need to go back home before he finds out where you’ve gone.”
“Stone?”
“Yes.”
“You—” she bit her lip. “You know him?”
“No one knows him.”
“But you know him more than most.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you might answer a few questions for me.”
Bran’s raven eye narrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest and the bird eye looked her up and down. He was measuring her or trying to see a way through her lies. Finally, he waved a hand for her to continue.
“Your mother made me look in the scrying bowl. There were faeries that the Seelies used for slaves. Branded, mistreated, living out their lives as if they were not worth even the slightest of things. Is this true, or was this some kind of Unseelie trick?”
He snorted. “The Seelie like to make their people labor until they break. They believe in bloodlines and power more than respect. Don’t let them fool you. They preach honor and then stab each other in the back.”
“Is Stone treating the faeries on the isle like slaves?”
“Do you think he is?”
She pondered the question before shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen no behavior that might support such an accusation. But I do not see him often, and secrets hide in the shadows.”
“I know Stone well enough to say that he’s not treating them like anything. He’s a solitary creature. Rare for a Fae.”
“Is it?”
“We’re creatures who like the company of others. Even the Unseelie enjoy each other’s company. Stone has never been like that. They say he used to tent away from his men on the battlefield. He was the first to reach enemy lines, and the first the enemy found if they came looking in the night.”
“And now?”
Bran cocked his head to the side. “Ask a more direct question.”
“Is he the same man now as he was back then?”
“No, but not in the way you think. He has become harder and softer with time.”
“How is that possible?” She wanted to know the answer so much it burned in her belly.
He shook his head. “That’s a story I can’t tell you. You must ask him if you want to know that badly.”
“How can I ask him? I rarely see him!”
“That might change soon.” Mischief and hidden knowledge sparkled in his eyes.
“You know something I don’t know.”
“I always know something humans don’t know. You’re a lucky little thing to be living in a time of such burgeoning change.”
Sorcha’s mind raced to keep up with the Unseelie Fae. His words made little sense, but she knew he mostly spoke in riddles. There was something he didn’t want to tell her. Something she needed to figure out for herself.
“Are you lying?”
“I cannot lie.”
“Are you hiding the truth?”
Bran’s face split in a jagged edged smile. His raven eye locked upon her gaze while the other glanced away. “Faeries always hide the truth. It’s too easy if we don’t.”
“I would argue it’s much better if you don’t hide the truth. You might get the results you want.”
“Where’s the fun in that? It’s better if the ending is chosen by free will rather than our own design.”
“Why get involved if you don’t have a specific ending you want to see?” Sorcha shook her head, knowing he wouldn’t answer her question. “Can you open the portal, Bran? I’d like to go home.”
“Home?” He tilted his head to the side again. “Curious choice of words.”
“Slip of the tongue. My home is with my sisters.”
“Perhaps now, but not for long.” He nodded at the portal. “All you have to do is see through the glamour, and you can go home.”
“How am I supposed to—ah.” She pulled the hag stone from between her breasts and placed it against her eye.
The stone turned to a watery portal through the small hole in the hag stone. Light shimmered from its surface. The ivy beyond had not been pulled back, leaving the room obscured and difficult to see, but it was there.
She knew it was.
“Thank you,” she said as she turned.
Bran had disappeared. There wasn’t time to figure out what he was hiding. She took a deep breath, stilled the disquieting sadness in her heart, and left the Unseelie lands behind.
Chapter Ten
THE KISS
Leaving the Unseelie castle was more difficult than entering. The cold touch of the portal sent gooseflesh across Sorcha’s skin. Magic such as this should never touch a human. It slid along her body like the foreign touch of an unseen person.
Sorcha shuddered, unnerved by the cold, clammy sensation. It was over soon, or would be as soon as her left foot slid free. Ivy brushed against her face until she blew out a breath that stirred the greenery.
She fluttered a hand in front of her face, parting the curtain of ivy and entering the enchanting bedroom.
Nothing had changed. All her things were exactly where she had placed them. The blue flowers glowed with a soft light emanating from their petals on the
far wall. The faerie fountain stared placidly off into the distance, hardly comparable to the real thing.
How could she ever look at this place with the same eyes? This island was beautiful, but the shadows now moved, and the bed looked like a prison.
She sighed and unhooked the clasp of her cloak. It fell to the ground with a wet thump although she didn’t remember getting it wet.
Exhaustion overwhelmed her. She couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t hovering in the corners of her mind like an unwelcome house guest. She never remembered inviting the bone biting feeling, but it never seemed to leave.
A soft sound interrupted her thoughts. Sorcha couldn’t pinpoint where it came from in the room. Everything was how she left it, right down to the emerald leaves overlaying the walls.
Again, the shushing noise echoed in her ears. It was the distinct sound of fabric sliding against fabric. The movement of a human body.
Or perhaps that of a Fae.
She sucked in her breath and froze, shifting until the portal was no longer at her back. The air was too still, laced with violence and aggression. She’d never felt danger so powerfully.
Her heart beat. She breathed so quietly she hardly inhaled at all. Darting eyes searched for the cause of the sound as she wondered what’d followed her onto the isle.
A shadow peeled away from the wall, rushing towards her so fast that Sorcha didn’t have time to react. A pillar of darkness surrounded her. She slammed back into the stone wall, ivy tangling in her hair and around her shoulders.
Sorcha turned her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, look death in the eye. Taking one last deep inhale, she caught the scent of lemons, mint, and whiskey.
Stone?
His shaking hand brushed a coiled red curl away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.
“Where were you?”
The question reverberated in her mind, but she couldn’t find the words to answer. Questions of her own overpowered her tongue. How had he realized she left? Why was he here? What had happened while she traversed the Otherworld?
Was he drunk?
He stumbled, rocking sideways before catching himself with a forearm slammed against the wall above her. “Where were you?”