Heart of the Fae

by Emma Hamm

  He chuckled, “Stubborn?”

  “I recognize familiar flaws.”

  “Yes, you are certainly stubborn, little human.”

  “So much so that I refuse to give up on bringing you back with me. I have to save my family, Stone.”

  He growled, and she shrieked as his arms wrapped around her and lifted her into his lap. Encircling her with crystal and the scent of mint, he stared. “You refuse to give up on this cursed adventure?”

  “It’s not cursed. Macha sent me herself! I made a deal, Stone. And I don’t think she’ll let me give up any time soon.”

  “Macha,” he grumbled. “She is ever meddlesome. Far too interested in humankind if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “You shouldn’t have made a deal with Macha.”

  “It was the only way to save my family.” She reached up and cupped the good side of his face, leaving the raw edges free to her gaze. “I will not regret making this deal, because it led me to meet the most magical people, a wondrous land, an enchanted place filled with all the delights I never would have seen otherwise.”

  He tilted his face in her palm. Light sparked off the edges of crystals and nearly blinded her. “I am glad you will remember this place fondly.”

  “And she brought me to you.”

  Stone stiffened in her arms, his eyes snapping open, burning into her soul. “Why would you say that?”

  “You are the most intriguing man I have ever met.”

  “Monster.”

  “Man.” She pulled him closer, pressing her forehead against his and tasting mint upon the air. He had endured so much, had survived it, and all she could think was that she’d finally met someone who could understand her.

  This was a man who had seen what perceived differences could do, in the most drastic of terms. His own family had condemned him for his appearance and had disregarded his suffering.

  She wanted to fix him so much, her heart ached.

  “I am sorry life has been so cruel. You should never have suffered, but you are strong and kind underneath all those layers of stone and gem.”

  “It made me strong,” he growled, his breath fanning over her lips.

  “Oh yes, you are very strong.”

  She heard the creaking of his teeth grinding against each other. “You should flee this isle and tuck yourself back into bed.”

  “Why?”

  “I am not the kind of man you want to fall in love with, Sorcha.”

  “Who said anything about love?” She surged up, pressing her nose against his and her chest flush to his crystal shoulder. “My time here is finite, unlike your long-lived kind. All I can ask is for memories that will fill my thoughts with magic. You’ve done that for me already, Stone.”

  He growled. “My name is not Stone.”

  “Then would you tell me what it is already?”

  Her heart stopped as his broad hand pressed against the small of her back. He cupped her head and slanted his lips across hers, pulling the breath from her lungs as his tongue tangled with hers. Heat spread across her skin like a powerful desert wind.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist, knees tucked against his ribs. It didn’t matter that the crystals dug into her thighs or that her lungs screamed for air. The taste of mint, lemon, and man coated her tongue and made her lips tingle with new desires.

  He groaned, clenching his fist at the back of her head. Her hair tugged, little needles of crystal biting the back of her skull. She should tell him it hurt, but the warmth of his kiss was overwhelming. He didn’t just kiss or taste.

  He claimed.

  Sorcha gripped his crystal shoulders and let her mind free. She focused upon the feather-light touches stroking the dip of her spine. The lingering pass of sharp crystal and velvet soft lips. The hypnotic rhythm of his darting tongue.

  He pulled back, and they both gasped in air. His hands fisted in the material of his cloak wrapped around her, but he did not pull or rip. She thought he might, considering how his hands were shaking.

  “I thought I had imagined that first kiss,” he whispered.

  “Did you?”

  “I was drunk.”

  “You smelled of whiskey.”

  “I wasn’t entirely in my right mind.”

  “I noticed,” she smiled. It was impossible not to touch his face, now that she knew he wouldn’t flinch away. The crystals were a tantalizing texture against the heat of his skin. “Would you have hurt Oona?”

  “I have no way of knowing. The Fae are…precipitous at the best of times.”

  “Easily angered?”

  “Emotions do not come naturally to us, and when we do feel, it is a thousand times stronger than any other species.”

  “Ah,” she whispered as he pressed his lips against her fingers. “That is why Boggart changed so much when she lost the hag.”

  “And when she met you.”

  “I am no paragon nor miracle maker.”

  “No, but you are infinitely kind and you always remember to thank us for our services. Do you know how much that means to a faerie?”

  “It’s what I would want them to do for me,” she replied. “They have given me no reason to not be kind. Their hearts are good and their intentions pure, no matter the cause. This has been my dream since I was a child, to sit here on the edges of a pool with kelpies and faeries surrounding me.”

  “Then I am glad I could make your dreams come true.” He said the words as if she had given him a gift.

  She rolled off him, planting her butt back on the cold rocks with a small smile on her face. “Did you say something about breakfast?”

  “In truth, I forgot it at the castle.”

  “Did you?” Sorcha burst into bright peals of laughter. “Stone, that was the entire point of this trip!”

  “The entire point was introducing you to the kelpies,” he grumbled. But he smiled that sideways smile she recognized.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach. “It was a magical experience I’m not likely to forget. Can I come back and see them again?”

  “As long as you are with one of the Fae.”

  “Why?”

  “Kelpies serve their purpose. They are not good at resisting temptation.” He stood and held out a hand for her to take. “And you are most certainly tempting.”

  She grasped his hand and did her best not to wince as the crystals on his palm dug into her skin. “But they aren’t dangerous to the Fae?”

  “Not at all. They recognize us as one of their own. You, however, are human.”

  Sorcha tucked a strand of hair behind her pointed ears. “My father used to jest that I had faerie blood, because of these.”

  “If you had faerie blood, the kelpie would have known it. He tried to get you to climb atop his back.”

  “It didn’t feel like he was trying to kill me.” She glanced over at the male kelpie who flicked his seaweed tail in their direction. “It felt different from that.”

  “They have their purpose, and they know it well. He would have pulled you underneath the waves if you’d let him.”

  Sorcha didn’t respond, but placed her hand on top of Stone’s forearm and let him draw her from the magical place. Her mind stayed with the kelpies, wondering if he would have harmed her after all. It didn’t seem like that was the intention.

  Those dark green eyes had seemed almost sad. Sorcha couldn’t believe it wanted to hurt her. Rather more that it simply wanted to show her something remarkable.

  Flour burst into the air in great white clouds. The brownie it struck stared in horror at the mess covering her apron, then narrowed her mouse-like eyes and twitched her elongated snout.

  “M’lady!”

  Sorcha covered her mouth with a giggle and let the remaining flour drop back into its bag. “Sorry!”

  “You are not sorry! I watched you pick it up and throw it right at me!”

  “You said you needed flour.”

  “I said I needed help cooking! You�
�re making a mess!” The brownie tsked. “Whatever are we going to do with you, child?”

  “Perhaps give me something to do rather than bother you.”

  “Is that your game?” The brownie sniffed. “Working around the kitchens is no place for a lady.”

  “I’m not a lady. I’m a street rat turned midwife who lives above a brothel! How many times do I have to tell you? Give me something to do with my hands!”

  “I most certainly will not.”

  “You could use the help,” Sorcha trailed the brownie around the table, tapping her soft head as she went. “I can bake bread, I can peel potatoes, I even used to make soup for the entire family. I think I could figure out how to make even more than that.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “Why are you so stubborn?”

  The brownie whirled and brandished a wooden spoon. “Why are you so persistent? Go make yourself useful somewhere else, child!”

  “Where? In the gardens? Cian’s already chased me out three times today!”

  “Did he use the pitchfork?”

  Sorcha rubbed her behind. “Yes.”

  “Good. That’s the only way to get nasty little things like you to stay where they’re told.”

  Sorcha groaned and plopped down on a chair. “What am I supposed to do then? Wait around until someone gets hurt? That’s dangerous you know, I’ll just start causing accidents to ease my own boredom.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” the brownie said as she slipped off the apron and beat it with the spoon. “You’re too kind for that.”

  “Yes, I am. But I have given it a good hard thought!”

  “Thoughts aren’t actions, love. Now would you get out of my kitchen? I’ve got to make a day’s worth of meals for all the faeries and you aren’t helping.”

  “But I want to help!”

  Steam rose in the air from the big pot of soup the brownie was working on. She waved a hand and knives chopped the vegetables, measuring cups scooped up milk and salt, even the dish cloths Sorcha had ripped down rose back into their place.

  Magic made everything so much easier. It felt almost like cheating.

  Sorcha sighed and banged her forehead down on the center table.

  “You’re getting my table dirty.”

  “I’m resting,” she murmured against the grain. “Isn’t that what you all keep telling me to do?”

  Oona’s voice joined them, thoroughly amused. “Resting is what you’re supposed to be doing regularly. Somehow you forget that.”

  “I’ve rested so much that I don’t even want to sleep at night!”

  “Well, dearie, that’s the life of a lady.”

  “Then lady’s lives are boring and I want my old one back.”

  Oona rubbed her back as she passed, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “We need to go back to your room. Now. But you cannot seem suspicious, no one can know.”

  Now that was exactly what Sorcha needed to spice up the day. She sat up straight and plastered a fake smile on her face. “Oona, I think I have a new idea for decorating my room. Would you come with me and suggest plants that might grow?”

  “You want to plant things?”

  “Of course, but I’ll need your opinions. I can’t understand what would grow here and what wouldn’t.”

  The brownie turned and gave them both a suspicious glance. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” Sorcha said. “I just want to redecorate.”

  “Oona, you be careful with that little human. She’s a menace!”

  Oona smiled, “Oh she’s a dear little thing, just bored is all. I’ll take her out of your hair, if it pleases you.”

  “It does,” the brownie grumbled. “And make sure she doesn’t come back any time soon!”

  As if she would go back into that kitchen run by a stuck-up mouse.

  Oona hustled her from the room with a hand on her back. Sorcha should have been alarmed at the speed they raced towards the portal, but excitement coursed through her veins.

  “Don’t you run the kitchens?”

  “Not anymore. The master said that’s only for people he can trust to not put poison in his meals.”

  “Rude!” Sorcha blurted. “He knows you’re loyal.”

  “He does, but I betrayed him, dearie. It was the right thing to do. Now, open this wall so we can get inside. It’s of the utmost importance.”

  The fear in Oona’s voice rattled Sorcha. This wasn’t an exciting trip, or even something that would end in a baby. Her brows furrowed, and she pressed the stone pommel hard.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked as they raced into her bedroom. “Did something happen to one of the faeries?”

  “They’re fine. It’s you I’m worried about. You’ve been summoned.”

  “Summoned?” Sorcha snorted. “By who? The master again?”

  “By the king.”

  Her ears stopped working. All she could hear was a painful ringing sound. The crashing of bells and funeral dirges.

  “The king?” she repeated. “How does the king know I exist?”

  “I don’t know, my dear. But he knows and you cannot refuse him”

  “Who is the king of the Seelie now?”

  “His Highness the Wise.” Oona spit on the floor. “And may he rot forever in his castle. He does not respect the lesser Fae, and I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. Pathetic excuse for a man, and dangerous. You must be careful with your words.”

  “I won’t go.” Sorcha shook her head. “He’s not my king; I don’t have to answer.”

  “He is everyone’s king. If you don’t go, he will send someone to hunt you down. The Wild Hunt is nothing compared to the creatures the king can call down upon you.”

  Then she had to go. There were no other options, but Sorcha still wracked her mind trying to figure out a way to escape.

  “The king?” she repeated. “What would he want with me?”

  “Midwives are scarce, and rumor has it his most favored concubine is pregnant.”

  “Why doesn’t he have a Queen?”

  “Not this king,” Oona muttered. “He has chosen to rule alone.”

  “Isn’t that a bad idea?”

  “It’s a terrible idea! The Seelie queen has always tempered the king. She is the kindness to his justice, the heart of the people. She is giving and just. That has always been the way of it until His Highness the Wise took the throne.”

  Oona swung a cloak over Sorcha’s shoulders, smoothing the fabric until it settled just right. Worry furrowed her leaf-like brow.

  “You’re making me worried,” Sorcha said with a soft smile. She touched Oona’s brow gently. “I won’t do anything rash. And, as you remember, I’m a knowledgeable midwife.”

  “Don’t say a thing about living on Hy-brasil,” Oona advised. “He won’t like that information very much. All we can do is hope his informants don’t tell him how they found you.”

  “Why shouldn’t I tell him about Hy-brasil?”

  Oona guided her towards the carved portal and lifted her hands into the air. Delicate, twig fingers swung in the air as she called magic to life. “No matter what you do, do not mention the master.”

  “Why can’t I mention Stone? Or Hy-brasil?” Sorcha backed towards the portal and stared Oona down. “I need to know before I make a mistake!”

  The cold touch of the portal slid up her ankle and calf before Oona bowed her head. “You’ll figure it out when you get there, dearie. Just keep us all, and yourself, safe.”

  The pixie reached forward and shoved Sorcha’s shoulder. She tumbled onto a cold marble floor, worry spinning her head.

  She would know when she got there? What in the world did that mean?

  “Ah,” the cold voice made her freeze. “You must be the midwife.”

  It was so inhuman that she had no difficulty pinpointing to whom the voice belonged. The king himself waited on the other end of the portal, and Oona hadn’t even mentioned that. Sorcha still had flo
ur dusting her skirts!

  She placed her hands firmly on the floor, following the lines of gold in the polished stone all the way to the most extravagant throne she had ever seen. It was so tall it touched the ceilings, feathers and fairy wings turning it into a testament of Fae. Red billowing curtains stretched from the top all the way to the ground like theater curtains.

  A man reclined in its center. This was all far too much show for a midwife, but the silver cape he wore trailed three men’s length onto the floor. His white blonde hair reached his waist, just touching the embroidered waistcoat he wore. Not a single stitch was out of place.

  Guards stood at attention all around, their golden armor gleamed in the sunlight pouring from the open ceiling, nearly blinding her. They clutched swords the same height as Sorcha in their hands.

  “Your highness,” she said and bowed her head again. “I am the midwife.”

  “Good. I have use for your skills. Come with me, human.” His voice was as cold as the bitter blizzards in the dead of winter.

  She shivered and rose to her feet. “It is always a pleasure to provide services to those who require them.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind when I need a new concubine.” His feet entered her line of vision. Perfectly manicured shell pale toes framed by his golden sandals. “Who can say no to a king?”

  He lifted a hand, and her gaze locked upon his fingertips. Stained black as night, his nails were pointed. She had seen the cause before in a previous patient. By the time she arrived, the woman had already been comatose.

  Opium addiction was a dangerous beast to tame.

  The stained fingers slid underneath her chin and tilted her face to the light. She was hesitant to look him in the eye—kings could be quite strange—but Sorcha had never been cowed before.

  She looked up and her world ended.

  Stone stared back at her. Or not Stone, but what he might have been if crystals hadn’t cracked through his skull.

  Perfect cheekbones, flawless skin, full lips that she had seen quirk to the side so many times she knew each line and fold. His eyes frightened her most. Vivid blue, like the sky after a violent lightning storm and so familiar her heart hurt. Now, she saw cruelty reflected in those eyes. She missed the flawed fissures and frown lines surrounding them.