The Faceless Woman_A Retelling of the Swan Princess

by Emma Hamm

“You omitted going to the Otherworld. I can’t go there.” Her heart raced at the mere thought of that cursed faerie land. She rubbed her grumbling stomach that threatened to toss her meager breakfast onto the ground.

  “That’s where I’m going, witch. And if I remember right, binding curses require the pair to be in the same realm, do they not?”

  “You are correct, so it would behoove you to—”

  He spun on his heel and leveled her with a glare so filled with rage it stopped her in her tracks. “I’m going to the Otherworld with or without you. I suggest you think good and hard about just how much you want to keep that head on your shoulders. I care very little if I live or die. Do you?”

  Aisling gulped, feeling like a mouse being watched by a large cat. He stared at her a few moments longer, nodded, and then turned around as if he hadn’t just threatened to kill them both.

  Faeries.

  She glared at Lorcan. “Did you have to find a portal to the Otherworld? Of all places?”

  He flicked his tail. “I’m on his side with this one. You’re bound to him, and I don’t like it. The sooner we break the curse, the sooner we can return to our normal lives.”

  Normal? Since when had their lives ever been normal?

  Aisling watched the cat sidhe disappear into the grass again. The only way she could track him was by the moving line that parted the rolling pastures. Lorcan liked telling people what to do, and now she’d have to deal with the fat head he’d get from ordering an Unseelie around like he was one of the cat’s subjects.

  Lorcan guided them to a stream falling from a cliff high above them. White foam frothed on the ground where it struck, the water swirling with movement and life. The stones at the base were smoothed by years of runoff.

  She tilted her head back and stared at the wild beauty. Sometimes it startled her how lovely the land was. Emerald green moss clung to the rugged stones, and speckles of color showed through where granite peeked through the dirt and earth. Ui Neill was a land untouched, pristine and pure.

  “What is this?” the Unseelie exclaimed. “Some kind of jest?”

  Lorcan sauntered to the stream’s edge and stuck his paw in the cold water. He flicked droplets in their direction and then licked his pads. “This is it.”

  “Running water negates faerie magic. This isn’t a portal.”

  “But it can be.”

  “What are you blathering on about?”

  Lorcan flicked his gaze towards Aisling. “She’ll be more useful in this situation than I am. Ask her.”

  “Ask the witch?” The Unseelie planted his hands on his hips and turned toward her with a severe look. “What do you have to do with this?”

  “Aren’t you glad we’re bound now?” She tossed her loose hair over her shoulder.

  “You’d have to come up with a miracle for that to happen. Now, explain yourself.”

  “I can open a portal to the Otherworld.” Aisling shrugged her shoulder. “Magic is wonderful like that, isn’t it?”

  “You can open a portal to the Otherworld?”

  “Yes.”

  “A witch.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe it.” He rubbed the side of his head, scraping over budding feathers. “It’s not possible.”

  “Correction, it’s very possible. I’ve done it before.”

  Aisling thoroughly enjoyed watching him struggle for words. If he asked, she didn’t plan on telling him she’d opened a portal only once for a faerie-blooded lass. The woman had been kind enough, and all Aisling had done was let her slip through the portal and then sealed it behind her. She didn’t even know if the woman survived.

  The Unseelie’s eyes sparked in anger, as if he could read her thoughts.

  “Would you like me to show you?” she asked, fluttering her hand in the air with a pretend fan.

  “How?” He dropped his hands to his sides, in all appearances giving up. “How did you learn to do that?”

  “My grandmother. She had lots of books she shouldn’t have had and gave them to me to memorize. I'll admit, I'm bad at memorizing spells, but I did steal away a few them to keep for myself. She took whichever ones I finished back to where they came from.”

  “Which is?”

  “I never asked.”

  “Why wouldn’t you ask? Some old woman gives you spell books that contain faerie secrets, and you don’t think to ask where she was stealing them from?”

  Aisling pursed her lips. “I highly doubt she was stealing them.”

  “Then how was she getting them?”

  “Borrowing.”

  He let out a growl so loud it made Lorcan jump. “What are you, a brownie? No one borrows spell books from the Fae!”

  “Do you want me to open this portal or not?”

  “Yes!” he shouted. Frustration laced his tones with a breathy quality that sounded far too sensual for her liking. She felt her cheeks burn and was glad he couldn’t see her reaction.

  Why were faeries always so appealing? Why couldn’t they be ugly, malformed creatures who limped in the shadows? Well, she supposed this one was close to that. And he was still appealing!

  She took a deep breath and sighed. “Fine. We’re in agreement that I’ll open a portal, and then we’ll go to the Otherworld. Where I don’t want to go.”

  “Care to explain that?”

  “Not really.”

  “Secrets, secrets, and more secrets,” he muttered. “You’re an infuriating woman, you know that?”

  “You aren’t the first to say so.”

  “I bet.” When his hands opened and then closed, she heard the audible crack of his knuckles. “I need to clear my head. Just open the portal. I’ll be back soon.”

  “It takes a while to open a portal. It probably won’t be done by the time you get back.”

  “Don’t bet on it, witch.”

  “You intend to be gone for a full day then?”

  He glared at her. “Just get it done.”

  Aisling stared at his back after he turned from her. Strong and lithe, the lines of his muscles should have been on a dancer, a soldier, even a prince. Not some unruly Unseelie who—

  She gasped when he dissolved into ravens. They all took flight in the same cluster she’d seen in the trees when the flames had licked at her knees. It hadn’t been an unkindness of ravens. It had been one faerie staring at her through pieces of himself.

  “Dramatic,” Lorcan grumbled. He flattened himself on a large rock, the sun dancing across his glossy black fur. “Faeries always like to put on a show.”

  “Ridiculous creatures. Think he’ll be back soon?”

  “If he went through the effort to shape-shift, it’s unlikely.”

  “Good.”

  She stretched out on her belly next to the cat and let the sun warm her tired bones. The pack weighed down on her ribs, but she didn’t care anymore. Her entire body pulsed with relief at being able to pause for a few moments.

  Walking hadn’t always been this hard. Or maybe she’d never walked this far in her life. Either way, her feet felt like they were going to fall off and her thighs quivered just standing still.

  How did the faerie do it? He wandered through the fields without a care, whistling sometimes or plucking grass from the ground to weave in his hands. It was like he didn’t feel the same fatigue she did.

  “They’re impressive, aren’t they?” Lorcan asked. He rolled onto his back, the white starburst on his chest glowing.

  “Who?”

  “Faeries.”

  “I’ve yet to see him do anything impressive.”

  “Bursting into a flock of ravens doesn’t do it for you?”

  “An unkindness,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “It’s not a flock of ravens. It’s an unkindness of ravens, like a murder of crows.”

  Lorcan snuffled, almost as if he were mimicking laughter. “I don’t know which one I prefer.”

  “I do.” Aisling rolled over onto he
r side and scrubbed his belly. “I’ll take neither of them and live a much happier life.”

  “Don’t,” he grumbled, wiggling under her hand. “Stop it, Aisling, it tickles!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. What did you say?”

  His claws shone brilliantly as he unsheathed them and placed them dangerously close to the back of her hand. “I will scratch you.”

  “You have to get up and get me a bird anyway.”

  “The sacrifice? Again?”

  She nudged his side, poking at his soft underbelly until he rolled to his feet grumbling. “Yes, the sacrifice. I can’t cast a spell without one.”

  “I’m not sure other witches would agree with you.”

  “And I’m certain every witch would agree with me. Faeries might do things differently, but witches have to get the job done in creative ways. So go find a grouse or something similar in the bushes and bring it back. I’ll work on the rune frame.”

  “I don’t like the mess you make when you do this.”

  “Lorcan, you eat these birds raw all the time.”

  “Well, it all seems like a terrible waste.”

  She snorted. “I’ve told you before. I am not giving you the remains of the bird. It absorbs a lot of magic, and I have no idea what might happen if you eat it.”

  “Like turning into a human?”

  Poor Lorcan. He wanted to turn back into a human desperately, but magic wasn't that easy. Witches could use one of their lives as a cat and usually had no issue turning back into their previous form, but Lorcan was stuck. He didn’t know why or how. Aisling had a feeling it was because he didn't really want to turn back. Life was significantly harder as a human.

  He raced off into the undergrowth, grumbling the entire way. She shook her head at his antics. Lorcan liked to help, no matter how much he complained. And catching a grouse would distract him from the black magic she was about to perform. He hated black magic.

  Aisling slowly tugged the pack from her shoulders and groaned. Her back felt like it was on fire, tingles racing down the long lengths of muscle and embedding in her back.

  The Unseelie’s bag clanked when it hit the stone beside her.

  “I wonder,” she murmured.

  Curiosity had always plagued her. It whispered in her ear to investigate, to look at things she shouldn’t, touch that which was not hers.

  She searched the shadows for any hint of the Unseelie. He wasn’t so stupid that he trusted her with his pack, was he? He didn’t know her at all, and leaving a witch with access to everything he carried…

  She did not hesitate as she ripped at the ties. What kind of man was this Unseelie? If he wasn’t going to expand on his history, then she would find out herself.

  Some food, spare clothes, a belt, along with other odds and ends filled the pack to the brim. Most of the weight came from the food, although heavy gems encrusted the belt.

  She pulled it from the folds of fabric. It was pretty, not functional. So many gems all carefully placed in a pattern that resembled the night sky. She’d never seen such crystal-clear stones.

  Aisling ran a finger over the pattern. He had grown up in a wealthy family, and though it shouldn’t have surprised her, it did. She had thought perhaps he was like her—a cast off, a forgotten son, a boy sent away because his family didn’t want him.

  The belt suggested otherwise.

  She let it slide back into the pack and dug through the pack farther. Just when she was about to give up, a glint at the bottom caught her eye.

  A cord became tangled in her fingers. A silver key with a gray moonstone embedded at the top hung from the end. Aisling lifted it to the light and gasped.

  She’d never seen a stone so smooth. It was a good omen, albeit a dangerous one. Gray moonstones were stones for perceiving beyond the veil. They saw through glamour, lies, even the future itself if decisions were hazy.

  “So,” she murmured, “you know more magic than healing, Unseelie.”

  She dropped the key back into the pack, fearful of the sudden desire to continue touching it. Moonstones always vibrated with magic, yearning to be used even though they showed things the user didn’t want to see. They were vindictive when they wished to be.

  Her arm shook as she forced herself to release the necklace cord. She didn’t need to use magic, she wasn’t addicted to its power, and she refused to allow it to rule her.

  It was a battle she had fought every day.

  Something in her wanted to use magic all the time. It wanted sparks flying from her fingertips and the world at her feet. Which likely was the reason she ended up burning in the first place.

  The memory brought with it the lingering sting along her feet and legs. She winced and pulled up her shift. Her white flesh was still red and angry.

  The faerie had done a remarkable job healing her, but he hadn’t finished it. Aisling frowned and pressed her thumb to the redness. A white mark remained when she removed her hand and then disappeared as blood returned to the aching area.

  If they were going to keep walking like this, she’d need to do something about it. Her shoes had barely held on through the fire and the soles were falling off.

  Aisling glanced back at the Unseelie’s pack.

  “If you don’t want me wearing your extra clothes, shout now, Unseelie,” she called out, and then waited for a response. “No complaints? Perfect.”

  She dragged the pack to the edge of the water and laid the clothes out in the sun. They would heat up on the rocks while she washed away the grime of travel. Cold water would cool the slight burn of her legs and hopefully bring down the swelling around her ankles.

  Stretching her arms over her head, she let the sun dancing on top of the water blind her. The sparkles were mesmerizing.

  “Lorcan, don’t you be spying on me or you’re going to get an eyeful!”

  When no one responded, and no leaves rustled, she figured she was safe enough to duck into the water.

  Yanking her shift over her head, she left it in a heap near the Unseelie’s clothes. It was strange feeling to be unclothed where anyone could come upon her. Not that it mattered. If it was a human, she could curse them into a toad. If it was a faerie, they would not know who she was.

  She hissed as the cold water touched her toes. “Spring water.” Icy and clear, it rushed directly from the earth in frigid temperatures that nearly burned.

  But it would help her wounds better than anything else. Aisling gritted her teeth and waded through the eddies frigid enough to create ice until she was up to her chest in the water.

  Her jaw ached from keeping the chattering still. She would freeze to death in this water. Forcing herself to remain until the bitter cold became more tolerable, she finally released the breath she was holding with a sigh.

  Small currents butted against her sides, tugging and pulling her this way and that. A burble of laughter escaped her lips. How long had it been since she swam?

  She couldn’t even remember the last time she was clean. She made do with rags and a few buckets of water once a week while she was in the hut. There wasn’t streams or rivers nearby safe enough for her to bathe in, not while the villagers thought she was an old woman.

  It couldn’t hurt to indulge herself a bit. Aisling tucked her toes between algae-covered stones, and let her arms float at her side.

  Waves lapped at the top of her head with soothing strokes. Birds chirped in the air, singing songs that soothed her battered soul. The water chilled her flesh and pressed a balm to her wounds.

  The spell could wait a few moments more. First, she would heal her body and heart.

  Bran spread his wings wide and let the wind calm his anger. It whistled through his feathers, stirring something feral in his heart.

  He had no reason to be angry at the girl. She couldn’t know the implications of such a curse, and it was unlike him to be so cruel in blaming an innocent. Albeit a powerful innocent. He was the nice brother, the one the Unseelie court thought mi
ght eventually defect and go to the Seelie court for his dislike of harming others.

  Why did this little witch get under his skin?

  He wanted to throttle her every time she opened that mouth of hers. She thought she was so intelligent, so learned, but she was a mere second in the great tapestry of time.

  And she knew how to open a portal to the Otherworld.

  He didn’t know how to do that.

  Bran refused to entertain the idea she might know more about magic than he did. He’d spent his entire life learning and honing his skills. She was merely lucky to have gotten a few spell books that were rare.

  And who was her grandmother, anyway? What kind of woman had access to books like that?

  The question burned in his mind until it was the only thing he could think of. There was something off about that tidbit of information, and he wouldn’t put it past the witch to lie. Had she been stealing from the Fae?

  It was an interesting theory that made him tilt his wings and head back toward the waterfall. He clacked his beak in anticipation of what she would do.

  He’d already seen her holding her fists at her side as if she wanted to strike him. What would happen if she did? A fire burned in his chest at the thought. She could try to harm him, but it wouldn’t do anything. He was larger than her, trained in the art of war, and had survived countless battles.

  He soared through the skies, knocking clouds out of his way as he returned. The witch might be done with the portal by now, although he doubted it. She had made it seem as though it was a laborious creature, and he hadn’t been gone very long.

  Magic coiled around his body, expanding his form in a quiet pop. He rolled as he hit the ground, ending in a crouch with one hand pressed against the solid earth. The nubs of feathers on the side of his head stood up with a sudden chill.

  Where was she?

  He stayed low, surveying the landscape for some hint of where she’d gone. If she thought she could run from him, she was horribly wrong. He’d twist the binding curse around and track her to the ends of the earth if she made him.

  The sound of splashing water burst his angry thoughts like a bubble.

  Was she…?

  He carefully crept across the small stream, stepping over rocks so he wouldn’t alert her that he had returned. Bran didn’t understand why he was being so careful. It made little sense when he had no reason to sneak. If she had worried about him seeing her, then she would never have bathed without knowing where he was.