The Faceless Woman_A Retelling of the Swan Princess

by Emma Hamm

  He froze for a moment, then lurched forward. His hand met her shoulder and forced her to her knees behind a boulder. The gentle touch on her shoulder burned.

  Heat spread from her toes to her cheeks. He was touching her, and although he’d done it before, this time was voluntary, in an effort to keep her safe.

  He swore, the colorful language breaking through her thoughts. Aisling curled her lip to the side. “Those aren’t ones I’ve heard before.”

  “That’s because they aren’t in your language. Would you take this seriously?”

  “I am.”

  She wasn’t. How was she supposed to take anything seriously when he was so animated, his hand still pressed against her shoulder, and they were risking their lives? Taking it seriously only meant she would have to acknowledge the fear that traced cold fingertips down the back of her neck. She didn’t want to feel that.

  “Look.” He reached out blindly, his fingers finding her chin even though he couldn’t see her face. She forced herself to freeze and allowed him to turn her head toward the center of the cave. “How did you not see them?”

  “See who?” She peered through the darkness and mist, then shrugged. “I don’t see anything.”

  He arched a brow. “Try again, witch.”

  Huffing out a breath, she squinted her eyes. Her grandmother’s voice whispered in her ear, “Look harder, Aisling. You can see through the veil like I can. You have to want it, child. Desire to see through what the faeries hide.”

  The mist swirled, parted, and revealed what had gotten the Unseelie so riled up.

  Ten men stood at attention in the center of the cave, although she wasn’t certain she could call them men. They wore fabric draped around their hips, so golden it looked like liquid metal sliding down their bodies to the ground. Swords as tall as her were held loosely in their cupped hands, the pommels pressing against their bare chests.

  Each of their faces was hidden by a golden mask. She could see the details from where her and the Unseelie crouched. Birds flew across the metal of one, another was covered in cobwebs that obscured an underwater scene. The masks seemed to depict elements, although she did not know of so many and couldn’t guess what some of them were.

  “Oh!” she gasped. “Well that’s different.”

  As one, the golden men turned their faces toward the sound. Aisling’s eyes widened and she ducked behind the rock.

  The Unseelie met her gaze with a panicked one of his own. “That wasn’t very bright,” he scolded.

  “Well, I never claimed to be. What do we do? I thought you said the god would be alone?”

  “I thought he was!”

  “He’s not. Figure something else out, Unseelie.”

  He grunted. “Stop rushing me.”

  “I’m rushing you. They looked right at me. They know we’re here.” Aisling flinched at the sound of fabric sliding across the floor. “And now they’re coming to see us, apparently.”

  “Shut up, witch.”

  “I’m thinking out loud.”

  “You’re muttering and distracting me.” He crouched, plunging his fingers into the dirt. “Gods save me from meddlesome women who don’t have the ability to stay quiet. This was supposed to be a quick mission. Stealth was the key.”

  “Well, if you had told me, we could have gone through with that plan.”

  “Shut up, witch.”

  “If you say that one more time, I’m going to cut off your ear.”

  He glanced up and arched a brow. “That’s your best threat?”

  “You try living without an ear. And you can bet you’ll remember me every time you look in a mirror. Hurry up, would you?”

  The Unseelie lifted handfuls of dirt with a flourish, dark earth trickling to the ground. “Ah-hah!”

  She pursed her lips. “You’re going to throw dirt at them? We’re a little old for that, don’t you think?”

  The red blush of color on his cheeks was thoroughly satisfying. It didn’t matter that magical guards were bearing down on them. She’d managed to annoy him past the point of fear, and that had been her plan all along.

  “Perfect,” Aisling said. She spontaneously reached up and patted his cheek. “Good luck, I’ll go get that blood.”

  “What? Witch, don’t you move.”

  “It’s cute how you think I can’t take care of myself.” She always had. From scraps with the village children to feeding herself at the early age of five, Aisling had always taken care of herself. If that meant stealing the blood from a god, then that was what she would do.

  She darted around him and pressed the eyes of her palms together. Magic charged between them, heating her hands and spreading from her face down her body like a curtain drawn closed. Heavy magic pressed onto the top of her head, uncomfortable but not yet painful.

  She’d have to see just how good the guards were at seeing through magic. Stepping around the stone, she took a deep breath and waved a hand.

  They did not respond.

  So they were some semblance of Fae, she mused. They couldn’t see her face, which might be why they had moved closer in the first place. She was an oddity, and even more out of place than anyone else. But they also wouldn’t be able to see her if the curse that hid her face spread over her entire body.

  “Witch?” the Unseelie hissed. “I don’t know what you did, but get the blood quick.”

  Quick wasn’t going to be easy. Only half the guards had wandered toward the rock where the Unseelie still hid. The others were at attention with thick mist swirling behind them. She tried to peer through the strange, murky darkness to no avail.

  Somewhere in that darkness, a god lay in wait.

  “Hey!” the Unseelie shouted behind her.

  The terrifying masks turned as one, all ten slowly converging on him. She turned just in time to see a wide smile break across the Unseelie’s face.

  “That’s it, you louts. Move a little faster, would you? I’ll be dead and rotten before you reach me.” The guard nearest to him swung his sword. The Unseelie leapt back, the blade cutting through the air mere inches from his stomach. “Not bad, but you’ll have to do better than that.”

  He flung dirt that burst into a swarm of beetles made of bright green leaves, obscuring him from sight. There must have been seeds in the earth, or one seed he managed to spread.

  She pressed a hand to her chest and suppressed a sigh from escaping her lips. It was ridiculous to be so affected by a man who knew how to use magic. But as a beetle danced through the air in front of her, one who wandered from the side of its brethren, she noted it even had leaf veins on its wings.

  Now is not the time, she reminded herself.

  It didn’t matter he had created life with magic, with details so powerful they made her heart rattle the cage of her ribs, she had a job to do.

  Blood of a dead god. Break the binding curse. Go home.

  The thought wasn’t as exciting as it originally was. She bit her lip and plunged through the thick fog.

  Why wouldn’t she want to break the binding curse? Her life was forfeit to whatever he wanted. If he wanted to throw his body into a pit of vipers, she would feel every bite before they each drew their last breath.

  A trail of pain traveled from shoulder to shoulder. The thin line burned for a moment before dulling to an ache, which suggested he hadn’t backed away quick enough. She wanted to shout for him to be a little more careful but didn’t want to bring the guards to her side.

  “Damned Unseelie,” she whispered. Thankfully, the pain wasn’t terrible enough to be fatal.

  She beat back the fog, but it stuck to her. Tendrils hooked around her arms, trying to hold her in place. Aisling gritted her teeth and bared them in a grimace. “You will not take me. Let go.”

  They didn’t listen. Instead, they coiled tighter until they were bands around her wrists and ankles. The fog quickly became a darker presence with a life of its own. She could almost see tall, lithe figures in the gray mist. They stood at a di
stance, never coming close enough for her to confirm they were there.

  But she could feel them. Their magic was a living, breathing thing in the thick swirls of mist.

  Another sharp sting bloomed on her shoulder, this time bisecting the previous slice. She didn’t have much time left. The Unseelie was losing, or at least allowing himself to get cut, and if there were poison on those blades, then both of them were as good as lost.

  “Enough,” she growled.

  Aisling lifted her hands with her palms bared to the figures. She felt the tattooed eyes blink, their magic coming alive and focusing their attention on whatever stood in her way. Magic built at her fingertips.

  “Fire burn, blister, and sear. Make it so that they feel fear.”

  She couldn’t see flames in her palms, but she could feel the heat waves wafting into the air. She released the balls of energy with a gasp. This magic didn’t feel like hers, and yet it was as much a part of her as air.

  Magic sliced through the fog and left a trail for her to follow. The thick swirls of white parted cleanly, as if she had cut through them with a knife.

  A faint whine echoed throughout the cave, and then sudden silence. The guards had paused in their onslaught. She heard the Unseelie give a sudden shout of glee, and then a heavy thud echoed as something hit the ground.

  “Get moving, witch!” he shouted. “I can’t keep their attention for much longer!”

  She didn’t want to tell him that was because of her. He’d yell at her again, and she had too much on her mind to win an argument with him.

  And she refused to lose even a single argument to the insufferable man.

  Sprinting forward, she thanked the gods the Unseelie had let her keep his clothes. Her skirt would have prevented her from running like this. She flew through the cave, arms pumping and feet pounding the ground.

  The fabric sound of the golden guards marching forward paused. Aisling nearly lost her balance when the screeching sound of metal filled the caves. Their masks scraped as they tracked the sound of her movement, desperately needing oil but laden with dust and grime. Were they looking at her? The Unseelie gave another shout, and a metallic clang echoed through the cave.

  “There,” she muttered.

  In the center of the cave, a small table rose out of earth and stone. Pillars surrounded it. They were anchored to the ceiling, crystalline structures pulsing with a darkened light that looked more magic than stone.

  Perhaps that was how they held a god. How else would anyone capture a creature like that?

  She slid to a halt behind the altar and crouched behind it. Out of breath, she took a moment to organize her thoughts. Blood of a god. She had nothing to put it in. “Bollocks,” she muttered. Of all the things to think of, they couldn’t have considered that?

  Aisling glanced around for something that could hold liquid. A rock would do, anything really, but the ground was barren.

  She grimaced. There were only a few ways to hold blood. In her palms, but considering the guards, that was a bad idea, or… She swallowed and licked her lips. The less desirable choice was the only option.

  Swiping a hand over her mouth, she hoped the Unseelie’s spell didn’t require untainted blood.

  Aisling peered over the altar. A body was laid out on top, made of stone, and so detailed it could only have been created by magic. She knew enough about curses to see the man for what he was.

  He had not been a handsome god in life. Scars covered his face, his chest, even his legs. She could see every bit of him. They’d not taken the time to carve clothing onto the dead god. His brow was strong, his ears a little too large, and his mouth far too wide. But his chest was well formed, his hands strong, and she thought he had a kind look about him.

  In her experience, the kindest-looking people could be the most dangerous.

  She blew out a breath when she realized the next obstacle. He was a god made of stone. How was she supposed to cut his flesh?

  There were a few spells she could use. One would destroy the entire stone structure, the other just him. Somehow, neither seem the right way to solve this.

  She leaned over him with a pressed hand flat beside his head. “What are your secrets?” she whispered. “What am I supposed to do?”

  A bright burst of heat speared her shoulder, an echo of pain slicing through the binding curse and causing her to cry out. This was no flesh wound. This was a magic blade sinking into his shoulder and pinning him to the ground. It was just above his heart. Not mortal, but a grave wound that could turn deadly in mere moments.

  Heat blossomed on her shoulder and blood saturated her shirt.

  “Bad enough it shows up on me, too,” she gasped. “Unseelie, you should have been more careful.”

  Dizzy with pain, she pressed a hand to her shoulder and then to the chest of the dead god to steady herself. Blood would assist her magic, although she was so disoriented she couldn’t find the words.

  Air wheezed between the lips of the dead god. Her jaw dropped open, and she stared in shock as the stone around his mouth cracked. Fissures broke through the fine marble like cracks in clay. They traveled up his face, centering around his eyelids which opened to reveal a gaze filled with black.

  She swallowed. “Welcome to the land of the living.”

  A small dimple appeared in the corner of his cheek, sending flakes of stone crumbling onto the altar. “That is the first time someone has greeted me thusly.”

  His voice was the sound of a mountain caving in on itself. It made her ears ache, and she heard an answering cry far away. Wincing, she pressed one hand to her ear.

  “There’s a first time for everything. Even for a god, I imagine.”

  He chuckled, the sound somehow worse than just his voice. “I am not usually amused when I am awakened.”

  “You haven’t woken up with a pretty woman sitting on your lap in a long time then.” Even through the pain, she managed to bat her lashes and hoped he wouldn’t hear the sarcasm in her voice.

  “You’ve got an impressive tongue for a creature so young.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere, dead god.”

  “But not everywhere with you, changeling.”

  His words struck her in the chest with more force than the sword that had slid through the Unseelie’s body. She gasped, flinching back as her gaze locked with his. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. All she could hear were the words echoing in her mind.

  Changeling.

  Stone shattered, and his arm lifted, his cold fingertips gently touching the side of her face. “Did you think you could remain hidden forever? That no one would ever see the woman beneath the facade?”

  “How is this possible?”

  “Magic cannot hide your face from a god.” His thumb stroked just underneath her eye. “Your grandmother warned you that your life would change if you came here, and it will. Hiding your face won’t save you.”

  “It’s the only way to stay safe.”

  “In the human world, I would agree. But you are no longer in the human world. Here, you are far safer than you have ever been. You aren’t a changeling here. You’re just a faerie.”

  “Shhh.” She pressed a bloodied finger to his lips. “Don’t say it too loud. No one knows who I am, what I am. And I would like to keep it that way.”

  Swords cracked against each other, the echoing battle looming in the distance.

  He licked away the blood and more stone fell away. She grimaced. Blood magic was dangerous, and giving such a precious gift to a creature like this was asking to be cursed.

  Not that she could be cursed any worse than she already was. Binding curses signed away a person’s life. This dead god couldn’t hurt her more than she’d already hurt herself.

  “What do you wish from me, changeling?” he asked.

  “Why do you think I want anything?”

  “The guards will not let me pass. Every few centuries someone is wily enough to break in, and every few millennia, someone is in
telligent enough to figure out how to wake me. Each and every one has their reasons, but always because they want something.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “If you’re all knowing, then you should know why I’m here.”

  “Ah, yes, the binding curse.”

  “I need to remove it.”

  He lifted a brow, cracking the stone on his forehead. “I fail to see how I can help.”

  “The Unseelie with me, the man now fighting the guards, knows a spell which can break the binding curse. It requires the blood of a dead god.”

  Her heart skipped a beat at his expression. It was a pitying look, and she expected him to say that the Unseelie was wrong. That the spell wouldn’t do anything other than waste their time.

  “In a sense, he is correct,” he murmured.

  Relief made her sag against his chest. The dull throb in her shoulder was more manageable now. Perhaps the Unseelie had time to cast a healing spell. Perhaps he was winning again, or he had left her in this cursed place alone.

  The god shook his head. “But I do not believe that is why he is here, changeling girl. You forget you are dealing with faeries, and faeries are master manipulators. He wants something else, not just the binding curse to be unraveled.”

  “That’s his business, not mine.”

  “Like you’re here because you’re finally taking steps towards your family?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You know nothing of my family.”

  “No, but I can look into your heart and know why you are here. Don’t judge the Unseelie for twisting his words when you are doing the same.”

  Aisling wanted to shout at him. She wanted to scream he wasn’t right, that he judged without reason or sense.

  But he was right. She was using him just as he was using her. It wasn’t fair that his deception stung so fiercely.

  “I need your blood,” she whispered, “and I’m afraid I can’t wait much longer.”

  He searched her gaze for something Aisling couldn’t comprehend. She waited, allowing him a moment, until he finally nodded. “There is a knife above my head. Take it and drive it through my heart.”