by Emma Hamm
“Unlikely. Didn’t you hear him say I was his servant?” It was all she could do not to make a face. “I’m no lady.”
“Seems odd that the mistress would give you a maid then.”
It was, but Aisling wasn’t going to encourage the meddling. She nodded in response and gestured behind the maid to the door. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to rest. It’s been a long journey.”
“I’m certain it has.” The maid pointed toward the fire. “If you really are a servant, perhaps that’s a better place than the pillows.”
“You don’t say.”
The maid left with her pride still intact. Aisling couldn’t say the same for herself.
She glanced at the mound of pillows, her body aching for a single moment of weightlessness. How long had it been since she’d slept in a bed?
Shaking her head, she refused to let the thought linger. She’d slept on the ground most of her life. Worrying about a bed wasn’t like her.
Aisling eyed the door, wondering just how long it would take until the faeries tried to spy on her. She couldn’t lay down runes on the floor. They were easily found, and the Duchess likely wouldn’t appreciate her ruining the floor.
Instead, she grabbed the nearest candle and circled the room.
“By fire, I ward thee. Guard this space from all ill will and all those who wish to harm me.”
Aisling repeated the gesture with flicks of stagnant water, with her own breath, and the last remaining apple cores from her pack. It wasn’t much, but it was at least a little bit. She felt the golden light of the wards lift over her head and connect at the peak of the ceiling.
Now, she could sleep.
“That Unseelie is making you soft,” she grumbled as she dragged a few of the carpets toward the fire. “You’ve done this before, and you’ll do it again. Ridiculous woman. Lingering on thoughts that have no place in your head. Where’s your courage?”
“Where is your courage, indeed?”
Aisling stiffened. She recognized the light-as-air voice but hadn’t expected it to show up in her own room.
The duchess stood in her doorway. Her eyes were raised, following patterns in the air that Aisling could not see. The slight woman reached forward and tapped, her fingernail pinging on something invisible.
“Not a bad spell,” the duchess said. “You’re missing a section here, though.” She pointed at a small piece of Aisling’s spell, then stepped into the room, unhindered and without trouble.
Aisling frowned. “I missed nothing. Those wards are airtight.”
Their magic traced down her spine, strong and without flaw. She had been placing wards since she was a child. There was no possible way those wards had a hole in them.
The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “How intriguing. Why wouldn’t your magic be flawed? You are, after all, human.”
A bell rang in Aisling’s ear. The words weren’t entirely truth. In fact, they’d been carefully said to pull out a secret. The duchess didn’t actually believe them, nor was she insinuating that Aisling was actually human.
Sarcasm was a faerie’s greatest weapon.
She spun on her heel and lifted a hand, the eye in the center of her palm blinking. “What do you know?”
“Nothing as of yet,” the duchess soothed. “But I intend to understand what you are. Or perhaps who you are, if you know it.”
“You know I’m not human.”
“I suspected it the moment you first walked in.”
“That’s a shame,” Aisling growled. “I thought it was impossible for anyone to see through the curse binding my face from sight.”
“Any face is as much a mask as your curse. We wear false expressions, whisper secrets and lies, until our flesh becomes hard like stone. Your curse hides your identity, not your soul.”
Aisling blew out a breath and lowered her hand. “I’m not sure I like that anymore than someone not being able to see my face.”
“May I?” The duchess gestured toward the fire. “You promised me your story, and I rarely sleep at night.”
“Why?”
“Nightmares plague even the best of us.”
Aisling searched the other woman’s gaze for some clue of her plan. Why was the duchess here? Did she really want only a story?
Twisted words were hard for Aisling to follow. She had dealt with young faeries, on the off chance they had wandered by her hut. But they were usually weak and meddled in human affairs as a way to relieve their boredom. Royalty was an entirely different story. The duchess had thousands of years to perfect careful words and veiled truths.
Aisling worried what secrets she would reveal. Her story would be laid bare in front of this powerful being, but more than that, her soul.
She hesitantly stepped toward the fire and sank down with the duchess.
The tiny faerie reached out her hands toward the warmth and rubbed them together, letting out a happy hum. “It’s nice, is it not? A fire on a cold night always reminds me of home.”
“I’ve never thought of a palace as a particularly warm place.”
“I never think of this as my home,” the duchess murmured. “I wasn’t always a duchess.”
Aisling nodded. “That’s right. You’re a self-made woman.”
“I fought tooth and nail to own all that is mine and will continue to do so until all the breath leaves my lungs.”
Gods, Aisling didn’t want to see herself in this woman. The duchess was a dangerous creature, living in a crumbling kingdom of forgotten creatures. Her husband tore away bits and pieces of their subjects to attach to himself, and the duchess reigned over the remains.
She fought. She conquered. She devoured. Through all the hardships of life, she rose victorious.
Aisling’s stomach clenched. “My story, Duchess. I promised it with the request that you tell no one.”
“And I will not. A faerie vow is one not easy to break.”
She hadn’t ever told anyone her story. Only Badb and her true family knew where she came from, who she was, and what had happened. Now she found the words stuck in her throat when she tried to speak them.
Finally, Aisling coughed and began. “I was born into a high Seelie family, the youngest daughter of Lord Illuma and his lady wife. They knew I was different from the moment I came out of the womb. Of all their golden children, I was the first to be born with hair as dark as night and skin white as snow. They knew my story would not be one to follow in their footsteps.
“It is social suicide to keep a child who erred toward the Unseelie. And try as they might, the more I grew, the more I became Unseelie. My choices never followed the rules. I wanted to run in the wilds, climb trees, tear fabric, and rub dirt on my skin.
“They tried for years to shackle my natural instincts. They beat honor into my back, poured truth down my throat, and carved duty into my arms.” Aisling rubbed her biceps, the memories sending gooseflesh dancing across her skin. “Nothing worked.”
The duchess shifted on the carpet, a ripple running through her like a wave. “They tried to force you to be Seelie?”
“Yes.”
“Then they tried to unravel the fabric of your soul and make it anew.” Anger laced her words with red.
“They were trying to save their child.”
The duchess shook her head. “They were trying to save themselves.”
“Perhaps that is correct, but I have long since stopped judging them. They did what they could for their family.”
“What did they do to you?”
The fire crackled, a spark flying out of the hearth and onto the nearest rug. Aisling crushed the coal under her heel. “They left me in the forest and waited for a family to claim me. A young witch did, a man who goes by the name of Lorcan, although it is not his true name. In return, they took his youngest sister who was a sickly creature. She would have died if the faeries didn’t take her away.
“They didn’t keep the human changeling as a replacement for me. She now resides with a faerie m
aid who never conceived children. As far as I know, she lives a charmed life and has flourished quite well. She’s turning into the perfect example of a lady’s maid.”
Another coal popped. This time, the duchess lashed out a hand and snatched it from the air. The ember burned bright red in her palm. Aisling watched as the faerie pressed it against the cavity of her chest and the green glass heart absorbed the heat. The glow brightened, sending strings of green light wriggling underneath her skin.
“And the markings on your skin?” the duchess asked.
Aisling held her hands up to the light. The eyes blinked, their gaze kind and quiet. “A gift from my grandmother. My parents are well known Seelie Fae, and though they gave me up, they do not wish me ill. If anyone should know who I am, they could use it against them. My identity must be kept secret from everyone.”
“Until you can protect yourself.”
“Which I can.” She closed her fingers into fists, digging into the eyes. “But the curse remains.”
The Duchess leaned back on her hands, staring into fire, lost in thought. “If you could remove this curse, would you?”
“I have spent my entire life trying to find a way to break my chains. But a binding curse is forever.” At least she had thought until now. If the Unseelie prince could prove this spell worked, then perhaps she could find a way to break the curse on herself as well.
“What if breaking the curse would do more harm than good?” the Duchess asked. “You don’t know what it holds at bay.”
“All it does is hide my face.” She held out her hands. “The eyes channel my magic. The black tips conceal my face. It’s a rather simple spell woven into dark magic.”
“May I?”
At Aisling’s nod, the duchess took her hands and pulled them forward. She stared into the eyes, and Aisling felt their magic tangling together.
The duchess’s magic was like white lightning. Cold and ancient, it threaded through her veins like the kiss of night on an icy lake. She saw a field of snow in her mind’s eye. Cloudless skies that spread over a lake so vast it seemed to have no end. Crystal-clear ice covered its surface, and a pair of dark eyes stared from beneath the cold plains, blinking in the moonlight.
The duchess’s magic was seemingly unending.
Aisling swallowed, and her hands shook. The cold seeped underneath her fingernails, pricking her skin and pulling at her own magic. It tasted her in one cold lick before the duchess released her.
“You’ve been searching for a long time,” the duchess quietly said. “But you haven’t been searching in the right places.”
“What?”
“It’s not a binding curse. You have been chained by a protection spell, not a binding curse. That magic was created entirely out of love. A binding curse cannot be born from such an emotion.”
Tears burned Aisling’s eyes. “A protection spell?”
She had wasted so much time. There were many counter-spells for such a creation, regardless of whether it was an original piece of magic.
The duchess lifted a hand, flourishing a quick movement that revealed a small piece of paper in her hand.
“All your questions can be answered with just this bit of magic.” She held it back when Aisling tried to snatch it from her hand. “But you must be certain, little changeling. Undoing the magic that wraps around you will release everything it holds at bay. If you want to remove your curse, you must be certain.”
“Anything,” she whispered. “I would do anything to see my own face, to be seen for the first time in so many years.”
“Then take the paper and seek your own fate.”
Her heart beat loud in her ears, but Aisling reached forward and took the spell. It was a simple one, and of course one she hadn’t considered. She hadn’t thought such an intricate curse could be undone with such a simple spell.
Hope fluttered to life in her chest. Anyone could look in her eyes and see who she was, what she felt, all the things that everyone else took for granted. She could finally be a person.
“Thank you,” she gasped. “Thank you, Duchess.”
“Do not thank me, child. Undoing a curse is not always a blessing.”
The duchess stood. Her skirts whirled in a graceful arc as she glided away from Aisling who could not stand even if she wanted to. Her knees shook, her soul quaked, and she looked up at the duchess with sudden appreciation for the strange creature.
“Oh”—the duchess paused at the door—“I shall host a ball to introduce you to my people. I find it’s much easier to know someone when they are expected to act properly. You’ll never forget the welcome our people give you. I’ll send a few faeries to prepare you.”
Before Aisling could say a word, the Duchess vanished.
She held the piece of paper in her hand as if it were made of the finest glass. She didn’t want it to crumble between her fingers. If this was some cruel jest, she might tear the entire palace apart.
Aisling breathed a relieved sigh when she saw letters still darkening the page. The duchess hadn’t lied. There really was a spell that could free her.
The sound of scrabbling at the window filled the room. She glanced over to see Lorcan pulled himself up the side of the palace, huffing and puffing on the windowsill before he dramatically flopped to the floor. “Are you going to do it?’
“You were listening?”
“Well I was going to come into the room, but since you insisted I hide, I assumed I shouldn’t.”
She cast a severe glance his way. “Lorcan.”
“I’ll try not to be so sassy,” he growled. “Are you going to? Badb put those on you for a reason, even though you weren’t even ten summers yet. I’m not certain removing them is such a good idea.”
“I’m tired of not existing to my own kind,” she responded quietly, her fingers stroking the page that held her future written on wrinkled parchment. “I stand in front of them, and they don’t actually see me. I can frown, I can grin, I can make all the faces I want and not a single faerie reacts to me. I exist between the world of the living and the dead.”
“But is that worth trading your safety for?”
“I just want to be a person. I want people to look into my eyes and see my soul. I want to see my own face for the first time in years.” She dashed a tear off her cheek. “Lorcan, I don’t even remember what I look like.”
“I’ve always been able to see you,” he murmured. He hopped off the ledge and hesitated before making his way toward her. His tail twitched as he traced her knees, twining between her legs. “I think it would be a shame to hide such beauty from the world much longer.”
She let out a slow breath. “Then I think it’s past time to shake off this curse.”
Lorcan padded away and jumped onto the pile of pillows. Dust flew into the air around him, and he sneezed violently. Once still, he quietly sat and watched her with wide eyes.
What was she doing? Had she made this decision too easily?
Badb had cursed her with good intentions. She wanted Aisling to remain safe, and to keep her soul intact if the Fae tried to use her against her family.
And yet…
She caught her reflection in the mirror. The smooth surface of her face and the vague blur where her features should be. She was tired of being a suggestion of a woman, a specter caught in a prison of flesh and bone.
Aisling fingered the edges of the parchment and carried it toward the stagnant pool in the corner. She shrugged the tattered fabric from her shoulders and left Bran’s clothing in a heap at the edge of the pool.
She took a deep breath, touched the water with her toe, and then slowly walked forward. The pool was deep enough to cover her shoulders. The burn of salt tingled upon her lips, the tangy taste bursting upon her tongue.
Holding the paper against her chest, she watched as the dark ink bled into the water.
“In the names of my ancestors, my gods, and myself, I call upon thee, spirits of water. Come forth, cleanse me of all magics,
and restore my soul to balance. By our wills combined, so mote it be.”
Tiny ripples formed in the water from each of her exhalations. The ink swirled, growing thicker and darker as magic seeped out of her hands into the pool. It was dragged from her skin each second.
Tiny hands stroked her sides, the water spirits easing the protection spell from her skin moment by moment. Created by nothing more than water, they were incredible specimens and infinitely kind. Their bodies melded with the water, entirely invisible but easy to feel.
They existed on magic, and she was providing them a feast.
A small hand shoved her forward. Tiny tugs and pulls encouraged her farther and farther into the pool until she finally dunked her head underneath the water.
Dark hair floated around her in great swaths of darkness. Ink spread until she could taste the bitterness on her tongue. She felt the spirits of water pulling at the tattered threads of her curse and wondered just how much it was going to hurt.
Finally, the last bit of the curse unraveled, leaving her palms like veins pulled from her skin. She opened her mouth and inhaled the stagnant salt water.
Aisling shot up to the surface, grasped the edge of the pool and coughed up a lungful of water and ink. It wouldn’t end. Her eyes widened, she clawed at the stone as more and more black sludge poured from her lips.
She whimpered but endured as her body rid itself of the lingering effects of the curse.
The dark spell sank into the stones. Charred spots marked where she had purged the darkness that had sunk into her lungs and deep within her bones. And though it was terrifying, it was also freeing.
Shaking, she flipped her hands over. The eye tattoos remained on her hands, but they were no longer pulsing with power. The eyes didn’t blink, but the tips of her fingers were now as pale as her skin with tiny half-moons on her nails.
Tears pooled in her eyes. She let out a tiny sob and lowered her forehead to the ragged stone.
“Aisling?” Lorcan quietly asked.
“Yes?”
“Are you done?”
She nodded against the rocks. “I think so.”
“Good, because that was disgusting.” She heard him hop down to the floor. He padded over to her, nails clicking with each step. “You know how vomiting makes me uncomfortable.”