The Faceless Woman_A Retelling of the Swan Princess

by Emma Hamm

  Soon, she was holding the complete series of the Unseelie Court—a surprisingly large, multi-volume series that consisted of fourteen gold-leafed books. When her arms could hold no more, she put them in a stack against the wall. Regret chilled her. It seemed a shame to leave them where the elements would eventually destroy them.

  Books were sacred. They took a long time to bind, even longer to write, and each handwritten word was a marvel. She found it strange that the Unseelie faeries tossed them on the floor with little care for them.

  Aisling had seen more books in her life than most humans. But then again, she wasn’t after all.

  Light flickered to life at the end of the tunnel. It moved in a circle before zipping back into the air.

  She froze.

  It appeared again, farther away this time and without even the slightest bit of sound. Was it someone carrying a light? Or was it some kind of Unseelie creature luring her deeper into the depths?

  “You are not afraid,” she told herself.

  Her palms grew slick with sweat, but she forced herself to move. She had to keep going, had to find the waters, had to break the binding curse. All of this and more.

  More books appeared in the hallway, scattered like dying creatures that fluttered their wings as she passed by. She stepped through them carefully. Now she understood Bran’s hesitation. A tunnel system deep underneath the earth filled with books wasn’t precisely normal.

  The tunnel mouth opened up into a room. Aisling pressed her back against the corner and peered around the edge, then gaped at what she saw.

  They had made a labyrinth of the shelves. Walls made out of books and hammered wood stretched so high above her head that they were eventually obscured by mist. Thousands upon thousands of books haphazardly thrown onto shelves filled her vision until she was overwhelmed. They spilled out onto the floor, pages open, water-stained, and torn.

  There was no care shown for the books, but what did it matter when their number rivaled that of the heavens? She pressed a hand against her chest and stepped forward into the Unseelie library.

  She was but a speck, a small figure standing next to monoliths created of the written word. Aisling meandered through them and let her fingers dance along the spines.

  The stone floor was smooth. Many feet had walked the same steps as she, each taking their time to find the perfect volume that would answer their question or fill their mind with worlds untold.

  Her foot stepped on a swath of pages that covered the floor, ripped from a book and littered across the floor like fallen leaves.

  Sudden silence made her freeze. Aisling hadn’t been aware of the natural sound of the room. Dripping water, the rush of bat wings, the faint whine of wind, it all stopped the moment she made a sound loud enough to echo.

  A high-pitched screech came from directly above Aisling. She tried to still even her breathing until she didn’t make a sound at all.

  Something crawled above her. The shelves creaked with some weight that toppled a few books to the ground. She didn’t dare look up, but quickly found she wouldn’t need to. Whatever had heard her, was coming down.

  Fabric rustled above her, and a body dropped down to land two steps before Aisling.

  The creature was covered in white fabric that floated around it as if it were in water. Strands of white hair fluttered in the air as it moved. Its head jerked back and forth, pointed ears twitching as it listened for yet another movement.

  Aisling slowly reached up and covered her mouth. Its eyes were gone, just gaping holes in its pale, white face.

  She realized it was female. Its body was vaguely feminine, but Aisling was loathe to consider it anything other than a creature. Stick-like arms arched out from its sides, fingers twitching.

  Strands of glistening web were anchored to the creature’s back. She nearly cried out when she saw the rusted metal hooked through its skin. Dried blood scabbed at the edges of the wound, but it did not seem to bother the creature.

  It twitched again, shifting and shuddering until it reached up and tugged on the webbing. The gossamer strands pulled, and the creature was yanked back toward the ceiling.

  Aisling slowly dropped her shaking hand.

  What was that? One of Bran’s sisters? Surely not. It didn’t look like him at all, but he had said…

  She took another step forward, forgetting the paper strewn about the floor. The crunch echoed, and an answering scream made her shake in fear.

  A body flew out of the shadows, catching her around the waist and pulling her back. The creature returned, blades in its hands and mouth gaping wide in a silent scream. It landed on the ground and crouched. Its head tilted to the side, waiting for the next sound that certainly would come.

  The hand pressed against her mouth was familiar. Taloned nails held her cheeks, a broad chest quaking as he held his breath along with her.

  Bran’s sister let out a low, vibrating croak. It filled the air with a scent of magic that burned her nostrils and filled her lungs with the painful need to cough. Her chest rocked forward. His hands clenched on her ribs and around her mouth. They stayed silent until the creature tucked her twin blades back beneath the folds of her skirt and tugged on the webbing again.

  She lifted into the air, and Aisling let out the breath she had been holding in a slow wheeze.

  Lips touched her ear, so close that the hair in front of her face didn’t even stir. “That was one of my sisters.”

  Aisling nodded in response. She couldn’t quite bring herself to make any sound just yet.

  “Silently, avoid the papers. They drop them from the ceiling so they can hear people walk.”

  She’d figured that. The papers were each hand painted, words scrolling along the sides in such beautiful script that it made her eyes water. How could anyone toss aside such incredible pieces of artwork?

  Bran reached back and held out a hand for her to take. A river of pages stretched out in front of them so wide she would never be able to step over them. Furrowing her brow, she took his hand without hesitation. She didn’t know what he was going to do, but she knew he would do it well.

  He curled his fingers around her hand, slipped his other at her elbow, and then tossed her across the papers like she weighed little more than a feather. Aisling ground her teeth together for silence. Ridiculous man!

  She stayed on her feet, only by luck more than skill. He leapt over the strewn-about paper and landed in a crouch beside her.

  The grin he sent her way made her want to smack him. He had no way of knowing she wouldn’t have screamed!

  He winked.

  Aisling’s nostrils flared in anger and if her eyes could have set him on fire, she would have. Come to think of it, she knew a spell that would work wonderfully if only he would stay still long enough for her to make sure she didn’t hit the books…

  “Come on,” he whispered.

  Something rustled above them at the sound. She didn’t want to meet any more of his sisters, so she skittered forward, slipped a hand into his, and allowed him to drag her through the molding library.

  They raced between the monolithic stacks of books, pausing only when one of his sisters dropped down from the ceiling. Sometimes it was because they made noise accidently, other times his sisters simply lowered themselves to find yet another book.

  Aisling watched their movements carefully every time she had to freeze. They weren’t protecting the books. It didn’t seem like they cared if they were harmed, so what were they doing?

  At one point, Bran pressed her into the shelves and shielded her body with his. Arms braced on either side of her, he stared down into her eyes and didn’t move until his sister was pulled back up to the misty ceiling above.

  “They record everything that happens in the Unseelie world,” he murmured, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

  Aisling arched a brow, silently asking why.

  “My mother likes to know everything that happens in the Unseelie court. Nothing gets by her.�
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  A little overprotective if anyone cared about Aisling’s opinion, but who was she to judge the choices of a queen? She’d never been one. Who knows what she would do if she was given a court to watch over.

  Likely something as crazy. Aisling would want to know each and every one of them, try to remember their names and families. She wouldn’t want anyone she was responsible for to feel as she had while growing up.

  They were foolish thoughts. Bran would never be king anyways. He had too many siblings ahead of him in line for the throne. He’d said so himself…

  She froze for a moment, her fingers curling into a fist and her stomach clenching. What in the world was she thinking? She wasn’t going to marry Bran. She certainly wouldn’t be his queen if he ever—

  Aisling stopped herself again. There were dangerous paths down that road, and she refused to allow herself to wander them.

  He slipped past a stack of books taller than him, their pages leaking onto the floor in a waterfall of bright colors and stained ink. She watched for a moment, waiting for him to peak his head back around as he waited for her.

  This time, just his hand appeared, gesturing her forward.

  Snapping his fingers at Aisling was only going to get her to walk slower. Her brows furrowed before she meandered toward him, slowing when he gestured faster with his hand.

  They weren’t making any sound. His sisters weren’t screeching, and she didn’t hear the strange hushing sound as they slid down their webbings. They were fine. Why was he trying to rush her?

  She made her way to stand next to him, rounding the corner to reveal a great darkness spread out before them. And so the library ended, and the throne room began.

  It was a massive room filled with smoke and fog. The center was strangely lit with an eerie blue glow. Magic coiled around the giant thrones, one larger than the other. They could easily have fit ten humans standing side by side. She’d never seen anything like it.

  Bats flew around it in a swarm, their high pitched cries reaching her ears like the chiming of bells. This was not a safe place.

  She glanced up at Bran and realized he hadn’t intended to bring them here. His jaw had dropped, his eyes were wide, but most of all it was the first time she had ever seen his hands shaking.

  Aisling reached out and took his hand, squeezing it firmly in hers.

  He looked down at her, starlit eyes glowing with an emotion she couldn’t place.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “This is where my mother lives.”

  Rustling began above them, somehow similar and yet infinitely different than the sound his sisters had created. Her spine stiffened. Aisling made the mistake of looking up, and her blood chilled in fear.

  The ceiling was made of webs. Great swaths of sticky residue, stretching as far as the eyes could see. It was beautiful in a sense. Glimmering silver with blue refractions that bounced off the shinier pieces, reflecting light back onto the floor until it look as though it were underwater.

  The webbing stretched in places where a bulbous form had once rested. Her stomach churned in realization. Bran had said his family weren’t normal. She hadn’t realized just how distorted their figures would be.

  A gap in the webbing draped over the throne. Strands of web hung in great loops, carelessly left in snarled hanks.

  Aisling gaped at the overly large shadow that walked among the webs. A long spider leg reached out of the darkness, gently tapping the throne before it slid down into the seat. Another leg followed, again and again until all eight limbs were gracefully poised on the throne.

  Spindly hairs rose in spikes along the arachnid’s appendages. Light gleamed from their points, reflecting off the smooth plates that covered its legs. The swollen belly lowered into view, spinneret flexing as the Queen of the Unseelie Court descended into view.

  Vomit rose in Aisling’s mouth, and she turned away so the queen wouldn’t see her gag. No creature should look like that.

  The queen was a combination of woman and spider. Where the eyes should be on a normal arachnid, a human torso grew. She was obscenely muscular, almost masculine in each ridge that rippled along her stomach and stretched across her shoulders.

  She settled on the throne. A few of her legs extended forward, perhaps in an attempt to be comfortable on a seat designed for creatures with only two limbs. She placed her arms gracefully against the rests at either side, shook her dark hair forward until it covered her chest, then flicked a finger toward them.

  “So, the wayward boy returns.”

  “Mother,” Bran gritted through clenched teeth.

  “I always knew you would come home. The question was simply when.”

  “It wasn’t by choice.”

  “Of course, it wasn’t. It never is with you.” Again, she flicked her fingers. “Come, my son. Let me look at you.”

  He pushed Aisling back as he stepped forward. She sank into the shadows, praying that the Unseelie queen hadn’t seen her. The last thing they needed was more trouble. And that spider woman seated on the throne was one of the few people who could cause it.

  She watched Bran ascend the steps to the throne and kneel in front of his mother.

  “As pretty as ever, I see,” the queen said, distaste twisting her words into an insult rather than compliment.

  “It’s not something I can change, mother.”

  “Your brother did. Your sisters did. But you were always my stubborn child, running off everywhere you could. If I didn’t know better, I would say you were Seelie.”

  She reached forward and tousled his hair. Aisling winced at the sound of cracked feathers now floating to the floor. The queen shoved Bran’s head back, nearly toppling him down the steps. “It’s a shame. You could have been something great. What have you returned for this time?”

  Bran placed his hands on his thighs. “Waters from Swan Lake.”

  “Why?”

  “I have never asked for anything from you before, mother.”

  “I want to know why.” One of her legs rose and scraped the ground with an ear-piercing sound. “What has suddenly made my son return to the dark castle?”

  Aisling knew this wouldn’t be easy for him. Admitting to his mother he had been cursed, by what he had thought was a human no less, wasn’t going to go over well. Especially if he was the least favored child, which she could already see was the truth.

  “I was cursed,” he growled. “I need to break the curse.”

  His mother reared back in surprise. It wasn’t the reaction Aisling had expected, and it startled her so much she nearly came out of the shadows to help him.

  The queen’s whisper echoed in the throne room. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “It is my right to decide whether or not I want to remain cursed.”

  “But removing it—”

  Bran interrupted her. “This is what I want, mother. Regardless of you or father’s opinions, I am doing this.”

  Were they talking about the same thing? Aisling’s brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of the conversation. It was almost as if they were talking about something he hadn’t told her about…

  She had a feeling she should have insisted they know each other’s secrets before coming here.

  The queen’s gaze suddenly lifted, slicing through the shadows and meeting Aisling’s with an intensity that made a cold shiver dance down her spine.

  “Who is lurking in the shadows?” the queen murmured. “What gift have you brought me, my son?”

  “She is not a gift for you.”

  “It is customary to bring your queen a sacrifice.”

  “You are my mother,” he carefully replied. “Always my mother first, and my queen second. If you kill her, then you also kill me.”

  The queen glanced at him sharply before the meaning of his words dawned on her. “This? This little bug is the one who cursed you?”

  “Mother,” Bran warned.

  “Come forward, shadow, let me see yo
u.”

  She felt like an insect caught in a web. Clearing her throat, Aisling stepped forward until the strange blue glow caught upon the fabric of her skirts and danced in the dark locks of her hair.

  “Ah,” the queen said. “So you have fallen in love with yet another creature of light.”

  “I am not Seelie, your majesty,” Aisling replied.

  “You are not of my court.”

  “I was a changeling. Left by my parents to die in the woods, replacing an unwanted babe in hopes that humans would take me in.”

  The queen lifted a strong brow. “And did they?”

  “No.”

  “Typical. Humans always think they want something until they finally get it. They love the chase more than they like ownership.” She tsked. “You’re little more than a scrap.”

  “I look less intimidating than I am.”

  The queen tossed her head back and let out an echoing laugh. “My, my, you’ve got a little bite to you. Curious thing. And you managed to curse my son? I wonder whether that says you are a powerful witch or he is weaker than I thought.”

  “Your son is a powerful faerie,” Aisling growled. “I have never been afraid of another living being until him.”

  “High commendation for such a feisty little creature.” One of her legs dragged along the floor. “What makes you think he’s so powerful?”

  “I’ve seen what he can do.”

  “Which is?”

  Aisling huffed out a frustrated breath. “He’s killed, he’s cast curses, hexes, spells, you name it. There are many things your son is capable of.”

  “It’s almost as if you’re complimenting him.”

  Bran met her gaze, still kneeling on the floor. A slow grin spread across his face. “No, mother. She wouldn’t ever compliment me.”

  “If she sings your praises any farther, I might wonder why you are last in line.”

  “You don’t know her,” he replied. “She’s far too fearsome to ever compliment someone who didn’t deserve it.”

  Aisling’s cheeks burned, her heart thumped painfully against her ribs, and her skin came alive. She would sing his praises until the moon and the sun met on the horizon. He deserved every word she could create because no one had ever said them to him before.