by Emma Hamm
Heart of the Fae
Emma Hamm
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by Emma
All rights reserved.
Cover by: Natasa Ilincic
Editing by: Amy Cissell
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Map of Uí Néill
Map of the Otherworld
Glossary of Terminology
Prologue
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Glossary of Terminology
Tuatha dé Danann - Considered to be the “High Fae”, they are the original and most powerful faerie creatures.
Seelie Fae - Otherwise known as the the “Light Fae”, these creatures live their lives according to rules of Honor, Goodness, and Adherence to the Law.
Unseelie Fae - Considered the “Dark Fae”, these creatures follow no law and do not appreciate beauty.
Danu - The mother of all Tuatha dé Danann and considered to be an “earth” mother.
Nuada - The first Seelie King, often called Nuada Silverhand as he has a metal arm after losing his own in a fearsome battle.
Macha - An ancient Tuatha dé Danann who is known as one of the three sisters that make up the Morrighan. Her symbols are that of a horse and a sword.
Redcap - A troublesome faerie, frequently found in gardens harassing chickens.
Máthair - “Mother”
Will-o'-the-wisps - Small balls of light that guide travelers into bogs, usually with the intention for the humans to become lost.
Brownies - Friendly, mouse-like creatures who clean and cook for those who are kind to them.
Pixie - A winged faerie whose face resembles that of a leaf.
Changeling - Old or weak faeries swapped with human children, usually identified as a sickly child.
Gnome - Generally considered ugly, these small, squat faeries take care of gardens and have an impressive green thumb.
Dullahan - A terrifying and often evil faerie who carry their heads in their laps.
Bean Sidhe - Also known as a banshee, their screams are echoing calls that herald the death of whomever hears them.
Hy-brasil - A legendary isle which can only be seen once every seven years.
Merrow - Also known as a Mermaid, merrows have green hair and webbed fingers.
Merrow-men - The husbands of their female counterparts are considered horribly ugly with bright red noses, gills, two legs, and a tail.
Boggart - A brownie who grows angry or loses their way turns into a boggart. They are usually invisible, and have a habit of placing cold hands on people’s faces as they sleep.
Pooka - A faerie which imitates animals, mostly dogs and horses.
Kelpie - A horse like creature who lives at the edge of a bog. It will try to convince you to ride it, at which point it will run underneath the water and drown the person on its back.
Selkie - A faerie which can turn into a seal, as long as it still has its seal skin.
Prologue
Once upon a time in a hidden land beyond human reach, there lived a King and Queen of the Seelie Fae. They desperately desired an heir to the throne, but had not been blessed with children. In his frustration, the king journeyed across the sea to the cursed home of the Unseelie.
He made a deal with an ancient crone, half spider and half woman. If she would give him a child then he would bring peace to their lands. The crone was pleased and promised when he returned to his wife, she would bear him a child.
The Queen carried not one, but two children. Twin boys, both heirs to the throne.
Many years passed. Their lives were filled with light and love. They had forgotten the Unseelie do not make deals without payment, and stopping a war paid for one boy.
Not two.
Their first-born son grew into a warrior. His blade was unstoppable, his aim always true, his speed lightning quick. Their second born son grew into a scholar. He knew every whisper on the wind, every lie and story, every bit of knowledge that made the kingdom run smoothly. The King and Queen were certain they would rule the Seelie Fae together.
They had not seen the jealousy growing within their youngest son’s heart, nor had they seen the doubt growing in the eldest.
In a fit of rage, their youngest son buried a blade in his brother’s back. The wound was superficial and might have healed if it hadn’t revealed a nightmare.
Their son, their perfect first born son, was flawed. Gemstones and crystals grew out of the wound, marring his strong body, and marking him unfit to rule their kingdom. Embarrassed and appalled, they did the only thing they could.
Banishment.
The disgraced prince was sent away to a phantom isle which could only be seen once every seven years. He begged his family to allow him to remain, but they had no pity for the man who had hidden his true nature.
The first-born son of the Seelie King faded into myth, then legend.
Then nothing at all.
Chapter One
THE BEETLE
Blood covered her hands. The metallic smell burned her nostrils and overwhelmed her senses. Although she’d finished the surgery an hour ago, she still saw the gaping wound, the splayed open flesh, and the iridescent shimmer of the blood beetle feasting upon sinuous muscle.
Sorcha sat on the back stoop with her hands dangling off her knees. The chickens pecked at her soft leather shoes; the jabs helped to ground her. This weightless feeling always happened after a long, grueling attempt to extract a beetle.
“Shoo,” she whispered. One chicken shook its head, feathers ruffled in displeasure. She was certain the nasty redcap rode one of them. The faerie was secretive in his pranks, and likely thought she couldn't see him, but Sorcha always caught glimpses out of the corner of her eye. “There are tastier things than my feet.”
She tapped her foot against the ground. The chicken clucked loudly and beat its wings against her legs, rushing to the other side of the pen. Even though Sorcha fed them every morning and night, she would bear the brunt of their anger.
Chickens were vindictive little things.
“Sorcha!” A feminine voice shouted. “Get back in here!”
She stood, wanting desperately to dust off her skirts but knowing she would only smear blood on them. To waste new fabric would be the worst kind of sin. She stared down at the blood flaking off her hands, lips pressed in a thin line.
“It will have to do,” she muttered.
Their three-story home was at the edge of town, the only suitable location for a brothel. The stone walls were sturdy and clean, and the wooden roof free of rot. It was by no means elegant, but it was suitable for its purpose. For Sorcha, the cobblestone steps felt like stairs to the gallows.
Sorcha dunked her hands into a bucket of clean water near the door. Her sisters had meant it for cleaning, but if they wanted her to rush, then they needed to make the trek to the river once again.
She scrubbed her hands together, tainting the water with blood. It turned as red as the muscles in her father’s back that had been revealed when she pressed her blade
deeper…
“Sorcha!”
Snapping out of her stupor, she wiped her hands upon the plaid wrapped around her waist. A breeze pushed red curls in front of her gaze, obscuring her vision. She huffed out an angry breath and shoved them back.
There was blood caked underneath her nails.
“I’m coming!” she shouted, pushing open the door.
The room beyond was still. Papa's room was always quiet, but now it was silent as a tomb. Sorcha prayed every night it would not become one.
She knew how to prevent children from being conceived, how to birth a child, and all the ailments that might come after for both mother and babe. She had guided countless women through the trials of labor and treated many a croupy cough.
But she wanted to be a real healer. Her soul yearned to do more, to set bones and find cures for diseases. Shelves of books lined her bedroom, each containing detailed notes for every herb, every technique to heal, even the right faeries to beg for help.
It was a shame the faeries had stopped listening a long time ago.
Trophies of Papa's travels decorated the walls of his room. A bear pelt covered the stone floor, a dark wood desk contained all his notes and a balancing scale to count his coins. His pallet bed covered almost the entire back wall, heavy curtains shrouding him from Sorcha’s view.
“Sorcha, his fever is back,” her sister said.
She rushed to his side.
Rosaleen was the youngest in the brothel and innately kind. The longer she stayed here, the quieter she would get. Kind people never lasted in this profession. They were either lucky, and some nobleman took them as a mistress, or they disappeared forever.
Rosaleen’s heart shaped face was pale with fear. She had tied her blonde ringlets with a leather thong, but a few escaped to bounce with her movements.
Such a pretty little thing would surely capture a nobleman's favor. Or a soldier's, at the very least. What man wouldn’t want a mistress such as her?
Sorcha pressed her hand against Papa's forehead and tsked. “We completed another treatment, and I thought rest would stave off another fever. I'm sorry, I was wrong. Can you get him hot water, please, Rosaleen?”
“Will it help?”
“It will. A spot of tea fixes a great many things,” Sorcha lied. He wouldn't heal tonight, in a fortnight, even in a year. He wouldn't heal at all. But Rosaleen was a delicate creature and lying eased her worry.
Sorcha watched her sister rush from the room with a troubled gaze.
“Good riddance,” Papa coughed. “They fawn over me as if I’m already dead.”
“They’re worried,” Sorcha replied with a smile. “And they have a right to be.”
“There will be another man to take my place. A business like this won’t be empty for long.”
“But will he be as kind? Will he be as understanding?”
“I am neither of those, and the girls shouldn't expect another man to be.”
Sorcha helped him sit up, her hand sturdy and strong behind his back. She remembered him as a tall man, broad and capable of taking on the world. He had thrown men out of this establishment without breaking a sweat. Now, he was skeletal. Each inhalation rattled and exhalation wheezed. His hands shook, and his eyes remained unfocused.
While he caught his breath, she plucked at the bandages and poultice packed around his ribs. “How does it feel?”
“Sore,” he grumbled. “Damn beetles are always moving.”
“At least we got rid of another hive mother.”
Papa snorted. “It’s something, but it won't save me.”
No, it wouldn’t.
A blood beetle infection was a death sentence, and no one had figured out how to cure it. They came from the skies. Swarms of green locusts, so beautiful the villagers wore their wings as jewelry in the first year. Then, they laid their eggs inside people. There was no catching up with them after that.
Sorcha sighed and laid her hand over one of the many bumps on Papa’s back. The beetles lived underneath the skin, eating flesh from the inside out. They multiplied while feasting slowly upon their hosts, but at least they didn’t spread until they exhausted their food supply.
Sorcha had figured out a way to extract them. She cut through skin, muscle, and sinew, carefully pulling the beetles out from behind. She then burned them and buried their ashes. It was the only way she could be certain they wouldn't fly off and infect someone else.
The bump underneath her hand shifted.
“I felt that one,” Papa huffed. “How long do I have girl?”
“A few more months. I’ve been trying to keep up with their reproductions, but your body won’t take this much trauma for long.”
“That’s what I thought.”
The door eased open and Rosaleen poked her head through. “Can I come back in now?”
Sorcha rubbed Papa’s back. “Yes, come on in. Can you pour the water in a cup for me, please?”
Pottery was scarce at the brothel. No one wanted to sell household objects to prostitutes, so they made do with what Sorcha received as trade from her midwifery. The mangled clay cup was lopsided, but it held water without leaking.
She packed yarrow into the cup and gave it a swirl. “Here you go, Papa. Drink up.”
“Is this that bitter tea you keep making me drink?”
“It keeps the fever down and helps stop the bleeding.”
“I don’t like it.” He sipped and made a face. “I think you’re poisoning me.”
“I think you’re being a child. Drink it all—” she paused. “All of it, Papa. And then go back to sleep.”
He grumbled, but laid back down on the bed without too much of a fuss. Sorcha drew the curtain so the light wouldn’t disturb him.
Rosaleen stared at her. The weight of her gaze was like a physical touch. There wasn’t much for Sorcha to say. She didn’t want to ruin their happiness, and income, by giving a date to their father’s death. They needed to stay strong, and later they could grieve.
She tucked her little sister under her arm and guided her from the room. “What’s the matter little chick?”
“I’m worried about Papa. Aren’t you?”
“You let me worry about him. I’m the healer, aren’t I?”
“Midwife.”
The word stung.
“I’m doing more than the healers would. They’d be bloodletting him when the beetles already do that. He doesn't need any leeches, he needs the beetles removed.”
“They’re still not listening to you?”
The sisters walked into the kitchen and main living space for the women. When they first moved to this city, only the family had lived in this building. Their Papa was a born businessman, and he set his sights on expanding their clientele. Now, there were thirteen women living and working under their roof.
The twins snuggled up near the fire, their heads pressed together as they shared secrets. Sorcha’s herbs hung from the ceiling to dry for later use. A worn table stretched from end to end, two benches serving as seats. They stored a cauldron in the back room and brought it out for supper to hang over the fire.
Briana, the eldest of their sisters, swung the opposite door open. Masculine laughter and shouts echoed in a wall of sound. “Rosaleen, you’ve a customer out front.”
“All right,” she squeezed Sorcha’s waist. “I’ll be back later, you’ll be fine without me?”
“You worry too much,” Sorcha replied. “Go on then. Make some money.”
As the tiny blonde skipped past, Briana gave Sorcha a measured stare. “You’re keeping yourself busy today I hope? There’s a long line of appointments and I don't have time to watch over you today. You’ll fend for yourself if you’re sticking around.”
Sorcha had never been like her adopted sisters. Her witch of a mother taught her too many things and her young mind had absorbed the information. Sorcha had more uses than whoring, Papa used to say. People paid more for healing than they did for bedding. And besides, no one wa
nted to risk laying with the devil's spawn. Papa never thought she was a witch or cursed, but she was whip-smart.
He made the decision for her to walk the path of a healer. From that day forward, she dedicated herself to helping others and tried to avoid the same fate as her mother. The acrid scent of burning flesh was seared into her memory.
Sorcha ducked her head and nodded. “I’ll be at the guild meeting most of the day and then need to stop by Dame Agatha’s.”
“That poor woman is pregnant again?”
“Seems so.”
Briana tsked. “That man needs to give her a break, or she’ll go to an early grave. Speaking of, I’ll need you to restock our own stores. We can’t have any children running around.”
“Of course. On the way back, I’ll gather more mealbhacán, but the wild carrot tastes awful.”
“I don’t care what you gather, or how bad it tastes. Just make it useful.”
Briana must have had a difficult client, Sorcha mused. Or perhaps it was the teeming mass of energy behind her. Men always grew excited on the Solstice.
She raced up the rickety wooden stairs, trying not to make eye contact with any of the male customers below. They lived in a large city, and most people knew her. She wasn’t in the market for entertaining.
“Sorcha! When are you going to let us love you like we love your sisters?”
Only when she crested the first flight of stairs, did she pause and lean over the railing. The long tangled mass of her hair hung over the edge. “Oh Fergus, someday you will make your wife jealous with talk like that.”
“She knows I’m loyal to her!”
Briana stood behind the man, waving her hands frantically.
