Heart of the Fae

by Emma Hamm

  “I will give you your answer,” he acquiesced, “if you walk with me.”

  “What happened to breakfast?” she asked as she slid her hand over his forearm. Crystals bumped underneath the fabric of his flowing white shirt.

  “You seem less inclined to eat.”

  “I rarely miss a meal. I would not say no to good food, even if the company may yet sour my appetite.”

  A hearty laugh rang in her ears as he guided her from the castle. “You think very little of me, don’t you?”

  “On the contrary. I think very highly of you and become disappointed when you do not live up to my standards.”

  “Ah, and what standards are those?”

  They stepped onto a dirt pathway leading them towards the ocean. The cold, autumn air bit at her cheeks and turned her nose bright red. This had always been her favorite season in Ui Neill. The grass would eventually turn brown, the leaves flaming the same color as her hair. Although she would miss the summer, autumn always had a special place in her heart.

  How long had she been gone now?

  She blinked away the sudden tears in her eyes and forced a grin. “If I told you my standards, you would certainly try your hardest to meet them. And then, however would I meet the real you?”

  “The real me?”

  “You are not the terrifying man you portray yourself as.”

  The muscles under her hand bunched. “Why do you say that?”

  “Oona says you’ve been leaving me gifts.” It was the only excuse she could think of to say. Sorcha didn’t believe he was the one who had left them in the first place. Boggart and the other brownies were far too kind. They liked any excuse to see her happy.

  “Yes, the daisies were difficult to obtain this time of year.”

  She stopped, so startled that her feet forgot how to move. Sorcha stared up at him, mouth agape. He paused when her hand slid off his arm, glancing down at her with a questioning expression.

  “That was you?” she whispered.

  He flushed. “Come on. If we’re late, you’ll miss it.”

  “Miss what?”

  “Your surprise.”

  “I thought this was just breakfast!”

  “It’s a little more than that.” He shook his head and held his arm out again. Obviously impatient, he waited for her to decide.

  “I—” she glanced down at his arm and back up at his face. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I thought that would be rather obvious.” His gazed dipped towards her mouth, blue eyes flashing with an emotion she couldn’t—wouldn’t—name.

  Sorcha couldn’t reply. Instead, she reached out and held onto his arm again. Her fingers slid over the craggy bumps and valleys, callouses whispering over the silken fabric. They both shivered at the contact. If he asked, she would say it was the cold.

  He didn’t ask.

  They wandered across the fields as the sun turned pink on the horizon. The birds awoke, singing their morning songs to each other. Though chilly, it was a clear morning with not a single cloud in the sky.

  “Hurry,” he murmured.

  They picked up speed, clambering over rocks and across seaweed. He held her steady over every bit of their journey, never letting her slip or tumble to the sand.

  His handprints burned into her sides, even when he wasn’t touching her. Sorcha marveled at his strength. He could lift her without appearing tired or showing any strain. Both his hands could span her waist.

  How could he be so strong? How was it possible that such a creature existed and yet so many humans didn’t know they were there?

  She shook her head and pulled herself up onto a rocky incline. Catching her breath, she turned back to look at him as he hefted his bulk over the stone to join her.

  “Where now?”

  He pointed behind her. Tilting her head, Sorcha turned and gasped.

  A waterfall tumbled from a rocky cliff into a vast pool of water. Glamour hid it from her view until she nearly fell into its edge. She hadn’t even heard the crashing thunder of water striking the ground. White foam bubbled where the waterfall met still pond.

  Great stones jutted towards the sky, moss growing upon their granite surfaces. It stretched as far as her eye could see. And at the base, white horses stamped their feet in the ripples of water and tossed their heads.

  She had never seen anything like it before.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “I thought you might like it.”

  “I do. It’s a rare gem in a world that could use so much more beauty.”

  “It gets better,” he murmured in her ear. “How much do you trust me, Sorcha?”

  “Very little.”

  His chuckle danced across her skin in bubbles of sensation. “Ah, you must do better than that lass. How much do you trust me?”

  “Enough.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  She stiffened, but complied. Curiosity had always gotten her in trouble and she wouldn’t back away now. Besides, it seemed as though he was far more interesting than he let on.

  Strange, but she hadn’t thought that a Fae could capture her attention so wholly. There had been many men in her town, but none of them so intriguing. So odd. So unusual.

  The words rang in her ears. Of course the strange witch’s daughter, the midwife who thought she was more, fell in love with an impossible man.

  His arms reached around her, chest pressed against her spine. She moved forward and back with each great inhalation, rocking on the waves of his own making.

  She gasped as his fingers traced the outline of her chin. Delicately, oh so delicately he touched her. As if she might shatter with just the mere breath from his lips.

  His fingers lingered at the stubborn thrust of her chin, joining together to spread across her full bottom lip. The butterfly touch trailed up her cheeks, his thumbs anchoring at her jaw.

  The slightest touch whispered over her eyelids.

  “Your eyelashes feel like feathers,” he whispered in her ear. “I have very little poetry for women such as you. I cannot ever compare your body to artwork, or sing you songs of lovers in a hidden grove. My experiences limit my words and talents.”

  “I never wanted poetry,” she said on a soft sigh. “I only wanted a man who could see me for who I am.”

  “Then open your eyes, Sorcha of Ui Neill. And see the world as it truly is.”

  She blinked, opening her eyes as if she had never seen the sun. And had she ever seen it?

  The veil of the world shattered through the ointment he pressed against her closed lids. Colors were suddenly so much more. The white horses grew long manes and water dripped from their foaming snouts. Webbed toes stamped the ground, their tails flicked back and forth.

  His arm around her waist was suddenly more solid. More real. The crystals were more than just stone, they were imbued with magic that she could see as sparkling light dancing atop his skin.

  “Oh,” she whispered. “What did you do?”

  “I opened your eyes.” He nudged her backward, holding her against his chest and letting her stare without worry of balance or fear of falling. He had opened her eyes to the world she had never seen.

  “I had no idea all this was here.”

  “Glamour is a strange thing. Faeries place it upon everyday objects without even realizing what they do.”

  One of the horses tossed its head, glancing at them with dark green eye.

  “Kelpies?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Aren’t they dangerous?”

  “Not to me.”

  “And to me?” She tilted her head back, looking up to catch his expression.

  He stared back at her. His brows smoothed and his lips curved into a soft smile. The crystals marring his eyes, lips, and skull were made more beautiful by her new sight.

  “Never to you. Not as long as I stand by your side.”

  She felt his low hum against her spine. It wasn’t quite a song, nor did she t
hink he had the voice to sustain such a melody, but a rumble that came from deep within his belly. The kelpie nearest to them lifted its head.

  It ambled closer, shaking its wet and dripping head. Seaweed tangled in its mane, and foam erupted from its nostrils every time it snorted.

  “Have you ever wanted to touch a kelpie?” he asked.

  “It’s dangerous. They’ll drag humans down into the bottom of the ocean and drown them.”

  “But have you ever wanted to touch one?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “Without question, I have always wondered what they felt like.”

  He stepped forward, sliding his feet under hers until he walked for the both of them. His arm around her waist was comforting and strong. “Then let us fulfill that wish.”

  The kelpie tossed its head as they moved, watching every twitch, every step, every breath that Sorcha took. It ignored Eamonn, perhaps the only creature in existence that was able to ignore the crystals and jagged edges. Its head swayed as she walked closer, a strange translucent glimmer spreading across its body.

  “What was that?”

  “That is what a glamour looks like to a Fae.”

  “That?” It looked like a bubble stretched across the kelpie’s skin. Light reflected off the surface in rainbows. “But it’s so beautiful.”

  “Did you think it wouldn’t be?” His hand slid under her arm, guiding it up into the air. “Deceitful things are not always ugly.”

  “Shouldn’t they be?”

  “Not necessarily. Sometimes, we hide our true selves to spare humans the grievous injury of our appearance.”

  Sorcha looked over the kelpie, seeing the strange webbed feet, the scaled skin, the seaweed hair and did not flinch. She could understand how some humans might be afraid of it. The legends said it was dangerous, and it likely was. It was different, uncomfortable to even be around.

  But that was what made it so lovely. Sorcha had been the oddity in her town, and she knew how deceiving appearances could be.

  She stepped out of Stone’s comforting warmth. Her nightgown stuck to her skin as mist clung to the sodden fabric. The cloak felt heavy upon her shoulders, but did not slow her determined pace.

  Her palm met the cold, wet snout of the kelpie. It huffed, bubbles foaming between her fingers.

  “Hello,” she whispered.

  It cocked its head to stare up at her. A strand of seaweed fell across its forehead. Sorcha didn’t hesitate, she brushed it aside and stroked her hand across damp scales.

  “There. Now you can see me.”

  Stone’s voice rumbled, “I’ve never seen a human treat faeries so kindly.”

  “I’ve never seen a human treat faeries like anything at all.” Her heart clenched. “We have forgotten what it means to be connected to the earth, to the waves, to the creatures who care for all of those things.”

  “It is why we faded from your world.”

  “And I hope you know that your kind is dearly missed.” The kelpies skin was faintly like that of a snake, albeit a cold, wet one. Sorcha couldn’t stop petting the creature nor did it seem to want her to stop. Every time she pulled her hand away it would bounce its head.

  “Is that so?” Sand suctioned to his feet as he walked away. Sorcha tracked the slurping sounds to the rocks where he settled. “I see no signs that humans even remember us.”

  “Myths and legends teach us lessons. Tales of your kind frighten children, and I can’t say how many people have thought their babe to be a changeling. They remember you, and they blame many things upon faeries that are their own fault.”

  Sorcha could not change the minds of people who were so set in their ways. She wanted to, but she also wanted to remain free of fire.

  “And you stayed true to the old ways?”

  The kelpie snorted on her hand and turned to provide its back. She knew what it wanted and shook her head. “No, my friend. I have no wish to visit the land beneath the waves. Go back with the others.”

  Sorcha patted the broad back and made her way towards the flat rocks Stone sat upon. The water had yet to splash them although it wouldn’t have mattered. Water already weighed her dress down.

  Shivering, she tucked the edges of his cloak underneath her legs. “My mother followed the old ways. She taught me how important it was to leave milk on the windowsill, offerings at the hidden forest shrines, and to always respect the way of the Fae.”

  “Smart woman,” Stone said. His eyes remained trained upon the kelpies rooting through the pool’s still waters. “Would that others listened to her wisdom.”

  “They thought she was a witch because strange things happened around her. Faeries helped when they could. I don’t think they meant to make her seem suspicious or strange, they just wanted to help.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Sorcha shivered again, placed her chin onto her knees, and sighed. “They burned her at the stake for worshiping devils. It took her nearly an hour to burn because it was so misty that they had to keep lighting the pyre over and over again. I was lucky they didn’t feel like burning a child that day.”

  His bright eyes locked upon hers. “They burned a favored of the Fae?”

  “I don’t think she was favored. Just one who recognized that our world would never be the same if she gave up on her beliefs.”

  “And for that, they burned her.” Stone shook his head. “Your people are barbarians.”

  “There is kindness in even the darkest of places. My father plucked me from my village and brought me home. He took me as a daughter, told his children that I was their equal. People such as him exist, but it is so easy to focus on the bad.”

  Stone grunted. “You have a unique way of looking at the world.”

  “How so?”

  “You twist even negative things into positives. You refuse to think ill of anyone, even those who have wronged you. I have never seen such a creature.”

  Sorcha shifted, mist playing across her face in small ice cold pricks. “And you? How would you have dealt with a dead mother and a people who betrayed you?”

  He reacted as if struck. His gaze snapped away from hers, fists clenching in sudden anger. The muscles of his jaw worked. “Revenge.”

  “Revenge?” Sorcha shook her head. “What good would that do?”

  “I find wiping out those who have wronged you tends to soothe the soul.”

  “It cannot soothe the soul in the slightest and even suggesting so is cruel. The implications of revenge are that no mercy will be shown.”

  “Would you show mercy to those who killed your mother?”

  “You have experience with this,” she said. Her eyes searched his for the truth and found a lingering pain she recognized. “What happened to you?”

  “The Fae are not kind creatures. We do not allow for weakness to show among our people.”

  “The brownies accepted Boggart back into their family with arms open wide. Even after she fell from their ranks and returned with her tail, quite literally, between her legs. Tell me again, Stone, that your people do not allow for weakness.”

  The ragged sigh that rocked his shoulders tugged at her heartstrings. “The Tuatha dé Danann do not allow for weakness. The lesser Fae are far more…” He paused, seeming to struggle for the words.

  “Kind.”

  “Kind,” he repeated with a nod. “Yes, they are capable of forgiveness, which is more than I can say of my people.”

  “Can they really not forgive? Or do they choose not to?”

  His hand touched the angry wound of crystals that wrapped around his neck. “I do not have an answer for that question, Sorcha.”

  She couldn’t stop staring at his throat. The markings were too familiar, yet she couldn’t pinpoint what might have caused such a wound. She had seen a man nearly decapitated once, his family had brought him to her in hopes that she might help. There hadn’t been any possible way for her to bring him back. But these markings weren’t that.

  A memory surfaced o
f bright red skin, bruises spread in spidery tendrils, and the vacant eyes of a thief who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Sorcha had been too young to understand that the hanged man was dead. She ran through the crowd and tried to help him stand up. The gasps of the crowd would always haunt her, even more so than the dead eyes of the man.

  She rose onto her knees, turning towards Stone with her gaze locked upon his neck. She gave him time to back away, to brush her hand aside, to tell her to stop.

  He didn’t.

  Her fingers settled upon the cool surface of the crystals. The ones here were smoother than the others, like the polished gems of a crown. She dipped her fingers into the crevice. Magic, so cold it burned, tingled underneath her nails as she followed the angry line to the back of his neck.

  “This was among the first,” she whispered.

  “How did you know?”

  “The stones feel old.”

  “Worn down by time and the elements.”

  “They hanged you,” she observed. “I recognize these marks, although I didn’t piece it together until now. How did you survive?”

  His massive hand touched just below hers, fingering where skin met rock. “I didn’t think I would. The crystals prevent anything from killing me. I hung there for three days before they finally cut me down.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I existed.”

  Sorcha shook her head. “Surely it was more than that? Living isn’t a reason to kill someone.”

  “It was for my family.”

  “Family?” Shock jolted through her body until she thumped back onto her heels. “Your family did this?”

  “I told you, the Tuatha dé Danann do not forgive weakness.”

  “Weakness? How is this a weakness?”

  Suddenly enraged, she surged forward again. Her fingers traced the ragged edges of crystal that bisected his face. She touched the top line at the edge of his shaved skull. “This is the mark of a brave man who has endured much hardship.”

  Her finger traveled down to rest just above his brow, “And this is the beginning of a journey.” She trailed over his eye and hesitated at the high rise of his cheekbone. “The mark of self-discovery.” To his lip where the crystal made it difficult to him to smile or speak. “Of bravery.” Her thumb touched his chin, “Of stubborn pride.”