Heart of the Fae

by Emma Hamm

  “You’ll do,” he said as if she wasn’t about to faint. “Come with me.”

  Her feet stuck to the floor. He turned away from her with a flourish of his cape, and still she didn’t move.

  The king? How did he look exactly like Stone?

  The Seelie King glanced over his shoulder and arched a perfect brow. “Are you so foolish that you do not understand an order when you hear one?”

  Her Stone. Her kind, disfigured Stone was not reflected in this strange apparition before her. She suddenly understood why Stone reacted so violently when she mentioned family.

  This man hadn’t just stolen Stone’s birthright. He’d taken a kingdom, a throne, mother, father, brother.

  Even his face.

  Oona’s voice echoed in her mind. Do not let the king know where she came from. Do not mention the master. No wonder the pixie had been terrified.

  Tears pricked her eyes. She had so misjudged Stone as a cruel man who saw no other solution than revenge for those who wronged him. This wasn’t just a family squabble. His twin had ripped away his life and inserted himself into what was rightfully Stone’s.

  She wanted to smack the perfect face of the king. She wanted to drag her nails across his cheek so he too might feel the pain and anguish he had caused.

  But she couldn’t. Sorcha needed to keep a cool mind to get through his alive. Under no circumstances would she risk Stone’s life.

  “My apologies, Your Majesty.” She dipped into a curtsey, hiding her angry tears and red flush. “Please, lead me to the lady I might assist.”

  “You are far too presumptuous.” He reached forward and fingered a lock of her hair. “I wonder what Fae calls you slave?”

  It was too close. “No one, your highness. I came from the human realm.”

  “And who let you into my kingdom?”

  “I have always been close to the faeries. My mother left her offerings every week and passed along the respect in her bloodline.”

  “Respect.” He let her hair drop as his lip curled in disgust. “Your kind has little understanding of the word.”

  The king turned, lifted an imperious hand, and walked away.

  The air rang with clanging metal as the guards slammed their swords against their chest plates and followed their king. Sorcha tucked her arms against her sides and tried not to trip. The guards were so close to her that she could feel the cold air radiating from their armor.

  It all seemed to be far more fanfare than necessary. They were all over two feet taller than Sorcha. Why did they need so many guards for just her? She wasn’t likely to be able to fight one of them, let alone fifteen.

  She caught glimpses of the Seelie castle from between the soldiers. It was as if the entire palace was made of light. White floors, golden ceilings, rays of sunshine that bounced until it hurt her eyes to look into some of the rooms.

  How did they live like this? Everything was too perfect, too pristine. Her fingers itched to leave a smudged print on the glistening floor. Anything to prove that this place was real and lived in.

  Sorcha glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of the faeries trailing after them. Brownies and hobgoblins, dressed in little more than burlap sacks. They held brooms and dustbins, sweeping up any dirt that might have fallen from their feet. More trailed after them with hand rags and water. Their gaunt faces were haunting and hungry.

  The Wise King, indeed.

  Clenching her fists, Sorcha reminded herself where she was. This was his land, his palace, his kingdom. Although she wanted to free every faerie she found, she would only get herself killed. Or worse, reveal where Stone hid.

  She didn’t even know if he was hiding. Stone had spoken of revenge. Did he have a plan she didn’t know about? Were the other faeries privy to such information?

  Questions whirled through her mind until she could hardly think or breathe.

  There were no answers in the pristine walls and sun-flooded rooms. She would have to wait until she returned home. Then she would corner Stone and force him to answer all the things he had not shared.

  They marched through a pavilion, giant stone arches outlining the square. Flowers bloomed, larger than life and vibrantly colored, filling the air with a sticky sweet scent.

  “Would you like a drink?” the king asked. “The honey from these flowers are said to be the most rare and exotic treat.”

  “No, thank you, I am not thirsty.” She would not take any chances.

  “Food? We have many things you may never have dreamed of before.”

  “No. I ate before I arrived.”

  A grin spread across his sculpted lips. “As smart as you are brave. You are an intriguing little human.”

  “I know the ways of the Fae,” she said. “It is an honor to serve when I can, but I do not wish to linger here.”

  “You have someone to go home to?”

  “No.”

  “You’re lying.” He licked his lips as if she had provided a most delicious delicacy.

  “I rarely lie.”

  “I can taste it in the air. Humans are so easy to read. Your eyes dilate, your chest heaves with your guilty breath. You are a book that I can peel open and read every word.”

  She hated him. She hated every dark word that dripped from his tongue because she knew he was right. He was nothing like his brother and that frightened her more than anything else.

  They walked through the pavilion and he rapped his knuckles against a marble door.

  “My love,” he called out. “I have brought you a gift.”

  “I do not wish for a gift!”

  “You will want this one.”

  “Please, my king. I do not feel well today.”

  “Precisely.” He shoved the door open and nodded towards Sorcha. “Enter.”

  “She does not seem to wish for visitors.”

  “It is not her choice. My concubines obey to my every whim and fulfil my every desire. I wish for her to be seen and you will ensure she is healthy.”

  Sorcha curtseyed. “Then your wish is my command.”

  As she passed, he reached out and grabbed her chin. “If she becomes ill after you touch her, no one will be able to hide you from my wrath. I will peel your skin back inch by inch and I will keep you alive through it all.”

  “I wouldn’t dare harm someone who needed my help.”

  Sorcha glared at him, meeting his gaze without flinching. This man could threaten her all he wished. She refused to bow to a man who treated his loved ones like slaves.

  The king dropped his hand, chuckling. “I will leave three guards by the door. If they hear anything unusual, even the slightest of sounds, they will bring your head to me on a platter.”

  “I am doubtful my head would satisfy your pallet,” she growled. “Might I suggest a more tasteful organ?”

  The grin on his face was as feral as her words. Fionn turned, snapped his fingers, and left with half of his guards. More than three remained standing at attention.

  Good. Perhaps the king realized just how dangerous a little human midwife could be.

  “At ease gentlemen,” she muttered to the guards. “I wouldn’t want you to faint in all that hot armor.”

  Sorcha didn’t wait to see what kind of startled expressions they tossed her way. She stepped into Elva’s room and slammed the door behind her. Let them rot while they waited to see what she might do. Sorcha didn’t care. If they served such a horrible king, then they deserved the same fate.

  Smoke curled around her waist like tendrils of fingers. Frowning, Sorcha turned and peered into the bright, sunlit room.

  She had never been inside an opium den and had never desired to do so. Now, she knew what they looked like.

  Red velvet hung in great sheets from their ceiling, tangling with golden wire twisted into leaves. Gemstones hung in sparkling tendrils from above. From floor to ceiling, smoke coiled around all the opulence.

  Hookahs littered the floor, laying atop mountains of pillows and spilling liquid
to the floor. Three faerie attendants lay stretched across the ground. Bark skin made them blend into the ground, their lips and fingers stained black by opium tea.

  “Elva?” Sorcha whispered, using the faerie’s true name on a whim. “I am a midwife.”

  “Midwife?” The bed rustled. The faerie woman pulled the curtains aside. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your king summoned me.”

  Elva ripped the curtains to the floor. Her grace disappeared under the haze of drugs. “You are in grave danger.”

  “I am here to help you.”

  “If he invited you here, then he knows precisely who you are. And he knows where you come from.”

  The words made Sorcha freeze. The faerie had so many drugs in her system, that surely she wasn’t revealing that she knew about Hy-brasil. Or did she?

  “I come from the human realm,” Sorcha said. “I am here to make certain you are healthy. It is what your king wishes.”

  The faerie fell against Sorcha. “You do not understand. You do not know him. He wants to hurt me, so he brought you here. You need to go.”

  “What is wrong? Elva, you need to speak to me. If there is something I might do to help you—”

  Black tipped fingers pressed against Sorcha’s mouth. The faerie’s eyes were wild. “No. No there is nothing you can do to save me.”

  “Save you?” Sorcha repeated. “Do you need saving?”

  “What could be done for me was lost long ago, little human.”

  The panic made Sorcha nervous. She held the much larger woman in her arms and pressed Elva’s head into her shoulders. Tears soaked through the fabric on her shoulder.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Sorcha pressed closer until their bellies touched. It had been nearly a month since she had seen Elva.

  Smooth stomach met smooth stomach.

  “Are you not pregnant?” Sorcha whispered.

  “He wrapped me in silk and velvet. He called me his love and tore me from everything I loved.”

  “Where is your child, Elva?”

  “Gone. With everything else.”

  “What happened?”

  “Life.” The faerie woman pulled back, swiping at her tears in anger. “Life for a Tuatha dé Danann royal. There is nothing you can do to help me, midwife. I made a deal with a devil and take a snake to bed each night.”

  “Elva—”

  “I can help you.”

  “What?” Sorcha shook her head. “I do not need help. I need to make sure you are healthy, and perhaps that is why your king brought me here.”

  “He did not bring you here for me. He brought you here for a lesson to be learned. He does not believe that me losing the child was merely because it was my first and because faeries do not carry children well. You are his scapegoat. His reasoning behind the loss of his child.”

  “I will not give you anything to prevent childbirth.” Fear twisted around Sorcha’s tongue, slowing her words into a slur.

  “We both know that is the truth. But he has never cared for the truth.”

  What a sad existence this woman lived. Sorcha tucked her arm around Elva’s side and nudged her back towards the bed. It was unclear whether the woman was speaking from the heart or a drug-induced panic.

  Either way, Sorcha’s job was to heal. She couldn’t mend the rift between Elva and her king. She couldn’t even touch the pain that stained the woman’s soul. All she could do was get her settled in bed and quiet her mind.

  She tucked the faerie into bed and smoothed her hair from her sweat slicked forehead. “Where are you from, Elva?”

  “Cathair an Tsolas.”

  “The city of light?” Sorcha smiled. “I’ve heard of the legends. It is a place constantly filled with the sun.”

  “It sparkles when you look upon it.”

  “Tell me of your city, Elva. I dearly love stories.”

  Elva whispered tales of a magical city filled with Tuatha dé Danann and faerie subjects. She laced legends Sorcha recognized with truths that spoke of pristine streets and people wearing the most outlandish costumes.

  All the while, Sorcha cleaned. She lifted the dryads from their stupor and handed them out the door to the guards. The men seemed surprised that she would dare lay a hand upon any faerie.

  “Not a word,” she growled at them. “Take these ladies back to their quarters, or where ever you put them.”

  “They stay with the concubine.”

  “And I say they go. If you wish to argue, please tell your king to meet me here. Otherwise, put those women where they can sleep off the opium.”

  The guards stared at each other, shrugged, and two left with the faeries tucked under their arms.

  Sorcha closed the door once more. Elva’s privacy could be contained within these walls. No guards needed to gossip any more than they already were going to. The king and his favored concubine both relied upon opium. Enough that their fingers were stained with its poison.

  The story of a beautiful city filled the air. It twisted in the smoke and filtered out the windows as Sorcha threw them open. Fresh air would do a world of good for this room.

  She piled the pillows against the far wall and placed her fists upon her hips. There wasn’t much else she could do in such a fine room. This wasn’t built to be a comfortable living place, but a feast for the senses.

  “You don’t live in a very practical bedroom,” she murmured. “Pretty it might be, but useful it is not.”

  Elva didn’t stop mumbling her story. The words seemed to ground her. The opiates were slowly filtering out of her system as Sorcha puttered about.

  She stuck her finger in a small groove in the wall. A door popped open, revealing what looked to be all the items she would need to clean.

  “Convenient,” Sorcha said. A bucket of water waited for her, along with a mop that looked as though it had never been used before. Why keep something in a closet if it would not be used?

  Faeries. They would never make sense to her.

  She poured the water onto the floor and scrubbed stains and smells. “Elva! Enough with the story my dear, I think I know enough to believe I lived there.”

  “Humans can’t live there.”

  “No? That’s a shame. We’re not all that bad.”

  “I’m beginning to see that.” The fog had cleared from Elva’s voice. Now, she sounded more ashamed than babbling. “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Because there is hookah oil smudged into your floor, and the entire place reeks of opium.” Sorcha paused to blow a red curl from her forehead. “Don’t you ever have anyone scrub the floors?”

  “None other than you.”

  “Hmph. If you aren’t going to do it yourself, you should have someone clean at least every once and a while.”

  “Why not you?”

  “I’m not for hire.” Nor would she ever be. The longer she was in this place, the less Sorcha liked it. How had Stone grown up in this place?

  The thought filled her mind until it was all she could think of. Stone had lived here. He had grown up here. The king was his brother. And the king’s concubine sat only a few feet from her.

  Moving the mop once more, Sorcha stared down at her work. “Elva?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you know that the king has a twin brother?”

  “It’s blasphemy to even mention that the king has a sibling.”

  “Does that mean you won’t tell me about him?”

  Elva rolled onto her side to watch Sorcha work. “I knew him.”

  “The king?”

  “His twin.”

  “What was he like?” For once, she could speak about Stone with someone who wouldn’t hide the truth from her. There were enough opiates in Elva’s system to loosen her tongue. This might be the moment when she finally figured out his story.

  “He was an impressive man. The king and queen took different routes to raising their sons. The eldest boy tended towards t
he wild and feral faeries. They feared he might turn Unseelie, so they convinced him to train his mind and body as a warrior. He was the most fearsome creature who ever lived.”

  “You speak as if he no longer exists.” Sorcha couldn’t clean and listen at the same time. She leaned the mop against the wall and sat down on a stool. “Is he dead?”

  “Gone. And if you’re lost to this world, you’re as good as dead.”

  “Where?”

  “Banished. Some say he still lives on Hy-brasil, but I have many contacts there. If he lived, I would know.”

  “Do you think he was murdered?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past the king to do everything in his power to keep the throne. His twin was the favored son. He was perfect until his brother destroyed him.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Sorcha murmured. “You said you knew him?”

  “As best as anyone could. He was older than I and always fighting the Unseelie. There was something wild in him that could not be tamed. He frightened me. He frightened most of the faerie women, but we all wanted him. You know we used to call him the red stag?”

  “The red stag? Why?”

  “There was something in him that wasn’t faerie at all. Something that spoke of beasts in the wood, whispers on the wind, magic in his blood that didn’t come from the Tuatha dé Danann. He was dangerous, and I think his brother saw that in him.”

  Sorcha hung on every word. She leaned forward until she perched on the very edge of the stool. “What did the king think his brother would do?”

  “He would change everything,” Elva whispered. “He didn’t see the lesser Fae as creatures made to work. He saw them as people, valued them as soldiers and friends. That is not the Seelie way.”

  “Is change such a bad thing?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Sorcha’s heart broke for this shell of a woman. Her feet carried her to the other woman’s side. With as much gentleness as she could muster, Sorcha tucked her back underneath the covers.

  “Try to sleep,” she murmured.

  “Will it help?”

  “I don’t know if anything will help. But I find that a good night’s rest and quiet dreams always seem to ease the soul.”

  “My dreams are all nightmares.” Elva turned onto her side, away from Sorcha’s kind hands. “But at least I know that nightmares aren’t happening, no matter how tragic they are to experience.”