Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(10)
A warm breeze spiraled around her. It lifted her hair and teased the end of her nose. Dust motes danced and butterflies stirred into motion. Their wings flashed brilliant colors as the sunlight played across them.
Danu was pleased. Sorcha tilted her head towards the sun and let its heat soothe her soul. Although she was here, in her favorite place, dark thoughts still shoved to the forefront of her mind.
There were too many things to worry about. The blood beetles. Papa. Geralt. Her sisters. The list went on and on until she was drowning.
“Danu,” she whispered, “my mind is troubled. I do not seek help, as I know you cannot always give it, but if there is a spare moment of your time… listen to my fears.”
The air in the glen stilled as though something or someone was leaning forward in anticipation.
Encouraged, Sorcha sank to her knees and dug her hands into the moss. “The blood beetle plague is spreading ever faster. My own father has contracted the infection. I have the knowledge to extend his life, but I cannot stop him from dying. I fear I am only prolonging the inevitable.
“My sisters will not last long without his guidance. The man who takes his place will be unlikely to view them as people. I do not wish for them to lose their business or their home. They have done what it takes to survive here in the city. There is no shame in their profession, but there will be many who seek to take advantage of us in our father’s absence.
“The Guild members refuse to listen. They sit in their ivory tower and poke at dead bodies while so many people die. They have gone so far as to say that because I am a woman, I do not have as much knowledge as them. I do not have the patience, nor the endurance, to continue. I will say something foolish or headstrong, and they will never listen again.
“Please, great mother of all and protectress of the Tuatha dé Danann, hear my plea for help.”
Sorcha leaned down and pressed her forehead against the soft moss. She held her breath as she waited, but expected no response. No matter how many times she cried out for help, the Fae always ignored her.
It wasn’t in their nature. Even the Seelie court was fickle, their rules keeping them strictly away from humans. The Tuatha dé Danann were separate from those rules. They were the beginning and the end, the start of all Fae. But that didn’t mean they liked humans any more than their brethren.
Her heart thundered in her ears. Was that a giggle in the forest? Unlikely. Although, if it was, perhaps the Fae were listening.
She waited until her knees ached and her back screamed for relief. The moss turned cold beneath her fingers, the water glimmering in bright droplets upon her nails.
“Please,” she whispered again. “Just this once, please, listen to me.”
A branch cracked. That was no giggle, nor was it caused by the wind. Sorcha’s spine tensed further, and she squeezed her hands in the moss. Could it be possible? Could this be the moment Danu finally answered her?
Loud thuds echoed nearby, the pawing of a large creature she could not see. Sorcha flinched. The breeze picked up. Its heat scorching along her shoulders and whistling in her ears.
“Women do not belong on their knees, child.”
The voice sliced through her consciousness like a well-sharpened blade. It was the rustling of leaves, the gong of sword striking shield, the crunch of teeth biting through an apple. Sorcha’s hands began to shake as she pushed herself up onto her elbows and lifted her gaze.
Her eyes caught upon hooves that sparkled and faded into human feet. A swath of rich green fabric tumbled down atop them. The tail of a golden belt lashed out and settled against rounded hips.
The woman was tall. So tall she rivaled the surrounding trees. Her mane of red hair hung heavy to her waist, the color so vivid that Sorcha’s eyes burned. Harsh angles defined a face not delicate, but strong. Verdant eyes glowed as she stared at Sorcha.
“Are you hard of hearing, girl? Stand up.”
Sorcha stood, albeit slowly. “You aren’t Danu.”
“Astute for a woman so willing to bow.”
The pieces fell together. The sound of stamping hooves, the red hair, the triskele carved into the stones. Sorcha’s brows drew together. “You’re Macha, aren’t you?”
“And you’re at my shrine.”
Every muscle in her body seized. There were many myths regarding Macha, and all claimed she was dangerous. A sister to the Morrighan, Macha was known for her strength on the battlefield. She would paint woad upon her skin and hack through any man who stood in her way. The fanciful tales claimed she had a steed made of fire and trapped dead men’s souls within her blade.
“I meant no disrespect,” Sorcha said as she dropped her gaze. “Please accept my sincerest apologies. I will leave.”
The blade at Macha’s waist shone sunlight into Sorcha’s eyes. Lifting a hand, she held her breath and stepped backward. Each step brought her closer to freedom and the promise of life. This was no kind Fae before her.
“I did not give you permission to leave, human.”
Sorcha winced. “What would you have me do?”
“You asked for help. I’m interested in providing it.”
“I—” It was bad luck to not accept a Fae’s favor. Except this didn’t feel like a gift. This felt like an offer which would require a price. “I don’t make deals with faeries.”
“Yet you came to what you thought was my mother’s shrine? You begged for a favor just moments ago, but nothing is free. Here I am, Sorcha of Ui Neill. Ask your favor of me, and perhaps I shall be kind.”