Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(110)

The wind whistled past her ears, and she couldn’t tell if the croak was for her or simply a grumble.

“Am I ever going to see him again?”

The Unseelie prince didn’t answer. He turned them both away from the battlefield and soared over the ocean.

Too far away for anyone to hear her sobs.





Chapter Thirteen





HOME





They traveled across the sea with great speed. Bran took them high over the storm’s edge, moonlight giving way to sunrise.

Sorcha wanted to take in the beauty. She wanted to appreciate the world because she would never see it this way again. Merrows jumped from the waves and called out to them. The Guardian swam through the depths as a shadow drifting aimlessly.

She took it all in, but her heart felt empty. Drained. She wasn’t certain if it was even there anymore.

Her faerie prince was likely dead. If he wasn’t dead, then he’d killed the mirror image of himself. Who could be the same after that?

Was killing a twin like killing oneself?

Bran’s claws dug into her skin, shredding the shoulder of her dress. The pain was dull compared to the ache of her heart. She’d always thought she would grieve like Rosaleen did when she lost a lover she liked.

The blonde waif of a girl would wail and scream. Her cheeks would burn with the salt of her tears. The house would ring with the anger of her cries, the disappointment in herself and the man who had left.

Sorcha was numb. There was nothing inside her at all. Just a dull throb where her heart used to be.

Bran’s toes shifted. “I’m bringing you home.”

She nodded, although he couldn’t see her response.

He jostled her. “Did you hear me, midwife? I’m bringing you home. Wasn’t that what you’ve wanted this whole time? To go home?”

Sorcha did not respond. Instead, she stared down at the waves and wondered how much it would hurt if he let her go. She had heard the higher one was, the more solid the surface of the water became. If he let her go, she might strike hard enough that she wouldn’t even feel it.

His toes clenched hard, squeezing the breath out of her. “It’s not the end of the world, you idiot. You have a purpose, remember?”

“Excuse me?”

“I can tell you’re moping!”

“I think I have a right to.”

“You didn’t even fall in love with him. You’ve lost a good friend, that means nothing.”

“He has become a part of me.”

The faint outline of houses appeared on the horizon. A familiar city. It felt like such a long time ago that she had stared across the table at humans. How long had it been?

Time moved differently in the Otherworld, and Macha had said it was the same in Hy-brasil. How much had her world changed?

Sorcha wasn’t certain she would survive it.

Bran soared over the tops of buildings, past ships and sailors. No one looked up at the great winged bird carrying its human cargo. He took them to a small hut. Abandoned and falling down, it may have once been a home.

No longer. Sorcha listened to the soft sound of feathers as he brought them down to the ground. He placed her gently on the roof of the hut and hopped to the dirt where he shifted forms.

Feathers melted into caramel skin. Black clothing formed over his body. Talons shrank into fingernails until only small points remained. A dusting of tiny black feathers still decorated his face, and the single raven eye glared up at her.

Bran held his arms out. “Time to get off.”

“I can’t feel my body,” she whispered. “It’s the strangest feeling. I never thought losing someone I loved could actually hurt my physical form.”

“Come Sorcha. I will tell you a story.”

She didn’t want to hear a story. She wanted him to take her back to Hy-brasil so she could look after the survivors of Fionn’s war. The hard look in his eye suggested he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Perhaps it was better in the long run. She scooted to the edge of the thatched roof and tumbled into his arms.

He set her down carefully, then placed a hand on her back and pushed her towards two fallen logs. She sat down hard. Her hands didn’t feel right. They didn’t seem to be placed on the ends of her arms in a way she could control. They almost felt backwards, but that wasn’t right at all. She had used these hands thousands of times.

Bran reached forward and cupped the backs of her trembling fingers.

“I lost someone very dear to me. I spent my entire existence wooing her. Sticking twigs in her hair until she had to cut it to get them out. Putting frogs in her bed and mice in her slippers. I teased her endlessly and still she loved me.

“And then one night, someone took her away. There was nothing I could do, and I was promised she would be happy, but I would never see her again.

“I thought piecing myself back together would be impossible. It certainly felt like it in the first few months. But I found a different purpose as someone other than the man who loved her. I found my freedom, respect for myself, and I realized that even without her I was still a good man. I could still do great things, and that she was just a reward for working hard.”

He lifted her hands and pressed his lips into his palms. “You will find yourself again, Sorcha. And I believe it will be in healing your people with these hands.”