Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(15)

There would be bruises on her throat. Delicately, Sorcha probed the muscles of her neck. They throbbed as if a noose had tightened across her airways. Faeries were strong, she noted, far stronger than any human.

She coughed. “Please.”

“Yes, yes.” Concepta waved a hand in the air. “Fine, then. Come meet my brother first. He’ll want to know what’s going on.”

Was this it? Would she finally be able to save her father? Hope raised its head, filling her chest to the brim with happiness as fragile as a dandelion seed. It couldn’t be this easy.

Could it?

The image of her Papa, skin moving with beetles, propelled her forward. The hallways were blank sheets of paper. White walls, white floors, gold filigree but nothing that suggested anyone lived here.

“Is this a new home?” she called out.

“No.”

“Do many faeries live here?”

“Yes.”

Odd, but Sorcha could see the sense in it. What faerie would decorate a human home with images of their family? A headless portrait would look out of place if not simply morbid.

She kept a hand around her neck as they twisted through empty room after empty room. A breeze trailed by. The distinct outline of a hand tugged at her gray skirt, pulling her forward.

Twin doors stood open at the end of the hallway. Beyond that, an oasis grew. Vines tangled from a ceiling which looked like a giant birdcage. Hydrangeas bloomed and filled the air with their sweet scent, although they were not in season. An ornate fountain spewed mist into the air, white lilies twirling at its base. Brightly colored fabric spilled across the ground and was dotted with pillows.

People stretched out upon the cushions. They held jeweled goblets in their hands, red wine pouring down their cheeks and onto their chests. Harp music gently wafted on the breeze from a musician in the far corner.

A man stretched out near the fountain. His sculpted chest was bare to the sun, skin slicked with oil and well-tanned. Silk pooled around him, pants or skirt she could not discern. Red rubies wrapped around his throat and dangled on his forehead from a golden headpiece. A chain stretched from his ear to a piercing in his nose.

The tingling sensation of magic pricked her skin. Sorcha clutched the hag stone at her neck.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Concepta said.

“Why not?”

“You don’t know what kind of Fae live here, little human. If you peer into our world, you will run from this place screaming.”

“As you are Macha’s children, I assumed you were of the Seelie court.”

“You know very little of our kind. Seelie or Unseelie is not a breed.” Concepta flicked a glance towards her. “It’s a choice, whether you want to follow the rules or you don’t.”

She watched as the faerie picked her way through the lounging people. She draped herself across the fountain next to her brother and dangled her fingers in the water. Sorcha thought she looked very much like her mother. It didn’t seem like a safe observation to voice.

“Brother,” Concepta said. “I brought you a gift.”

“You know I dearly love gifts,” Cormac murmured. “But human playthings break so easily.”

His gaze felt like a physical touch upon her skin, lingering on the swells of her breasts and the apex of her thighs. A slow smile spread across his face, teeth stained green by the viscous drink he nursed.

“I am not here for your entertainment,” Sorcha replied. “I was sent by your mother.”

“And Concepta didn’t kill you yet? You must be a very impressive warrior.”

“I am no fighter, lord MacNara. Macha said you owe her a favor and I am here to collect.”

He tsked. “Oh, sister, this is boring. Take her away.”

How could he say that when he hadn’t even listened? The glee in Concepta’s unnatural eyes suggested she had known this would happen.

Her father needed her. Her sisters needed her. Gods above, the entire world needed help and Sorcha had the rare opportunity to do so!

The faerie woman moved to stand up.

“Wait!” Sorcha shouted so loud that even the music stopped. “I was told you know how to cure the blood beetle plague. I will do anything for your knowledge.”

Cormac leaned forward and pointed a jeweled finger at her. “Anything?”

It was a sharp question, capable of slicing through flesh and bone. Was she willing to do anything?

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Anything.”

Concepta trailed a finger down her brother’s arm. “I told you she wasn’t boring.”

“We’re going to help her?”

“Yes.”

“Even against our better judgment?”

“We have better judgment?”

Their hands met and fingers intertwined. “It’s against the rules, sister.”

“I like to break rules.”

“It will cause trouble.”

“For us?”

“There are always ripples.”

Concepta lifted their hands and pressed a lingering kiss against his knuckles. “Then we will ride the waves they cause. I think this one will be worth the trouble if she succeeds.”

“What makes you think she can?” Cormac cast a disbelieving glance at Sorcha. “She’s just a slip of a girl.”