Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(29)

“I didn’t think I would die like this,” she whispered, treating the raven as her confessor. “I always thought it would be at the stake. Rumors called my mother a witch. She spoke with the faeries and kept the old tales alive. Because of that, they burned her alive. I still remember every moment of it.”

She pressed her face against his back. Bran tilted his head and tucked his beak against her throat.

“I’m not a witch. I’m not odd, or frightening, and I don’t have any knowledge that can’t be learned. Nothing will ever stop me from believing in faeries or leaving them gifts because they were here first. We need to take care of them because they take care of us in return. Not for payment, but because they are kind and good and everything humans have lost.”

The ship shuddered and froze. Sorcha listened to the groaning wood, the rivers of water splashing off the sides, and the pounding rain striking the deck. They had stopped moving.

A great deafening cry vibrated the entire ship. The high-pitched screams of men joined it and Sorcha realized with horror that the guardian had grabbed the ship in her mighty hands. She could imagine the wide split mouth gaping its terrifying scream, the thin pale hands clutching the Saorsa as if it were a child’s toy.

They were going to die.

She closed her eyes and breathed in a slow, deep breath. She had failed on the very first leg of her journey. But then again, this had been an impossible task from the start. The Fae didn’t want her to find the cure to the beetle plague. They wanted to watch a theatrical attempt by a foolish human girl who had trusted them too easily.

Hands slapped against the side of the ship. Tiny scratching sounds which were too small to be the guardian’s massive fingers.

Sorcha peeled open one eye, clutched the raven tight to her chest, and glanced at the porthole.

Green hair snaked through the opening, and dark eyes stared back at her. Rainbows danced across the merrow’s fingers as she reached through. When their gazes caught, the merrow paused and cocked her head to the side.

The raven struggled, squawking angrily until it wiggled free. He snapped at the air with his beak and flew towards the merrow.

“What?” Sorcha muttered.

Were they not going to die? Bran grumbled at the merrow who tilted her head to the other side. She reached out and brushed a long finger down the raven’s beak and then released the edge of the porthole. Her green tail shimmered as she pulled herself further up the ship.

“Are we saved?” She could hardly believe she uttered the words.

The angry look Bran cast towards her was answer enough. They were being saved by the very creature she was so terrified of. Now, she understood why it was so important to have a guardian in faerie waters.

Sorcha placed her hand against a post and rose on rubbery legs. She had barely been able to walk on the ship before the storm, now she didn’t trust her balance at all. Her hands were shaking, and she feared the guardian would drop them. She didn’t want to end up back in the water after that experience.

Carefully, she made her way towards the door. Manus’s voice echoed in her head. Do not go outside. Don’t open the door. Stay inside the cabin where it is safe.

Yet, she also heard the screams of his men. She heard the thumping crash of bodies landing against solid wood and the rushing waves of water cresting over the deck. There were people who needed healing.

It didn’t matter that she was afraid. Fear was a beast she could conquer as long as she could save just one life. This was what she was born to do.

Sorcha tugged hard on the door which resisted her movements. She threw her weight into the backwards motion and inched it open, bit by bit.

Men slumped all across the deck. Some had piled across each other, moaning and rubbing their wounds. Blood slicked her door, a red handprint catching her eye.

Merrows dragged themselves up the sides of the ship and across the deck. A few had curled around sailors and were gently patting their cheeks. They didn’t speak, instead, they hummed their concern. Their voices were deep and calming.

Sorcha stumbled towards the nearest sailor and dropped to her knees. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” he groaned.

“Where is the worst?”

He gestured towards his chest. Sorcha reached forward without hesitation and ripped his shirt open. A bright bruise already formed, purple and angry.

She danced her fingers over his ribs and watched his reactions. He flinched from the tenderness, but didn’t respond overly much to her prodding of the bones. There was the slightest of groans when she palpated his stomach. Sorcha hesitated and did it one more time. She didn’t feel any swelling from internal bleeding but the number of bruises was concerning.

“Are you having trouble breathing?”

“Leave me, girl.”

“Answer the question, sailor. Can you breathe?”

Another hand touched hers. Webbed fingers spread across the bruising of the man’s chest and gently pulled Sorcha’s hands away.

Sorcha stared in fascination as the merrow wrapped herself around the sailor. The long green tail twined through his legs and down to his calves. Her chest pressed against the man’s spine and her iridescent webs glowed as they smoothed across his skin. She placed her chin on his shoulder, humming the deep base of the merrow song.

“Sorcha,” Manus said. “Come with me.”

She looked up at the hand he held towards her. “What’s happening?”