Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(34)

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I cannot thank you enough.”

They helped her fly. Her feet skimmed the ground as they carried her towards the castle. The front door used to be red. The paint peeled from the top, golden rivets tarnished with age, a bronze lion held the knocker in its mouth.

Light filtered through the cracked door. She stooped and peered through the broken wood. An empty room stood beyond. White sheets covered the furniture and cobwebs stretched from ceiling to floor.

Sorcha stuck a foot out and nudged the door open. Its groan echoed through the room and bounced up the grand staircase leading to the second story. A cobweb drifted on the air where she had torn it from its place on the door.

“This is the castle of Hy-brasil,” she whispered. Sorcha reached up and caught the cobweb, transferring it and the spider to the wall. “Sorry.”

Twitching her skirts to the side, Sorcha stepped into the castle with wide eyes. Dim light caught upon dust motes, turning the room to starlight.

“She made it,” a familiar voice grumbled.

“I did,” Sorcha replied. “You’re Cian, are you not?”

“Humans aren’t meant to know our names. I didn’t give you that, ungrateful wretch.”

“But I have it now and I made it to the castle.”

“With help.”

She shrugged. “Does it matter? I’m here all the same, and now I would like to speak to the Tuatha dé Danann.”

“The master isn’t taking visitors.”

There was a faint outline of a short figure in the shadows of the stairwell. Dust had settled upon his shoulders, far too round to be human and shuddering in anger. Sorcha narrowed her eyes on him and committed the little details to memory.

“I’m afraid I cannot give him that choice. Bring me to him.”

“I’m not your errand boy.”

“Then tell me the way.” Sorcha put steel into her voice. She willed sharp edges into the words so he would have no choice but to obey.

The Fae man grumbled. “If you think that will scare me—”

“It should,” she interrupted. “You don’t know me, gnome. You take a great risk in underestimating me.”

She threw the words out in hopes her memory served true. Gnomes were short, squat creatures with round bodies and rolls of fat. The dust settling revealed a body type very similar to that.

Cian shivered and tossed the dust back into the air. “Good guess.”

“Tell me the way to your master.”

“What will you give me in return?”

“I will make no more deals with the Fae!” Her shout hurt her ears. “Now!”

“Up the staircase then, girl. Keep going straight to the throne room. You can’t miss it.”

“Throne room?” She coughed in surprise.

“What, did you think the master would be in his receiving room? The throne room, girl. You want to see the master so bad? Perhaps you should prepare for what you will meet.”

She refused to look towards him. Clothing stiff, body aching, face burning from sun and salt, she ascended the stairs with her head held high. She would not break nor would she yield.

Sorcha resolved to be stronger than she had ever been before. Stronger than when she helped her first patient’s child into the world. More capable than when her father fell ill and her sisters needed her to be the stable one. More brave than the first time she cut into a stranger’s body and pulled out beetles hoping they wouldn’t turn and attack her.

The Fae would not look at her with pity. The master was even less likely to give her any kind of clemency. She would need her wits about her. Sorcha knew convincing a Fae to leave this isle would be nigh impossible.

But she had to try.

The staircase led to more ancient stones. One wall had crumbled to dust revealing a room filled to the brim with tattered paintings. She didn’t pause, although her curiosity piqued.

At the end of the castle, another stairwell descended. Chandeliers covered in cobwebs dripped spiders instead of gems. The white marble floor had once been a remarkable sight. Now, cracks ran like rivers through a canyon, marring the once opulent surface.

Stairs led up to a dais covered by moth-eaten gray fabric. The throne loomed in the darkness, outlined by antlers and horns jutting out in all directions. Sorcha could only see heavy boots leading up to thick, muscular legs. Shadows blanketed the rest of him.

The Tuatha dé Danann was a man.

“I have journeyed across the sea, through hardships and storm, to make a deal with you, m’lord.” She hesitated before the throne, unsure whether she should continue.

His boots shifted. A heel nudged enough to reveal a perfect footprint in the dust. How long had he sat there? Had he been waiting for her?

“I no longer make deals with humans.”

There was something wrong with his voice. It was the grating edge of rock against the bones of the earth. It scratched down her spine and made her palms tingle. She gasped.

“The MacNara twins sent me, and they said you would—”

“The MacNara twins?”

“Yes, m’lord. They said you would help.”

“Did they? Perhaps they mistook me for someone else.”

“I—” she stuttered over her words. “A-are you connected to the human world at all? Do you know what’s going on out there?”