Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(38)

She watched the mug dance back and forth. Apparently, that was the correct thing to say.

The soft swishing sound of her skirts lulled her senses into a stupor. Sorcha stumbled to the bed and fell face down. It didn’t matter that cobwebs tangled in her hair or that the layer of dust was so thick it bounced with her and then returned to the mattress. She was so exhausted, she could even sleep through the boggart placing clammy hands on her cheeks as it checked to make sure she was alive.

She slept for the rest of the afternoon, through the night, and well into the morning. However, it felt only a few seconds until she was blinking her eyes at the dappled sunlight shining through the hut window.

Blinking, she groggily realized that a soft sound had awakened her. Tapping, like a spoon against ceramic, although that couldn’t be right. She remembered very clearly that she was in a hag’s hut which had seen better days. Even the boggart couldn’t have gotten a tea set in such a short amount of time.

Sorcha sat straight up in bed, the tangled mat of her red hair sticking out at odd angles. The room had completely changed overnight. The dust and dirt was piled in a corner, the floors revealed to be rich warm wood. The furniture gleamed and the fireplace was scrubbed clean of all grime and smoke stain.

Something clinked again drawing her attention to the kitchen table near another window. Two chairs framed it, one currently occupied by a short woman with a mop of white hair. An aged, though clean, kirtle touched the floor. Tiny pink flowers decorated the pale fabric, and must have been hand painted. Her white hair smoothed into a large bun, but strands of frizzy curls had freed themselves.

The strange woman set her spoon on the saucer and sipped at her tea.

Sorcha blinked. “Am I still in Hy-brasil?”

“I believe so. If I’m in Hy-brasil, then you must be here, too.” The strange woman had a nice voice. Comforting, like that of a warm blanket on a chilled autumn day. It was familiar although Sorcha couldn’t put her finger on why.

Large, brown eyes watched her every movement as Sorcha fiddled with the blanket covering her legs. “I don’t remember tucking myself into bed.”

“Oh, I assume that was the boggart, dearie. Although, I’d say she is well on her way back to brownie now, thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me?”

“You gave her something to do, and that’s all brownies want.”

Sorcha’s mind raced, and realization dawned on her like a hammer. “You’re the voice I heard on the shoreline. You were with that gnome!”

“It’s a good memory you’ve got there.” The woman set her teacup down and smiled. “You can call me Pixie.”

“Is that what you are?”

“It is. Are you surprised?”

“I’ve never met a pixie before,” Sorcha said as she gathered the blankets at her chest. “It’s an honor, ma’am.”

Pixie chortled, the laugh booming out of her chest and shaking the table. “Oh, but you are a sweet little thing! So polite. Boggart, I think you were quite right. She’s a fair treat in this horrid place.”

“Boggart? Is she here?”

“Of course, dearie. She doesn’t want you to see her yet. She came all the way up to the castle, a rarity I might add, to tell us how pleasant you were. You’ve made her happy giving her something to do and a place to clean. Losing her hag was a terrible blow.”

“I—” her head was spinning. Sorcha couldn’t keep up with what Pixie was saying, let alone the strange turn this adventure had taken. “I apologize if this seems rude, Pixie, but what are you doing here?”

Pixie sat up straight, setting her cup down so hard the saucer chipped. “How presumptuous of me! Dearie, if I have frightened you in any way, do allow me to apologize. I’ve come to take you up to the castle, get you some tea, and then…” Her nose wrinkled. “Perhaps a bath if you are amiable?”

“I can honestly say that would be appreciated.”

Sorcha pushed the covers back and stretched her aching spine. The pain of her journey had dulled to a persistent stiffness, but it was significantly better than before. Her skin still felt like it was covered in a thin layer of filth, and her hair didn’t move when she shifted. Sorcha winced, she needed a bath as soon as humanly possible.

She looked down and frowned. “Who changed me into my underthings?”

“Boggart, dearie. Had quite the time of it as well. You’re much larger than she.”

“Yet another thing I need to thank you for, Boggart. I’ll be sure to cook two loaves of fresh bread for us tonight.”

A faint squeak from the corner radiated delight.

Sorcha hobbled towards her pack. Muscles screamed as she bent down to find clothing, so much that a soft whimper escaped her lips.

“Oh, there’s enough of that,” Pixie grumbled. “We’ll throw a cloak over you and you’ll be covered to decency. We don’t have the same ridiculous restraints as humans. A body is a body.”

“And a body grows chilled,” Sorcha pointed out. The idea of leaving without having to tie up the back of her gown sounded lovely. Usually her sisters helped, and she had little reason to change clothing on a ship full of men. Here, she would need help.

“A body will last until it’s stuck in the bath.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she stood up only to groan again. “But I still need to find something to wear.”