Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(40)

“Yes, I heard he was rather…harsh with you.”

She snorted. “Harsh is one way to describe it.”

“He’s a good man, but he has a temper.”

“Was that his temper? I thought he was merely a brute, leaving little to make a good impression.”

Pixie grabbed another bucket of water. “The master can be difficult, but don’t let first impressions sway you. If you judge him harshly, he’ll do the same for you. Hold your breath.”

Water cascaded over her head and down her shoulders. Sorcha stared into the muddy water while clumps of earth swirled with her movement. Bubbles popped, releasing the scent of lemon into the air.

“Have you known him long?” Sorcha asked. The haunting vision of his marred face and electric blue eyes rose in the water.

“For as long as he’s been alive. The master was a handsome child.” Pixie paused. “And is still a handsome man.”

She wanted to disagree. The words were on the tip of her tongue to say he wasn’t handsome at all, that his exterior matched his interior, but she paused. Sorcha had always been quick to judge others. Perhaps now would be a good time to practice patience.

“I couldn’t say,” she said. “He didn’t seem interested in helping me. That didn’t add to his appeal.”

“Help you? Whatever could the master help you with, dearie?”

Pixie moved behind the tub and tugged Sorcha backwards. Her spine hit the warm metal, and a soft sigh slipped from her lips. The weight of her hair slid out of the water and dangled to the floor. A slight tug suggested Pixie planned to work all the snarls into smooth curls.

“My people are dying,” Sorcha said. “A plague is sweeping across our lands, and I can’t cure it. No one can. Our doctors are baffled, our herbalists are stumped, and even the mystics shrug their shoulders and say the gods are angry. There is nothing to be done.”

“And our master?”

“I was sent here by other Tuatha dé Danann. They said if I brought him back they would give me the cure. My father is dying, and my sisters are likely to grow ill afterwards. I had to do something.”

The rasp of the brush lulled her senses. Her eyes drifted shut as the comforting rhythm reminded her body she had endured a significant journey.

“I’m sure if you told the master all that he’d help.”

“He’s already said no, but he doesn’t know how determined I am.”

“It’s a good trait to have.”

“Is it?” Sorcha laughed. “Perhaps I could bring you home with me, and you could tell my neighbors that. They only put up with me because I’m a healer.”

“A healer?” the Pixie’s voice sparkled. “We don’t have one of those.”

She wanted to reply, but her muscles were so relaxed that all she could manage was a quiet murmur. The bath was exactly what she needed, although she hadn’t known it before. Every ache disappeared, every worry dissolved. She focused upon the repetitive movement of the brush and let her mind quiet.

All good things came to an end. The water chilled and Pixie made it to the top of Sorcha’s head.

“Come now, let’s get you dressed.” Pixie passed a gentle hand over Sorcha’s head.

Tears pricked and water blurred the edges of Sorcha’s vision. She hadn’t expected to find people who were so genuinely good hearted. It was nearly her undoing.

“Thank you,” she whispered and stood. The water sluiced off her body, pouring in waterfalls from her breasts, lingering in the valleys of her hips.

Pixie tsked. “You need to gain weight, dearie. You’re positively thin!”

“I’m not from royalty. I’m working class!”

“That doesn’t make a difference to me. Come here.”

The towel in Pixie’s hands snapped as she held it out. Another strange moment. No one dried Sorcha off after her bath except herself. Even her mother had let Sorcha wrap herself in a towel before scrubbing her hair.

The soft towel dragged over every inch of Sorcha’s body with expert precision. Pixie didn’t hesitate as if she had done this her entire life.

“Pixie?” Sorcha asked. “What did you do before you came to Hy-brasil?”

The other woman hesitated for a moment. “I was a lady’s maid to the most beautiful of Seelie women.”

“Who?”

“The Queen Neve, of course.”

“Queen?” Sorcha let out a long breath through her teeth. “That’s a high-ranking position.”

“Queen usually is.”

“No, I mean the Queen’s maid. That must have been an incredible experience, I envy you.”

Pixie looked at her with shock in her eyes and burst into laughter. “Dearie, you are a delight! I have never in my life had anyone envy me for being a maid!” She laughed so hard that she handed the towel to Sorcha. “High ranking for being a Queen’s maid. The thought!”

With a soft smile on her face, Sorcha finished toweling herself dry. “It’s a rather remarkable position, you must admit.”

Twisted shadows danced behind the blinds and between the maids drifting through the room. Sorcha tilted her head to the side and watched the wings, feathers, and misshapen forms revealed by their shadows. They likely weren’t aware she could see their true forms.