Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(42)

He leaned back in the high chair of his desk. Steepling his fingers, he pressed them against his lips. “Why would she want to do that? The boggart is hardly something to waste her time on.”

“Perhaps she considers Bronagh worth her time, master.”

He hadn’t thought of that. Boggarts and those of the lesser Fae were traditionally beneath the Tuatha dé Danann. Their jobs were clear. Slaves, footmen, sometimes maids if they were pretty enough. Never in his life had he seen anyone take the time to treat them with respect.

The suggestion that the human cared was ridiculous. She had been so furious, charging into his throne room like she owned the place. Her eyes spat fire while her words seared his pride. He refused to believe her as kind as Oona thought.

There was a warrior in her.

Oona bustled behind him, cleaning every inch of his quarters. She was good at that. He had never seen another pixie so willing to do a maid’s job. She was the best, and the only acceptable maid to bring with him to this cursed place.

He much preferred the pixie without her glamour. The old woman’s disguise grated on his nerves. Pixies were lithe creatures, with a cap of flower petals instead of hair. Hers was a pale dusky lavender, matching the shimmering wings she wore draped around her shoulders.

“Where is she now?” he asked.

“The same place as last night, the hag’s hut.”

“She went back?”

“Without complaint, I might add.”

Eamonn leaned forward and pressed his elbows against the desk. “Why?”

“To cook bread for Bronagh.”

“Yes, but why else? There has to be a reason.”

Oona sighed. She crossed around to the front of his desk and knelt before him. “You will hurt yourself trying to understand the human. You know full well it’s impossible.”

“I cannot accept that as truth.”

“Then you will go mad. Let it go, master. Some things you will never understand.”

He couldn’t let it go. He closed his eyes and saw her flashing green eyes. Emeralds and rainforests hid in her gaze, equally dangerous and cutting. It was strange he would remember her eyes as the rest of her was unimpressive.

No self-respecting Seelie would ever entertain royalty while looking like they rolled in a pig’s pen. The woman had been disgusting. Seaweed stuck in her hair, clothing wrinkled and smudged with dirt. One foot bare, the other covered by a threadbare slipper.

Yet, she’d held herself with the grace of a queen.

Perhaps that explained how she’d bewitched him. She was an enigma, an oddity, a strange creature who made little sense. She shouldn’t exist, and yet, here she was.

“No human has ever come to Hy-brasil, have they?” he asked.

“Not that I know of, master.”

“So how did she get here?”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s not my place to question how people arrive, only to take care of them when they do.”

He snorted. “Cian made quite the impression.”

“That was my fault,” Oona winced. “I said his name in front of the girl. I didn’t think she could hear us while we held our glamours, but somehow she did.”

“He’s angry at you?”

“When is he not?” She stood up from his floor and scowled at him. “You’re stalling. What are you going to do about her?”

“Who?” Eamonn lifted an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. For good measure, he lifted his booted feet onto the desk.

“Stop teasing me! It’s bad for my health. You know full well who I’m speaking of! She’s a nice little thing, and it’s not settling well with me that you were so rude.”

“Did I ask for an opinion?”

“No, but I’m giving one. She is the sweetest little thing that has washed ashore in nigh two hundred years! You need to apologize to her—” Oona lifted a hand when he opened his mouth, “—apologize, and then invite her to stay here. It’s not safe to live in that hut.”

Eamonn wanted to fly across the table and strangle her. Apologize? To that miscreant who shouldn’t be on this isle to begin with? He had more things to worry about than the feelings of a silly little girl.

Memories of his brother flashed through his mind. His throat tightened as it had when the noose cinched tight across his Adam’s apple. The gems at his neck cast a dim glow across his clasped fingers.

Oona made a soft sound of distress and looked away. “I meant no disrespect, master.”

“I’m certain you didn’t. You have always been one of my favored servants, and for that I spoil you. Do not make me regret that.”

She bowed and turned to leave. He met her gaze as she hesitated by the door. “Master, if I may be so bold, perhaps we no longer wish you to see us as servants. We see you as family, my dear, and someday we hope you’ll see us the same.”

Her skirts swirled as she raced from the room.

He frowned. Was that how his people saw him? As a mysterious figure who cared little for them?

Long ago, when he was young and drunk on the idea of power, he had thought that way. Eamonn stood, clasping his hands behind his back as he wandered to the portrait of his mother. Her golden hair fell straight without a single strand out of place.

He remembered her like this. Always perfect, no matter what the situation. Even when they hung him.