Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(78)

Would he have hurt Oona?

The stone slid easily back into place, and the heavy door receded into the wall. Sorcha longed for the day when the grinding of stone against stone would cease. When it had been used so much that the passage was smooth and silent.

She toed off her shoes, moss soft against her aching feet. She hadn’t run this much in ages, between her bolting steps in the dark castle and then the rush through the portal. Her body wasn’t certain how to handle the rush of adrenaline followed by bone deep exhaustion.

Along the way to the bathroom, she pulled off each piece of her clothing. The outer kirtle dropped to the ground, the heavy skirts and belts holding each piece in place. Underclothing stuck to her skin where blood and fluid had leaked through each layer of fabric.

Sighing, she brushed aside the ivy and found Oona waiting by the door with a brush in her hand.

“Relax,” Sorcha said. “It’s just me.”

“Oh, thank heavens,” the pixie dropped the brush to the ground. “I wouldn’t have hit him, dearie. I just… I just—”

Sorcha lifted a hand. “If his intent was to hurt you, then you have every right to protect yourself. Now if you don’t mind, I’m very tired.”

“Of course, dear.”

Oona reached for the final ties of Sorcha’s underclothes, quickly untangling the strings, and stripping the heavy weight from Sorcha’s body. She stepped into the hot spring, sighing as her muscles eased.

“Did you bring the water from here?” she asked as Oona turned to put her underthings away. “The first day?”

“No. No, this is a royal room. These rooms are off limits for lesser Fae. Not without permission or company.”

“But I’m not a high Fae.”

“Perhaps you are,” Oona looked at her intently. “You’ve the pointed ears, although far smaller than any I’ve ever seen. Are you sure you aren’t a changeling?”

“My mother would have told me. She was a friend to the Fae and would have raised their child with pride.” As much as she wanted to be Fae, Sorcha doubted there was the barest hint of it in her bloodline.

“And you have no ancestors who came from Underhill?”

“Not that I know of, and I’ve never had any sway with the elements. The earth is just earth, the air just air.”

“Then you must not be Fae.” Oona shook her head. “I don’t know what you are child, but you aren’t entirely human. This room was not meant for creatures such as me. It’s said that all living things would grow ill and shrivel if they weren’t meant for such a room.”

“Are you certain it’s not just a myth?”

“Most things are myths, but there’s a shred of truth in every story. The magic here has deemed you worthy of staying within its walls. How, or why, I have no way of knowing.”

Neither did Sorcha. It didn’t seem right that she stayed in a room like this. It was too fine, too beautiful, and she had never lived in beauty like this before. Why should she start now?

Oona bustled out of the room, muttering about masters and faeries, and Sorcha could hear her opening chests for sleep clothing.

She didn’t have much time then. Sorcha’s fingers ghosted over the tips of her ears, wondering if perhaps she had a bit of Fae in her, after all. But wouldn’t they know?

Perhaps it was something she would never know or understand. Sorcha scrubbed her skin with a brush, the thick bristles turning her skin bright red and digging out all the crust underneath her nails. The water hardly changed color at all, it moved so quickly out the crack at the bottom.

Oona brushed aside the ivy, a light silk nightgown in her hands. “Come on then. You’ve had a busy day.”

“I’m sorry.” Sorcha looked up at her, wet hair tangled at her shoulders and spread out in the water like a fan. “I’m so sorry that I used your name without permission. I didn’t want you to get hurt, but it’s no excuse for treating you like that. I keep using faerie names even when I know how powerful they can be.”

“There’s no harm done, child.” Oona’s lips quirked to the side. “You saved my life.”

“Still, I would like to give my name in apology. I trust you to use it well.”

Oona’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. The nightgown fell from her hands and landed on the floor like a dying butterfly. “Why ever would you do that? Dearie, that is a dangerous thing to do. You should not give any Fae your name! Ever!”

Sorcha stood from the water, wrapped a cloth around her body, and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Oona. My name is Sorcha of Ui Neill. And it would please me greatly if you would refer to me by name from now on.”

Tears slid down Oona’s cheeks. “I couldn’t. It’s not right.”

“Please. I’m so far away from family and friends, and I consider you as close to me now as any other. I would like to hear you call me Sorcha, for it is my given name and should be spoken often.”

“Sorcha,” the faerie whispered. “You are the first human to ever give me their name.”

“Use it wisely.”

“And only with love,” Oona said. She stepped forward and wrapped another cloth around Sorcha’s shoulders, rubbing briskly. “Now let’s get you dried off and into bed.”