Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(8)

“That grumpy thing up there? Howling like he plans to tear the whole castle apart? I will not, under any circumstances. He’s been too angry lately, the boy can go hungry.”

“He has a right to be angry.”

“No one has a right to be angry for that long.”

Oona turned, lavender wings fluttering in the air. High arched eyebrows lifted even higher. The leaf-like fan of her forehead vibrated in anger. She shook a long finger at Cian, the extra digit giving her tsking weight. “You know as well as I why that man is angry. His own brother banished him here. His twin! After trying to kill him, more than once, need I remind you.”

Cian crossed his short arms over his wide chest. “I have never felt bad for a king, and I don't plan to start now.”

“Not a king.” She shook her head. “A man who might have been king, if circumstances were different. Those he loved betrayed him, hanged him, and sent him to this isle with us. The least we can do is bring him supper.”

“You bring it to him, then. I don’t need to get thrown across the room like last time.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“Few would,” Cian nodded. “You’re a frightening woman, pixie.”

“And don’t you forget it.” She reached out and rapped him on the head with a wooden spoon. “Now where is the master’s dinner?”

He blushed, the red color highlighting on the peaks of his wrinkled skin. “Didn’t get him one.”

“Cian!”

“What? I told you I wasn’t bringing him dinner!”

“There’s not enough time to find him something to eat! And what do you think I’m going to do? Bring him pollen and honey?”

“Why can’t he eat what we do?”

“Because he’s a direct descendant of the Tuatha dé Danann! You think they eat like us?”

Oona spun and frantically searched the kitchen for anything she could bring to their howling master. He wasn’t a picky man. He rarely ate at all, but he couldn’t eat flowers, and he certainly couldn’t drink only cream.

She ended up with her hands full of bread, honey, and milk. It was the best she could do although it wasn’t likely to cool his anger.

Oona blew out a breath which stirred the petals of her hair and left the kitchen.

The stone steps to the master's quarters always made her nervous. No railings prevented her from falling straight down the center. Looking down the stairs, she gulped. The fall would kill her, so she was certain to tread carefully while making her way to the master’s quarters.

The peak of the tower opened to a walkway suspended over open air. Wind whistled past her ears. The vines in her hair turned to whips striking against her cheeks and neck.

She strode across the walkway while holding her breath. A stone door blocked the master’s side of the castle from everyone else, protecting them from his rage.

Oona placed her shoulder against the door and grunted as she pushed.

Sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood filled the room beyond. Her hands shook as she traversed the broken landscape of furniture and vases. The master had gone through his seating area and beyond into his bedroom.

She paused a moment and stared at a crooked painting. The Queen stared down from the wall with a soft smile on her face. Now, three ragged strips were missing. The sagging canvas warped her face along the sliced edges.

“Master has never harmed you before,” she whispered. “What happened tonight?”

The sounds of the master’s wrath silenced at her words. He'd heard her.

Oona took a deep, steadying breath, and walked towards his bedroom. She tentatively pushed the wooden door open with her toe, holding her breath.

“Master?” she asked.

“Go away.”

She peered into the dim light. The curtains hung over the windows, covered in dust, and tied down at the bottom to hold them tight. Shadows formed around a four-poster bed with one post snapped in half. She could make out his dresser, the chandelier swinging on the ceiling, even where his rug began. But she could not find him.

A bell rang in her mind. It warned her to leave and not let him lure her into his darkness. To preserve her own life and let him go hungry.

Her heart said the opposite.

She lifted her hand, snapped her fingers, and a warm faerie light danced in the air.

“There you are,” she said. “I could hear you from downstairs and grew worried. You did quite a number on the front room.”

“Go away, Oona.”

He huddled beyond the bed, folded in on his great height until he was little more than a ball. His face turned away from her light as he always did when he saw her.

Not for the first time, she wished he would look at her without prompting.

“Master,” she shook her head and marched to his dresser. “What have you done with your cloak?”

“I didn’t think I would have visitors.”

"Well, we share a castle. There’s more of us than there are of you. What would you have done if the will-o'-the-wisps wandered up here to clean?"

“Frightened them away.”

She reached into the top drawer and pulled out one of his many hooded cloaks. “Frightened them away. They already tremble when you walk past. Do you want them to run?”