Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(83)

He hesitated, and she leaned forward to hear his quiet words.

“I have no fear of pain. My hands are stained with the blood of kings and the ashes of old gods. But I fear what my brother might do to her, should he find out about her existence.

“She is strange. Unlike the creatures I am used to, or remember from Seelie. Breakable and yet strong. Flawed, yet somehow perfect and uncommonly kind. I don’t know what it is you would tell me to do, grandfather.”

Sorcha knew what she wanted Nuada to tell him. Try anything you want, for our time is fleeting.

Her heart raced as her mind played through the possibilities. He was not an ugly man. The crystals were unusual and dangerous, but they didn’t detract from the harsh angles of his face. Her sisters would run from him in fear.

His height alone would be a problem. And if he was so tall, there may be issues with fitting together…

She cocked her head to the side and looked him up and down. It was worth taking a chance. He was a beautiful man.

Stone sat back up, his back and shoulders flexing. Shadows danced across the imposing muscles, flickering to life only to disappear as he shifted.

“I fear touching her with my hands. I am an unyielding man, created to do violent things. Laying with a woman, being kind to a woman, is not in my nature.”

Her heart shattered all over again. Did he truly believe he was incapable of being gentle?

Green light trickled from the top of the triskele to the bottom. Great drops of emerald fluid leaked from the edges of the stone and slid to the ground.

“Peace, grandson.” The voice was smooth honey wine, the comforting voice of the wind after a long journey home. “The course of love is no easy path to tread. The sky may tremble, and the wind may howl, but the only person who can sway your decisions is yourself. What do you feel when you look at this girl?”

“It is like nothing I have ever felt before.”

“Do you like the way it feels?”

“It makes me feel weak,” Stone growled. “One look from her and I am ashamed of myself, of my decisions, of the path I walk.”

“And what path is that?”

“I walk towards my death. My birthright was taken, and I will not allow another to take what should be mine.”

The green light flared so bright that Sorcha had to duck behind the pillar.

Nuada’s voice rose, “And whose choice is that, grandson?”

“My own.”

“Do you wish to die?”

“No.”

“Then my suggestion is for you to live. As much as you can. Experience life, experience courage and honor in ways you were never given as a young man. You are still a being capable of brutality, but that does not define you. The Fae are infinite creatures, capricious and volatile. It is far past time for you to discover other purposes for yourself.”

“You approve?”

Nuada’s chuckle echoed in the room, and the green light faded. She watched the nearest pillar until the light completed disappeared from its gray stone. Only then did Sorcha peek past her own hiding spot, and glance towards Stone.

He remained kneeling in the same spot, head heavy. His hands flexed upon his thighs but he did not move. He did not speak.

He did not know she was there.

Sorcha turned and let herself out of the altar room. She wasn’t certain she breathed a single breath as she raced down the hallway and out of the western tower.

What had she heard?

She pressed her spine against the wall and leaned her head back until her hair caught in the cracks of stone. What was that? What would she make of that?

His words rang through her skull over and over again. She made him weak.

Was that a good thing?





Chapter Eleven





THE KELPIE AND THE KING





Sorcha rubbed her eyes, yawning as Oona dragged her down the hallway.

“Where are we going?”

“The master has asked for you, dearie.”

“The master?” Sorcha asked. “Why would he be asking for me this early in the morning?”

“It’s not for me to say.”

“Do you know?”

“Haven’t the faintest idea! It’s just a lovely thing that he’s asked for you. He doesn’t ask for anyone.”

“And here I thought that might be just the tiniest bit frightening.”

Sorcha didn’t know what to think as she walked through the hallways in nothing but her faded cotton nightgown. Her hair stuck out in all directions, curls creating a nest of hair that hardly bounced as she moved. Sleeping always meant she had to brush the waist length mass at least a hundred times.

She spent more hours than she could count taming the wild beast of her curls. It was even worse when it was short, or she’d have sheared it at her skull.

“Wait, hang on,” Sorcha grumbled as she twisted her arm. “I’m hardly dressed for meeting with Stone.”

“Stone, is it? You’ve given him a nickname?”

The sparkle in Oona’s eyes made her uneasy. “I won’t call him master. But it’s hardly proper to meet him in my nightclothes!”

“Oh, faeries don’t have the same delicate sensibilities as humans. You’re fine as you are.”

“I most certainly am not!”