Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(9)

“They should.”

“I don’t.”

“You find no value in your own life.”

Oona tsked. “That’s cruel and unlike you. What happened, Eamonn?”

The glow from her faerie light reached him. He lifted a hand to cover his face and the other to reach for the cloak. “Not now.”

“Yes, now.” But she gave him the hood, watching the silk trickle from her fingers like black water. “You can’t keep breaking furniture, we have a limited supply. Shipwrecks don't wash up every day.”

He pulled the cloak over his shoulders as if his muscles had stiffened. Oona knew better. Once he lifted the hood over his face, she knelt on the floor.

“Don’t—”

She didn’t listen. She reached out and pressed her hand against his. “What happened?”

Eamonn turned his hand, letting her fingers dance over his palm which now held an open wound. “Another careless mistake.”

“Oh, master. It’s just a cut.”

“You know it’s more than that.”

She glanced down, peeling her hand back from his. His flesh had parted from the meaty muscle of his thumb in a diagonal to his pinky. No blood welled from the wound. Instead, sparkling violet and blue crystals grew in the golden glow.

The wound would never heal again.

Oona curled her fingers over the disfigurement. “It’s not as bad as the others.”

“No, but it is a reminder of what I am.”

“You are our king.”

“I am an abomination and a pathetic excuse for Seelie royalty.”

She linked her fingers through his. “Those are your brother’s words, not yours. You are not ugly, nor are you deformed. In every way that matters, you are a Seelie Fae.”

“Except physical perfection. I can never be king.”

“Rules like that were meant to be changed. It isn’t right that you’re here and he’s sitting on your throne.”

Eamonn pulled away. He rose with creaking knees to his massive height. Oona was not a small pixie, but the Tuatha dé Danann were giants among men. The hood covered his face, and his hands glimmered in the light. His entire body was a geode cracking open with every slice to his flesh.

“Leave,” he growled.

“Are you going to be all right alone?”

He turned his back on her. “I always am.”

With a breaking heart, Oona solemnly left the room. She was careless on the stairs and nearly tumbled to her death before she made it back to the kitchens. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Cian peeked in through the garden door. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing. He’s done nothing but chosen to be alone.”

“Ah, good riddance. All he’d do is break things down here. I like my garden the way it is.”

He disappeared, and her heart stung as if she had swallowed something bitter. She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. “He shouldn’t be alone. He doesn’t deserve to be alone.”





Chapter Two





THE TWINS





A branch launched back and smacked Sorcha across the face. She flinched, another twig pulling at her hair until she whimpered. She paused and tried to untangle herself, huffing out a breath.

The trees held fast, tangling her curls around their thin branches and twisting at her scalp. Her plaid stuck on the lower branches and her arms held down by vines.

“I don’t want to let go of my anger,” she growled. “It’s healthy! No man should tell me what to do.”

Anger rose again at the memories. Even her tromp through the woods hadn’t cleared the red haze obscuring her vision. How dare he suggest she still her tongue and then follow up those words with yet another suggestion of marriage? He must be mad!

“Let me go!” she grunted. “I’m calm!”

Another harsh tug made her wince.

Sorcha sucked in a slow breath. Her cheeks puffed as she exaggerated the movement. “See? I’m not angry and won’t desecrate this place with my…” she paused and grimaced. “With my trivial issues.”

How had she forgotten? This was a sacred place, a haven for all who needed it, and here she was waltzing in wearing anger like a cloak upon her shoulders.

She hung her head in embarrassment. “My sincerest apologies. I will not make the same mistake again.”

The trees groaned their approval. She shook her head and her hair slid from the confines of branches and leaves. The curls bounced against her cheeks, untangled and smooth. Her dress fell heavy against her legs, her plaid swaying with the sudden movement.

Her lips tilted in a soft smile. “I have learned your lesson, Danu, and I will remember it.”

Nudging a branch aside, she stepped into the clearing. Green moss carpeted the ground all the way to the stones piled in the center. An artist had carved a triskele long ago; the three linked swirls faintly glowed on the granite. Water bubbled in between the mounds, smoothing the stones into perfect spheres.

She felt the warmth of the Fae here. The lingering effects of magic and nature made the tips of her pointed ears heat.

She pulled the bag off her shoulder and placed her offerings upon the stones. “Great Mother of old, I bring you gifts from those who seek your favor. Aileen, Eithne and Nola leave honey, lavender and sweet mead.” As she spoke, Sorcha placed her hand upon each item. “I have brought you my mother’s pin. It sparkles in the sun and reminds me of this place. I would like to leave it if it pleases you.”