The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

She grimaced. There were only a few ways to hold blood. In her palms, but considering the guards, that was a bad idea, or… She swallowed and licked her lips. The less desirable choice was the only option.

Swiping a hand over her mouth, she hoped the Unseelie’s spell didn’t require untainted blood.

Aisling peered over the altar. A body was laid out on top, made of stone, and so detailed it could only have been created by magic. She knew enough about curses to see the man for what he was.

He had not been a handsome god in life. Scars covered his face, his chest, even his legs. She could see every bit of him. They’d not taken the time to carve clothing onto the dead god. His brow was strong, his ears a little too large, and his mouth far too wide. But his chest was well formed, his hands strong, and she thought he had a kind look about him.

In her experience, the kindest-looking people could be the most dangerous.

She blew out a breath when she realized the next obstacle. He was a god made of stone. How was she supposed to cut his flesh?

There were a few spells she could use. One would destroy the entire stone structure, the other just him. Somehow, neither seem the right way to solve this.

She leaned over him with a pressed hand flat beside his head. “What are your secrets?” she whispered. “What am I supposed to do?”

A bright burst of heat speared her shoulder, an echo of pain slicing through the binding curse and causing her to cry out. This was no flesh wound. This was a magic blade sinking into his shoulder and pinning him to the ground. It was just above his heart. Not mortal, but a grave wound that could turn deadly in mere moments.

Heat blossomed on her shoulder and blood saturated her shirt.

“Bad enough it shows up on me, too,” she gasped. “Unseelie, you should have been more careful.”

Dizzy with pain, she pressed a hand to her shoulder and then to the chest of the dead god to steady herself. Blood would assist her magic, although she was so disoriented she couldn’t find the words.

Air wheezed between the lips of the dead god. Her jaw dropped open, and she stared in shock as the stone around his mouth cracked. Fissures broke through the fine marble like cracks in clay. They traveled up his face, centering around his eyelids which opened to reveal a gaze filled with black.

She swallowed. “Welcome to the land of the living.”

A small dimple appeared in the corner of his cheek, sending flakes of stone crumbling onto the altar. “That is the first time someone has greeted me thusly.”

His voice was the sound of a mountain caving in on itself. It made her ears ache, and she heard an answering cry far away. Wincing, she pressed one hand to her ear.

“There’s a first time for everything. Even for a god, I imagine.”

He chuckled, the sound somehow worse than just his voice. “I am not usually amused when I am awakened.”

“You haven’t woken up with a pretty woman sitting on your lap in a long time then.” Even through the pain, she managed to bat her lashes and hoped he wouldn’t hear the sarcasm in her voice.

“You’ve got an impressive tongue for a creature so young.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, dead god.”

“But not everywhere with you, changeling.”

His words struck her in the chest with more force than the sword that had slid through the Unseelie’s body. She gasped, flinching back as her gaze locked with his. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. All she could hear were the words echoing in her mind.

Changeling.

Stone shattered, and his arm lifted, his cold fingertips gently touching the side of her face. “Did you think you could remain hidden forever? That no one would ever see the woman beneath the facade?”

“How is this possible?”

“Magic cannot hide your face from a god.” His thumb stroked just underneath her eye. “Your grandmother warned you that your life would change if you came here, and it will. Hiding your face won’t save you.”

“It’s the only way to stay safe.”

“In the human world, I would agree. But you are no longer in the human world. Here, you are far safer than you have ever been. You aren’t a changeling here. You’re just a faerie.”

“Shhh.” She pressed a bloodied finger to his lips. “Don’t say it too loud. No one knows who I am, what I am. And I would like to keep it that way.”

Swords cracked against each other, the echoing battle looming in the distance.

He licked away the blood and more stone fell away. She grimaced. Blood magic was dangerous, and giving such a precious gift to a creature like this was asking to be cursed.

Not that she could be cursed any worse than she already was. Binding curses signed away a person’s life. This dead god couldn’t hurt her more than she’d already hurt herself.

“What do you wish from me, changeling?” he asked.

“Why do you think I want anything?”

“The guards will not let me pass. Every few centuries someone is wily enough to break in, and every few millennia, someone is intelligent enough to figure out how to wake me. Each and every one has their reasons, but always because they want something.”

She lifted a shoulder. “If you’re all knowing, then you should know why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes, the binding curse.”

“I need to remove it.”

He lifted a brow, cracking the stone on his forehead. “I fail to see how I can help.”

“The Unseelie with me, the man now fighting the guards, knows a spell which can break the binding curse. It requires the blood of a dead god.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his expression. It was a pitying look, and she expected him to say that the Unseelie was wrong. That the spell wouldn’t do anything other than waste their time.

“In a sense, he is correct,” he murmured.

Relief made her sag