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

did they know, omens only fell from the lips of fell beasts such as this.

“Five for heaven, six for hell.” The creature paused and pointed back toward the cave. “Seven for the Raven King and the toll of a bell.”

She shivered. There was a message here, a dark message either warning her or sending her in a dangerous direction. She simply didn’t know what he wanted her to understand.

“Is this a warning or advice?”

The creature did not respond. It remained still as stone, staring down at her until she could feel the touch of eyes she could not see.

Pushing such a creature was unlikely to end well for her. And yet, she didn’t understand its words. The Raven King? Who was the Raven King?

Hesitantly, she nodded. “Thank you.”

It sank back into its strange position, on its knees with palms placed upon its thighs. It stared up at the sky, and together they waited for the sun.

Aisling tilted her head back to listen to the ravens crying out their unhappiness at the disappearing moon. This strange dream had only given her more questions rather than answers. Somehow, she had a feeling the Unseelie might be able to answer them.

She blinked her eyes open as soft, golden rays gently touched her cheeks. Light filtered through the leaves and dotted the ground like will-o’-the-wisps. Smiling, she sat up and stretched her arms over her head.

Though her dreams were strange and uncomfortable, they weren’t unwelcome. Badb hadn’t spoken to her in years. The illusive faerie was more likely to be screaming over a battlefield than reassuring her granddaughter. Aisling was pleased to know she hadn’t been forgotten.

The other creature, however, was less welcome. She didn’t know what it was. Some forgotten beast in the Otherworld? A figment of her own imagination as a representation of the faeries themselves?

And what was its message?

The nursery rhyme played in her head again. There was meaning there, something she was supposed to understand and yet couldn’t.

Soft fur brushed her leg as Lorcan stretched his paws out. “Morning,” he yowled. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not as well as you. You didn’t even move last night, did you?”

“There’s nothing more comfortable than dirt.” He rolled over onto his back and wiggled. “It’s just so warm.”

“You should be checking on your patient.”

“My who?”

Aisling gave him a severe look. The cat hissed but got up. His tail lashed through the air, a banner as he waltzed toward the Unseelie who hadn’t moved all night either.

Lorcan punched his paws up Bran’s body, each thump making Aisling wince. The cat sidhe was an impressive beast and weighed almost as much as a dog. He’d leave bruises if he kept that up.

“Why isn’t he waking?” she asked.

“Part of the spell. He needed to sleep for as long as possible. His body had to catch up with the healing energy of his mind.”

“I don’t understand a word of what you just said.”

“That’s because you were never interested in healing magic. All you wanted to learn was ways to hurt people and protect yourself.” Lorcan rolled his eyes. “Feral little thing. And they call me the animal.”

He leaned down and hissed in Bran’s face, glinting teeth bared and yellow eyes glowing with magic.

It was a slow waking. Aisling watched his fingers twitch first, then his hand curled in the dirt, and finally his eyes drifted open. His brows furrowed in confusion as he stared into Lorcan’s eyes.

The cat sidhe opened his mouth in a mockery of a smile. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Bran flinched back, scrambling into the roots and sitting up so quickly he dislodged Lorcan from his lap. Growling, Aisling’s companion slunk toward the fire and laid on his side.

“Never do that again, cat,” Bran angrily spat.

“You’re welcome.”

“For what?” His shout echoed in the small glen.

“For saving you, for healing you, for deigning to wake you up when we could have left you lying in those roots asleep for the rest of your life. At least then we’d still be in the Otherworld, Aisling would be immortal, and the story would end perfectly. But instead we woke you up.” Lorcan blinked. “Although I have no idea why.”

Before the Unseelie decided to tear apart her only friend, Aisling stood up and stretched again. “Boys, enough. We’ve a long journey ahead of us, and arguing isn’t helpful.”

“It makes me feel better,” Lorcan whined. “He’s so easy to get riled up.”

“Your job is to heal him, not to make him feel worse.”

“But what about what I want?”

She eyed him, wondering just how quick he would jump if she lunged at him. “What you want isn’t important. You didn’t have to come along on this ridiculous journey to break a binding curse I put on the both of us.”

He heaved a dramatic sigh. “There’s only so many chances to enter the Otherworld. I suppose I can survive.”

“Better.”

It was like he was her child, like it always had been even when she was little. The man had no sense of self-preservation or responsibility. Shaking her head, she turned toward Bran and took a deep, calming breath.

He looked a little better than yesterday. Color had returned to his pale skin, staining his cheeks red and turning his lips dark once more. Her gaze lingered on his full bottom lip until she realized what she was doing. Her cheeks burned even though he wouldn’t know she was staring.

“How do you feel?” she asked, mortified her voice had turned husky.

“Like a tree sat on my chest all night.” He glared at Lorcan one last time and then tried to meet her gaze. “But better than before.”

It shouldn’t warm her to hear that. She shouldn’t care at all that he felt better. Aisling tried desperately to fumble the lock around her heart closed, but she could already feel herself slipping. He wasn’t right for her, wouldn’t ever return her attentions, and yet she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

And he could never see her. Not with the curse hanging over her head.

Aisling pulled