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

No, she didn’t. Bran was insistent when he wanted something, and right now he wanted her to figure out the way these faeries ticked. He’d want her eyes on everything, trying to find some chink in the Duchess’s armor.

Aisling’s eyes fluttered closed. She had a job to do. And she would complete that job whether he approved of her face or not.

“That’s my girl,” Lorcan said with a warm purr. “You have always been a strong woman, and no man’s disapproval of your looks is going to change that.”

She turned on her heel. Her fingers flexed as she passed the small dressing table. She desperately desired a mask, something, anything to hide the visage she now wore. Still, she pressed her palm against the door and slid through the wedged opening.

He stood waiting for her on the other side, a dark shadow lurking in the center of the hallway like some great beast about to attack her. Aisling had never been afraid of the dark, and now she understood why. All the best things stood at the very edge of her vision, hidden from the light.

“Are you ready?” he quietly asked.

“I am now.”

He reached forward, an almost liquid movement until a spear of light shone from the window upon the fine, embroidered sleeve.

Aisling drank him in as if he were salvation and she the damned. Brocade poured over his shoulders in a high-necked jacket. Black silk fell from his shoulders in an open shirt, leaving his chest bared. She wanted to press herself against the warm skin and count each raised muscle, feel each ragged breath.

She laid her palm on his offered arm and felt the broidered edges pull at her calloused touch.

“The Duchess has something planned,” he murmured, glancing away from her face. “I can feel it.”

“Maybe she simply wants to enjoy her last few nights alive.”

“Unlikely.”

He wouldn’t look at her. Aisling bit her lip and stilled her expression, reminding herself that people could see her now. She couldn’t hide behind a curse where no one could see her mocking faces. They could see her just as well as humans now.

Their footsteps echoed as they walked down the empty hallways. Stone crumbled beneath their heels, and enchanted roots pulled back into the ancient walls. Every inch of this place screamed that it was not a home for humans.

She wasn’t human. Aisling needed to accept her faerie roots, and yet she couldn’t. Every inch of her rebelled that this was more her home than the small hut where her humble beginnings had taken shape.

Every fiber of her being longed for that place. She wanted to see all four walls of the building within easy reach, her beloved spell books lining a small shelf, a fire crackling nearby, and Lorcan weighing down her feet. It was a simple life, but she now knew that the simple lives were the best.

Bran shifted his arm, letting hers drop and laying his hand on her shoulder. “Not long,” he murmured. “We’ll discover their secrets, and then we’ll leave.”

She glanced up and caught his gaze. Something softened there, a small spark she had seen before. And then it was gone in the wake of disappointment.

He looked away from her, and every broken shard of her heart screamed.

“Just a little while then,” she confirmed. “Then we’ll return to my room and plan our next move.”

“You go left, and I’ll go right?”

They paused before double doors painted with the heroics of Nuada.

Aisling nodded in agreement, pushed her hand against the door, and plunged into the waiting crowd. She tried not to think about the troubled look he gave her.

He couldn’t know.

Silvery moonlight filtered through the shards of stained glass windows. It cast the grand hall in gray shadows. Surely, the entirety of the Duchesses court must have been there. Pressed shoulder to shoulder with each other, hundreds of bodies milled around the large, shattered columns.

A man nodded his head as he gently moved aside. A mantle of bones decorated his shoulders, tiny skulls hanging on strings, laughing as he moved.

She stepped over a fallen pillar, the stone bone white and glowing in the light. Her skirts puffed around her. The fabric moved with a mind of its own. Every time she touched it, waves of fabric rippled down her sides.

“There you are!” a bubbling voice called out. “Witch! Come and entertain us.”

The duchess was ever demanding, but if Bran wanted to know if there were secrets, she really should go directly to the source. Aisling turned and plastered a smile on her new face. “I am pleased to do so, but my magic is no different than yours.”

“Witches have long been able to tap into magic that is different than the Fae.” The duchess lifted a delicate hand and gestured Aisling to her side.

She looked particularly lovely tonight. A pale green dress hugged her curves so tightly that Aisling could make out the indent of her navel. The glowing heart pulsed through the velvet fabric.

Simplicity seemed to be the duchess’s style, which perhaps explained Aisling’s own dress. She dipped into a curtsey. “It would be my pleasure to showcase any witch talent you desire. I’ve been trained since I was very young.”

“Yes, yes. We all know the changeling child who took her own fate in her hands.”

Aisling glanced up sharply.

“Easy, little one. Your beloved has no idea.”

“He’s not my beloved.”

“If he isn’t yet, he will be.” The duchess lifted a delicate brow. “I know the look of a woman in love. I stare at such a face in the mirror every day. I would have to be a fool not to recognize it in another of my kind.”

Aisling gritted her teeth and changed the subject. “What would you have me do?”

“Read the leaves.”

“What?”

The duchess pointed behind them at a dainty table set upon the backs of three men missing their eyes. “We’ve had our tea while waiting for you and that raven-headed fellow. Now we would like very much to know our fate.”

“You