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

that will make you feel pity, but know we are saving her. This is the only way to purify her soul.”

She chuckled, her laughter dancing on the wind that tousled his hair and fluttered the shredded fabric of his clothing. “Witch hunter, I think you enjoy this. I think you find a perverse pleasure in burning women at the stake.”

“Witch!” he screamed and whirled to glare at her with fire in his eyes. “You are no woman. Remember that while you burn and your master refuses to help you.”

“I have no master.”

“Renouncing your deeds will not save your soul now! You're too late.”

After he turned away from her, Aisling closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see the hatred in theirs. She needed to focus.

A spell, a spell, any spell would do. She’d spent years memorizing every page of every book and yet nothing would bubble to the surface.

Bark. She could use the bark. The trees listened to everything, and the tree was going to burn as well.

She twisted her hands in her rope bindings. The witch hunter continued with his drivel, foolish man. He wouldn’t guess she had other tricks up her sleeves because he had never dealt with a witch who learned from the Fae.

Palms pressed flat against the bark, she whispered, “Roots will pull and branches bend, flee these folk, it’s not our end.”

No magic tingled on her tattooed fingertips. The tree was long dead; its soul dashed to the wind.

“No,” she muttered. “Wake up. Wake up, old friend, and run.”

Cold silence met her quiet cries for help.

And she had run out of time.

“Witch”—the man turned and cast a cold gaze over her form—“you have been tried and found guilty of lying with the devil. Although it's not my belief, your townsfolk have requested to allow you one last moment with God. Beg for forgiveness.”

She spat at him. “I'm not consorting with the devil, and I've no need to beg. I've done nothing wrong. It's the townsfolk who will wear this mark on their soul.”

“Do you curse us?”

Aisling noted the feverish excitement in his eyes. He wanted her to curse them. He wanted something else to demonstrate he was right, that his foolish need to prove himself to the world as a “good” man had steered him true.

If he wanted that satisfaction, then she would give it to him and hoped his sleep was plagued with nightmares of the real witch he'd found. The townsfolk had never seen the true extent of what she could do, and they never would.

She’d learned a long time ago the most effective curse was a fake one.

“I curse you,” she started quietly, building up her voice into a wail. “I curse your souls to wander the earth and question whether you made the right decision. Forever more you shall wonder if I was an innocent woman, if your own wives are next, and never shall your souls rest!”

The witch hunter rolled his eyes. “Enough. Burn her.”

There was no hesitation at his order. Three men dropped their torches to the bundles of dried sticks that burst into terrible flames.

The townsfolk flinched back, raising their arms to their faces, as if that might keep them safe from the burst of bright light and the wave of heat. She smelled the sting of pitch and whale oil. They hadn’t wanted to wait long for her screams.

Fire licked at her ankles. The scent of burning flesh filled the air and stung her nostrils. She wouldn’t wail. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they had broken her.

Aisling lifted her head and stared defiantly into the crowd of people. She met their gaze even as flames made her eyes water with their brightness. Smoke clogged her lungs, but she did not cough. She wanted to sear their faces into her memory forever.

Shadows moved behind the crowd. No, she realized, not shadows at all. Ravens, a great unkindness of ravens seated throughout the trees. They lifted their wings as one and flew to the ground, merging into one dark being who stared at her with soulless eyes. A single raven sat next to him on a branch.

“Fiach Dubh Ri,” she whispered. He had come for her without a single utterance of his name.

The flames reached the rope on her hands and loosened her restraints. She twisted her wrist free and stretched a hand out for him. Legs still bound, she felt the aching pain of her flesh burning. “Help me,” she cried out. “Lord Fae, please.”

He was more beautiful than she remembered, but she had only looked at him through the eyes of a child. He was incredibly tall, at least two heads higher than the largest man she’d ever seen. His skin was porcelain smooth, dark hair framing a chiseled face. His head was shaved on one side, giving him a wild look. A silver earring glinted in his left ear, blinking in the moonlight.

He grinned at her, canine teeth too pointed to be comforting.

“Please,” she begged again.

Neither he nor his raven moved. He stared at her as if she were some strange bug he’d just discovered. A creature who made little sense but existed no matter that he didn’t think she should.

“Will you not help me?” She bared her teeth. “After all you and your people have done to me? You will leave me to burn?”

“You see?” The witch hunter spread his arms and turned toward the crowd. “She calls out to her master for help! Hold your families close, townsfolk. We shall not allow her to open a rift in our world for the devil to step through.”

“Useless man,” she ground through her teeth. The pain was unbearable now. The fire had climbed up her shift and burned her thighs. Her feet were red hot coals burning through the very fiber of her being, and the blasted faerie wouldn't help.

Damn them all. Damn each and every one of them.

She flattened her hand, no longer reaching for him but baring her palm to his