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

nightshade since she was little, that the poison would only paralyze her, not kill her.

Instead, the darkness swallowed her whole. Yet even as she lost all sight of the world, she still saw stars behind her eyelids.

Flight To The Isles

Bran pulled her limp body up and pressed his forehead to hers. The cold chill spread through his body. Bitterness filled his mouth, a filthy taste of poison and the ache of guilt.

He hadn’t even noticed her leave the bedroom. Sleep had finally claimed him, a deep, dreamless state that made his waking languid and calm. When was the last time he’d slept like that? It had been years, centuries perhaps.

It made little sense that a witch would be the first to finally ease him into that welcoming darkness, yet she rarely made sense.

He’d felt bereft the moment he woke up. Some piece of him knew she wasn’t on the other side of the pillow mound, but he had still reached for her. He wanted to feel warm, pliant skin. He wanted to see a smile on her stolen face, even if it wasn’t hers.

Instead, he’d been welcomed by cold air and pillows lacking even the slightest indentation from her body.

A crazed part of his mind wondered if he’d made her up in his head. Such a woman couldn’t possibly be real. But memory caught up with him, and the witch became solidified in his mind again.

It was then that a lance of pain speared through his body. He’d lurched onto his feet only to fall against the wall with an aching gasp. Leave it to Aisling to get herself in trouble while he was asleep. No other woman would dare wander around the Palace of Twilight without someone at their side. But his witch? She looked danger in the eye and laughed at its arrogance.

He’d thrown on the same clothes he’d worn the night before and then flung himself out the window. The rest was a blur. Pain, fighting, battle, the thrill of a still beating heart cold and crystalline against his palm.

And now they both were still and quiet. His heartbeat slowed, and adrenaline dissipated until he felt the cold silence of her soul.

“Nightshade won’t be the thing that kills us,” he told her.

Pattering feet echoed in the garden. Bran drew her closer to his chest, a feral snarl escaping from his lips as his gaze searched for the next opponent. He’d defeated the Duke and Duchess of Dusk. Let the others come. He would tear them limb from limb.

Lorcan careened around a corner and skidded to a stop in front of them. “What happened?”

“Nightshade.”

“Is she dead?”

“Not yet.”

Lorcan hissed. A line of fur raised on his back. “I should have remained closer.”

“I said yet,” Bran growled. “I know those who might save her.”

“And you? Will you even be able to get her there?”

He looked down at her, limp in his arms and so painfully cold. His heart turned over in his chest, a ridiculous emotion considering he was certain he could save her. But she wasn’t meant to look so weak. She was supposed to be spitting fire at him and shouting, not so still and quiet he could barely see her chest move.

“Put her into a sleep,” he quietly requested. “A sleep like death.”

“I don’t know a spell like that.”

“Don’t lie to me, witch. It’s not a curse. She’ll wake up from it. The poison will slow, and I will have more time to get her help.”

“Where are you taking her?” Lorcan leaned forward and sniffed her dangling hand. The raised fur along his back smoothed. “I won’t risk her life on more faerie magic, Unseelie.”

“I will bring her to the only safe place in the Otherworld for a woman such as her.” He gently lifted her hand and tucked it against her chest. “Scáthach and her maidens are the only ones who can stop the effects of cursed nightshade. They will heal her.”

“You want to bring her to the Fortress of Shadows? Are you mad?”

“Do you think they will turn her away?” Ferocity laced his words. “They will take her in, they will heal her, and they will admire her spirit. She will stay alive until then.”

“It is a long journey.”

“Not if we open another portal.” Bran shifted her in his arms, looping her legs over his before shakily rising to his feet. “Cast the spell, Lorcan.”

“You don’t know how to open a portal.”

“Cast the spell.”

“Even I don’t know the spell she uses to open up a portal. You’re going to get all of us killed!”

Feathers rippled across his face and down his arms. “Cat sidhe, I swear to my ancestors if you don’t ensorcel this woman immediately, I will be picking your bones from my teeth come morning.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

But the cat must have seen something in Bran’s furious gaze because he muttered something under his breath and began to etch runes into the ground. Every now and then he would glance up, note the shaking of Bran’s arms and legs, and hiss out a long breath before continuing.

Bran recognized the spell. It was a simple one, rudimentary really, but it would do the trick. Sleep spells were quiet things, like the state they induced.

Lorcan stood on his back tiptoes to reach Aisling and gestured with a paw for Bran to lean down. He stooped. The cat leaned forward and nearly touched his muzzle to Aisling’s lips. A slow exhale was all he needed to cast the spell. Silvery light sparkled around his whiskers, sinking into Aisling’s nose and lips.

The spell worked instantly. The cold slowly drained out of Bran. His muscles filled with strength, his shoulders straightened, and he let out a slow groan of appreciation. “Not bad, cat. Maybe next time I’ll ask you to create the portal.”

“I don’t know how, and neither do you!”

Bran gave him a wink. “When you grow up in the Dark Castle, you learn a trick or two about magic. The most important is that