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

up and saw the rolling emerald mountains rising up from the ocean like they’d been perfectly placed by a giant.

His soul loosened its knots of fear. This was home. Even far from the courts, the scent of peat, heather, and fresh rain would always remind him of where he came from.

This land felt right. Holding Aisling in his arms felt right. For the first time in his long life, Bran understood what it meant to belong. It wasn’t a physical place. It wasn’t the acceptance of others. Home and love started from within.

“Bran?”

“Elva?”

She stood where sand met moss, wearing pliant, leather armor and a frown. A breeze stirred the spun gold of her hair. Braids tunneled through the bright mane like fjords furrowing through the earth. Her skin was rosy and impossibly gold rather than tanned.

Eyes the color of aquamarine met his with a surprising sternness. This wasn’t the woman he remembered, or at least not the simpering violet she had been long ago.

He noted the swords at her back, the solid stance, and hand resting on her hip as if ready for whatever he might try. His lips twisted in a smirk, regardless of his body’s shaking. The spell would only work for so long. He needed them to help Aisling soon, otherwise he, too, would fall into a deep sleep.

“Are you going to attack me?” he asked. “Or are you going to help?”

“What are you doing here, Unseelie?”

“Unseelie, is it? You know me better than that, Elva.” He purposefully used her name. It was a reminder they had been childhood friends. She owed him more than she ever would admit after all she’d put him through. Their past was complicated, and something neither of them liked to think about.

Something sparked in her eyes, and he knew she understood the dangerous tone of his voice. He wouldn’t stand for her pushing him to the side. Regardless of her station in life, they had once been friends.

Seelie or Unseelie, he would not take no for an answer.

“Scáthach will not be pleased with such an intrusion. Men are not welcome here.”

“And I arrived with full understanding of that. It’s not for myself that I seek sanctuary.” He shifted Aisling in his arms, the long waterfall of her dark hair nearly touching the ground. “I ask that you and the maidens take my…take her. Heal her.”

Elva softened her stance, her hand falling to her side finally. “Give her here. Who is she?”

He didn’t want to let someone else take her. He wanted to stay by her side through the healing, help her through the bitterness of nightshade. Yet he knew the foolish thoughts for what they were.

His own legs weak, Bran stepped forward to transfer Aisling into Elva’s arms.

The golden faerie stopped him with a lifted hand. “You’re shaking.”

“A binding curse will do that to you.”

“What did you do?”

Now there was the chiding tone he recognized. Grinning, he lifted Aisling higher and raised a brow. “Do you want to help or not?”

Elva cursed. “Always getting yourself in trouble, Bran. What have you brought me, a witch?”

“A changeling, I believe.” He hesitated then plunged ahead. “I have to warn you, the Duchess of Dusk spelled her to wear your face. It was a cruel jest, and I don’t want you to take it the—”

Elva lunged forward, her hands desperately smoothing the hair away from Aisling’s face.

He had never seen such a panicked expression on her face before. She wasn’t just afraid; she was terrified the woman he held in his arms might be dead. All color drained from her face as she stared down into Aisling’s still form.

“It’s removable,” he gruffly said. “Heal her first, and then we can talk to her about removing the spell.”

“Bran, you idiot,” Elva breathed. “Give her to me.”

“It’s just a spell, Elva.” He couldn’t understand the hundred emotions flickering through Elva’s eyes, or the way she lifted Aisling from his arms with infinite care.

“It’s not just a spell,” she spat, her eyes burning with anger and something deeper he couldn’t understand. “I don’t remember you as a blind fool. She’s not wearing my face, Bran. She’s my sister.”

The foundation of the earth shifted. So stunned he was at the revelation, Bran didn’t know which way was up, and his vision blurred.

And, of course, Aisling was her sister. How had he not seen it before?

The truth had been in front of him all this time. In the way Aisling gestured with her hands when she spoke, the way she tilted her head when she was angry at him, the jumping of her leg when she was impatient. Elva’s mannerisms were written all over Aisling like a brand.

Of course, they were sisters. He should have known it from the first moment he set eyes upon the beautiful woman strapped to a tree. The women of their line were always bound by one thing or another, Elva by her beauty, Aisling by her magic. And he was drawn to them like a moth to a flame.

“Bran?” Elva said, pulling him out of his silence. “You cannot stay here.”

“I stay where she is.”

“This isle is not home to men.”

“And yet we have called this place home before. Where she goes, I go.”

Her lips twisted into a snarl, and she looked him up and down. “If this is some half-hearted attempt to win me back, I’ll have you know—”

“Stop.” Bran lifted a hand, then slowly curled it into a fist. “Now is not the time. We’ll have that conversation later. It’s been a long time coming. But right now all I am concerned about is her wellbeing. Take her wherever you need to, but know that I will follow close behind.”

Elva’s gaze narrowed and then skated away from the raven eye that was on Aisling’s form. “You’ve changed, Bran. I’m not sure yet whether for the better or the worse.”

“We’ll find out sometime.”

He wasn’t going to argue with her. He had changed. Aisling was an influence that was hard to refute. She