Sorcha moved permanently into the green room after her incident at the cliff. Boggart panicked, rushing around the hut and shattering plates until Sorcha caught her and explained the faerie was coming with her. That soothed her troubled mind although she didn’t let go of Sorcha’s leg for a few hours.

The faeries helped get all her things to her new room. She insisted everything go the bathroom; the clothes remained in the drier bedroom. She didn’t want to ruin the pristine image by filling it with wardrobes.

Thankfully, the faeries agreed.

Sorcha spent hours in the room, enjoying the quiet solitude. Boggart mostly stayed with the other brownies in the kitchen, having found a new appreciation for a large space to work with. She brought every meal to Sorcha and spent time listening to her talk. She still didn’t speak.

The warning Macha had issued rang in Sorcha’s ears more often than not. She’d tried to find Stone for several days, but he’d disappeared. She suspected he was in one of the castle towers. Pixie had whispered the suggestion a few times, but no one would tell her which tower.

Time was ticking. Every day passing by felt like a nail in her father's coffin. She had to do something! But there wasn’t anything to do—not as long as the master of the isle hid himself from everything and everyone.

She sat on the edge of the faerie fountain, watching minnows dart towards each other. Every tiny movement flashed their silver bellies as they playfully zipped away from her fingers.

It was late, and she should be sleeping. The longer she stayed on this isle, the less she felt the need for rest. Energy sparked in the air. It made the hair on her arms stand up and her body yearn to move, to dance, to do anything other than fall asleep. Again.

There was so much more she could be doing.

“But they won’t let me,” Sorcha breathed with a sigh. “They think I’m some well-to-do lady with no need to be in the garden.”

She snorted. She had mucked stalls, pulled weeds, and stuck her hands where they shouldn’t be. The scars on her arms and legs were proof enough!

They’d heard it all. Every time she argued with them, the faeries shook their glamoured heads and sent her back to her room, or for a walk in the fresh air, or heavens forbid suggest she might need something else to eat.

Sorcha ran a hand over her soft stomach. She’d eaten enough in the past month to feed three people, and still they said she was too skinny!

A minnow swam towards her swirling finger, tapping it before dashing away.

Sorcha smiled. At least the animals were welcoming. Even a few of the sheep had taken a liking to her, and they didn’t mind when she trudged through the fields with a dirty hem. The faeries would not make her a lady. She had no use for being a lady.

All she needed was their master to agree to return to the mainland.

“Sorcha,” a voice whispered on the wind. “Sooorchaaa.”

It exhaled her name, elongating the syllables until it sounded like a long drawn out moan. Frowning, Sorcha peered into the shadows. No eyes blinked back at her, no faeries stood in her doorways.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone there?”

“Sorcha.”

“Yes?”

A soft breeze brushed against her face and stirred the hair hanging around her cheeks. This room was closed in the depths of the castles, with no windows or cracks where the wind might sneak through. A breeze was impossible.

And yet, there was.

She reached out her hand, fully expecting to meet a solid invisible body. It was not a solid beast, nor was it a faerie hiding in plain sight. This was truly air tangling around her.

Again, her name whispered through the room. This time it was accompanied by movement on the wall furthest from her. Ivy shifted in a waterfall of movement as if a hand brushed against the other side.

Sorcha rose from the fountain and gingerly made her way to the wall. She was certain there was nothing behind that wall. She’d checked a hundred times, running her hands over the plain stone as she checked for secrets the faeries may have hidden.

The ivy shifted again.

She held her breath and reached forward. The leaves were cold to the touch, far colder than the room.

“Sorcha,” the voice whispered. “Come to me.”

Magic swirled through the room. The ivy rustled, then suddenly blasted the greenery away from its surface. A burning white light grew so bright that Sorcha tossed an arm over her eyes. The sound of ringing bells filled her ears.

Then all was silent.

Sorcha dropped her arms, blinking at the swirling wall of darkness before her. The wall had turned into water. Dark water, like the bottom of the ocean that had nearly killed her.

She shivered. What kind of magic was this?

“Sorcha,” the voice warped as it passed through the liquid portal. “Sorcha, come to me.”

Her stomach dropped, but she couldn’t quell her own curiosity. Someone was calling for her. Were they hurt? Was it someone she knew?

She reached out and touched the wall. It quivered and quaked. A small piece of it broke off, floated over her shoulder, and popped in the center of her bedroom.

“Strange,” she whispered.

Everything here was strange, and she found that it didn’t shock her anymore. Watery portals, faeries in kitchens, boys made up of a menagerie of beasts. What else could happen in this strange and unusual place?

“Sorcha, there is not much time.”

She glanced over her shoulder. No faeries stood in her doorway, no whispers suggested they were listening. Would anyone know if she disappeared?

Someone would have an opinion about this. The angry lord of the castle would notice she had disappeared without his say so. A rebellious part of her wanted to plunge through the portal just to anger him.

“Why is that considered rebellious, Sorcha?” she asked herself. Her voice bounced back through the portal, echoing her words. “You’re curious. Go through the portal.”

“Yes,” the whisper repeated. “Go through the portal.”

“It could be dangerous.”

“It is dangerous.”

“But that has never stopped me before.”

“You are brave.”

“What if this is an Unseelie?” she peered through the waters, trying to see if anyone stood beyond.

“It’s definitely Unseelie.”

“They’re unpredictable.”

“They’re everything you ever desired.”

“How so?”

Apparently, the voice didn’t want to answer questions, as it didn’t respond. She waited to see if it would speak again.

It didn’t.

Sorcha understood what it was doing. The voice, or owner of the voice, wanted her to go through the portal and it wanted to convince her to do so. This couldn’t end well. She had read countless tales where faeries lured humans into their worlds. The Unseelie were not kind to humans.

“This is a terrible idea,” she whispered. “You’re going to end up hurting me, or trapping me in the otherworld forever.”

“We wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“You want to do harm.”

“We want to provide knowledge.”

“What could you know that I do not?”

The wind coiled around her ankles and wrists. “We know much, little human. Your beast is not what he says he is.”

“My beast?”

“Stone.” The voice moaned the word, dragging out the syllables as it had her name. “He is not who he seems to be.”

“Then who is he?”

“Come to me, Sorcha. I will explain all you desire to know.”

Her scalp tingled.

This was a trap. This was an Unseelie who wanted to lure her into the Otherworld and toy with her.

How did the stories always end? The human would lose their minds in the depths of the Unseelie kingdom. They would find themselves slaves, left to the mercy of the hideous creatures crawling through the muck and mire

But so many of these creatures were different than the stories. The Seelies weren’t what she thought. Could it be that the Unseelie were also not how the myths portrayed?

Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the portal.

The liquid clung to her body, sticking to her hair and clothing. It pulled at her. Did it want to drown her? The sticky fluid clawed at her lips and eyes, but never sank into the wide gape of her scream.

Cold sank into her body until she was certain it would freeze her. She would die here and the Unseelie would win. Her toes curled, her fingers grew numb and the coils of her curls solidified.

What a fool she was.

The bubble of portal popped and threw her out. She gasped, tumbling onto a stone floor. Air whooshed from her lungs as she struck with such force that her ribs creaked.

Laying on the ground, she tried to find her bearings. Dim, grey light revealed shadows but no solid forms. The floor was solid stone, so she wasn’t outside. The air was stale. It tasted like dust and something she couldn’t quite name. Rotten, but sweet. She could hear a soft sound above. A dull shush, a scrape of something heavy brushing against stone.

That was impossible. There couldn’t be anything above her, not something that weighed enough to make that sound.

Curling her hands into fists, she squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. She was brave. She was strong. Fear would not force her to curl into a ball and weep.

Sorcha’s fingers began to shake.

“Sorcha,” the voice called out to her again. This time it wasn’t through the portal, but echoing from above. “Look at me.”

“I wish not to.”

“Look at me!” The voice boomed so loud that Sorcha flattened herself against the floor in fear.

Cold seeped through the front of her dress. She blew out a breath and wondered what Macha would do. Would she draw her sword and threaten the Unseelie’s life?

Probably, but Sorcha was not Macha. She couldn’t condemn anyone when she hadn’t spoken to them, judged their character, heard their story. There was no reason for her to be frightened of this creature who commanded her gaze. She placed her hand flat against the floor and pushed herself onto her back.

A monster anchored herself to the ceiling above Sorcha. At first, she couldn’t make out the shape hovering in the air. It was too large, too much of a blob made of shadow.

Then she made out the bulbous stomach, bloated and larger than three horses combined. Eight legs stuck out from the wide belly. They shifted as she watched, smoothing across the stone ceiling, and creating the sound she had heard.

Attached to the body was the torso of a woman. Heavily muscled, so pale she was almost blue, with long lanky hair that hung down towards Sorcha. The smile spread across the creature’s face split from ear to ear.

“Hello, Sorcha of Ui Neill,” the monster murmured. “Welcome to Caisleán dorcha.”

Not just Unseelie then, Sorcha realized. This was their castle, the home to the royal family of Unseelie beasts. The family who were kings and queens of monsters.

She swallowed the scream rising in her throat, and instead stared in horror at the woman trapped in a white blanket of webbing. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Is it?” The woman cocked her head to the side. “You look positively terrified.”

“I am.”

“Then why don’t you scream?”

“I do not wish to offend.”

“A scream is a gift.” Thin legs scraped the ceiling as she untangled herself. Muffled thumps echoed, one leg striking the ground near Sorcha’s legs. More followed, thumping again and again until the creature was looming over her. “It is an agreement that I am a terrifying creature whom you respect and fear.”

Sorcha swallowed hard.

The woman leaned down, until she nearly touched Sorcha’s face with her own. A hairy leg balanced her right next to Sorcha’s ear. “I wish to hear you scream.”

She couldn’t contain it. Sorcha squeezed her eyes shut and screamed out her fear and terror. This beast wasn’t just going to scare her, she would devour her whole.

No stories whispered this creature’s name. Nothing had hinted to the little midwife from Ui Neill that something like this ever existed. Faeries were strange, yes, but they were never so deformed as this.

A leg stroked her stomach. She pushed backwards but knocked her head against a thick leg. The tiny fibers of hairs brushed the back of her neck. Trapped, she was trapped. There was nothing she could do but scream and scream.

“Enough!” The booming shout splintered through her skull in tiny points of pain. “You have done me a great honor with such terror.”

She traversed over Sorcha, heavy belly brushing against her side. Sorcha swallowed the gorge that rose in her throat. The stomach was smooth, not hairy like her legs. A red splotch of color resembled an hourglass on her belly, but Sorcha had never seen the arachnids in Ui Neill.

The creature pressed her hands against Sorcha’s chest, forcing her to stare up at the ceiling. Shock tied her tongue in knots. The creature only wanted to hear her scream? What other purpose did she have for dragging Sorcha here?

Of course, there might not be a purpose at all. The Unseelie might have found herself bored and merely wanted a plaything. But how had she known where Sorcha was?

The cobwebs on the ceiling moved.

“Please, don’t let there be another,” she whispered.

“There isn’t.” The creature’s voice lifted in amusement. “It’s my dinner.”

Sorcha narrowed her eyes and cried out. There was a man tangled in the webs. At least, she thought it was a man. The spider woman had wrapped him up so tight, she could only see the outlines of pectoral muscles and the bulging thigh muscles that strained against his ties.

“He’ll quiet down eventually.”

The webs covered his face, preventing him from breathing. “He’s going to suffocate.”

“Yes, he will. That is the point.”

“What a cruel way to die.”

“It is better than poison that travels slowly through the blood. At least now he will calm down then drift off into sleep.”

“Why not just snap his neck and be done with it?”

The movement of the woman paused, and Sorcha felt the weight of her gaze like a physical touch. “Would that be your preference?”

“If you plan to eat me, I would like not to be alive at all.”

“I don’t plan on eating you. Little girls like you make terrible meals. Not enough meat on your bones. Besides, humans are always so bitter.”

Sorcha lifted a hand and pointed. “That’s not human?”

“No, that’s Seelie. I prefer a lighter diet while I’m watching my figure.”

“You’re watching your figure?”

“Isn’t every woman?”

Sorcha couldn’t imagine what figure the creature was talking about. It was hard to force a ball into sensuous curves.

“Why have you brought me here?” she asked.

“All in good time. Get up, girl.”

She looked back up at the man who was tangled in the creature’s web. His struggles were slowing, a few twitches here and there were the only way she knew he was still alive.

“I think I’ll stay here.”

“You want to watch him die?”

“No.”

“Then get up.”

Sorcha couldn’t find an argument. Sighing, she rolled onto her knees and told herself to forget about the man in the ceiling. He was beyond her help, no matter how much she wanted to cut him down and breathe air back into his lungs. She, too, was at the mercy of the monstrous woman.

“What shall I call you?” Sorcha asked.

“You may call me Your Queen.”

“Queen?” Sorcha gasped. “Are you—”

“Yes.

The queen of the Unseelie Fae stood before her, and Sorcha was acting as if she were some beast she needed to squash beneath her heel. She was lucky to still be alive.

Falling onto her knees, she pressed her thumbs to her forehead. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I am a lowly beast indeed to not recognize royalty.”

“I asked you to get up. Do not make me ask again.”

Sorcha scrambled to her feet again. What did this creature want of her? The darkness stirred, casting out mist in great billows that swirled around the Queen’s legs.

Her legs moved in synchronization Sorcha realized. Not like a real spider which sometimes could seem jerky in their movements. This woman moved with a natural grace. Each leg lifted and was placed so gently that the sound they made was quiet and dull.

“Are you done staring?”

“What?” Sorcha looked up to see that the Queen was staring back. She was immensely tall. Easily two of Stone’s great height. “My apologies.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I—” she cleared her throat. “I understand.”

“Good. Now, follow me.”

She didn’t want to follow this creature deeper into the darkness. Who knew what waited for her there?

The Queen saw her hesitate. “I’m not going to kill you, child.”

“You have yet to answer why I am here.”

“Because I bade you come.”

“That’s not an answer.”

The Queen sighed. “There is much at play here. You have stepped into a world where you will make a decision that will ultimately affect all the players on the board. I will not leave the fate of the Fae in the hands of an uneducated human. Follow me.”

“What do I have to do with that?”

“All will be revealed in time. The web is large, and there is much to explain.”

Sorcha watched the spider woman disappear into the darkness with her jaw open. There was much to explain? She was just a midwife, what did she have to do with the fate of the Fae?

She wouldn’t go with the Queen. They had obviously coaxed the wrong person through the portal.

Giggles echoed behind her, coming closer and closer through the fog and darkness. Shivers danced up her spine. What manner of Unseelie stood behind her? Was that the wind on the back of her neck or was it the breath of yet another monster?

She bolted after the Queen, steps loud and uncontrolled.

The entirety of the castle was dark. Some small sconces decorated the walls, lit with green fire that did little to cast light in any direction. She couldn’t see, but she could hear the queen.

Thump. Thump. Shhh. Thump. Thump. Shhh.

It was a horrible sound. The dragging of a thick body by legs too thin and hairy. Sorcha shivered again, knowing nightmares would plague her for years to come.

The Queen’s chuckle bounced from ceiling to floor. “Good, you are smart enough to follow.”

“I’m smart enough to not be left behind.”

“Ah, yes. My children are far too curious for their own good.”

“Your children?” Sorcha glanced into the shadows. “How many do you have?”

“Seventeen Tuatha dé Danann children, and hundreds of lesser Fae.”

That alone was intriguing, and went against everything Sorcha knew. “You have children who are both Tuatha dé Danann and not?”

“We are not the Seelie Fae. There is value in lives which are not human in appearance.”

“Do the Seelie Fae not agree?”

“No.”

She had suspected as much. The legends always spoke of creatures that looked like humans as kings and queens. So few people saw any kind of faerie that didn’t look like a human.

A stairwell appeared before them, the stones swept clean and glistening in the green light. Sorcha blinked, trying to bring everything into focus. It was difficult here, where magic was so thick that she could see it like a fog.

“Do you not wear glamour?” Sorcha asked. “All the faeries I have met thus far have worn a glamour.”

“Seelie, I take it?”

“Most.”

“All. An Unseelie would never hide their true form. The Seelie hide to protect human’s delicate sensibilities when the reality is that we are all beautiful, powerful beings. Humans should run in fear.”

“You would give them nightmares for the rest of their lives.”

“Will your dreams be troubled?”

“Without a doubt,” Sorcha shivered. “I will never sleep again for fear you will hover above my bed.”

“You flatter me.”

That was not her intention, although she was relieved her words had complimented the Queen. Sorcha merely told the truth.

A scrying pool on a large altar stood in the center of the room they entered. Shards of black glass made up the floor. Sorcha stared at it and swore she saw dark fire reflected beneath. Wind brushed across her ears bringing with it the screams of tortured souls.

The Queen skittered towards it, hunching over the bowl, and rocking back and forth. Sorcha wasn’t certain she had ever seen a spider move like that. Was the queen even part spider? Was she merely wearing the skin of one?

The Ballad of Tam Lin burst into her mind. The Queen in that story had turned his lover into a spider. He held onto her great abdomen, her legs, her great eyes. For days, he hung on as she changed into dozens of creatures.

Sorcha couldn’t help but wonder if this chosen form was symbolic.

“Come,” the Queen said. “Gaze into my pool and I will show you all you desire.”

“I desire very little.”

“Humans lie every day. You desire so many things that you cannot even breathe for the wanting.”

“I want health and happiness for my family. That is all.”

“Oh, little human. You desire so much more than that. It is healthy to want.”

“I care for others.”

“You care for yourself. The want to heal others builds your confidence, solidifies your reason for being. You have yet to discover who you are. Come.”

Sorcha stared at the Queen’s strong hands gripping the edge of the stone bowl. “I’m afraid to know what I want.”

“Everyone is.”

She stood on the precipice of something great, but she didn’t know what she would find. The Queen offered something without cost.

“What do I have to do?” Sorcha asked.

“Listen and learn.”

Small, black dots appeared on the Queen’s forehead from her eyebrows to her temples. At the same time, every dot blinked.

A whimper escaped her mouth as she realized the dots were eyes. The Queen, like many spiders, had multiple eyes that all stared with expectation at the human on the stairs.

What did she have to lose? Thoroughly uncomfortable, Sorcha stepped towards the scrying pool.

“What would you have me learn?”

“Everything.”

The Queen leaned forward and dunked a finger into the clear water. It swirled, dark magic dropping like ink and spreading rapidly. Black swallowed the bowl of water and wisps of white smoke rose into the air.

“You are entangled in the most important plot of this millennia, and there is so much you need to see.”

“Why?”

“The Fae are a tricky lot. Our legends speak of so many beautiful stories. Of heroes who swing blades that cleave giants in two. Of heroines who seduce a man with one glance and drag them to the bottom of the ocean. But we are not a group of people who enjoy death and destruction. There are as many species of Fae as there are stars in the sky.”

Whispers echoed her words, three voices overlaying the Queen’s.

“Who are they?” Sorcha asked.

“My children.”

“Where?”

The Queen glanced over her shoulder and nodded. Three women stepped forward, lashed to the ceiling by thin threads of web. They had rings pierced down their arms where the threads looped through. Pale as snow, their eyes were blind. No color lived on their bodies at all. White hair, white eyes, white skin so pale it was blue.

“Three daughters,” Sorcha nodded. “You are blessed.”

A smile spread across the Queen’s face. “Blessed? You don’t have children, do you?”

“No, your highness.”

“Children suck the lives out of their mothers. They drain them until they are little more than husks. But they are good for the soul.”

One of the wraith-like women stepped forward. The Queen petted her head and pushed her towards the scrying bowl. “What secrets do you have to share with the little human?”

The pale woman cocked her head to the side, unseeing eyes blinking slowly. “I share the state of the Seelie Fae.”

“Why?” the Queen asked.

“It is important she know the situation in Tír na nÓg. She must know what the people do and how they suffer.”

The daughter stepped forward and reached out her arm. The Queen looked at her with no emotion, wrapped her strong around the limb, and snapped it in half.

Sorcha cried out as blood poured into the scrying pool. White bones poked through torn flesh and fragments of hanging muscle dipped into the water. Through it all, the daughter did not flinch nor cry out.

“What are you doing?” Sorcha screamed. “Stop!”

“You do not understand our ways. Watch and learn. That was what you promised me.” The Queen patted her daughter on the head again. “Thank you. Go back to your sisters for healing.”

She stepped back into the fold. The other two reached for the thick threads of webbing and pulled hard. They lifted the injured woman into the air by the rings on her arms. She dangled for a moment, suspended above the ceiling before a long spider leg reached out and pulled her through the webbed ceiling.

“What was that?” Sorcha whispered.

“My husband.”

“There are more of you?”

“It takes two to make children.”

“What manner of Fae are you?”

“Do not waste the blood of my children. Look into the scrying pool and see the truth of the Seelie Fae.”

Sorcha wanted to follow the injured woman to insist that she might help. Of all people, she could set a broken bone, wrap the injury, pack it with herbs so it didn’t get infected. But these were Unseelie Fae. They would not want her help.

Swallowing hard, she nodded.

Black water swirled with blood. She placed her hands on the side and leaned over until she could peer into the depths.

“What am I looking for?” she asked.

“There are images even in the darkest of places.” The Queen placed her large hands on top of Sorcha’s. Her flesh was frigid. “See the truth.”

A dwarf appeared in the water. His beard tangled around his ankles and he fell onto the ground. He reached out to stop himself, but a whip cracked through the air before he touched the ground. His face twisted in pain and he lay still.

Another man walked towards him, golden hair swinging at his waist. The golden newcomer was perfect in every way. His skin glittered in the sun, his eyes strikingly green. He held the whip coiled around his wrist and nudged the fallen dwarf with a look of disgust.

“What is he doing?” she asked.

“They use the dwarves to mine for copper and gold. When anyone tries to leave, they whip them until they either return or die.”

“Why?”

“They want the gold but are not willing to work for themselves.”

The image shuddered, shifting to reveal a beautiful pixie. Her forehead arched up into points, looking very like an autumn leaf. Blushing colors painted her skin, furthering her autumnal look. Black eyes swallowed any white that might have existed on a human, but still seemed kind.

The pixie winced and rubbed her hand over the opposite wrist. Skin burned red around a brand in the mark of a trinity knot.

“What is that?” Sorcha asked.

“The faeries are branded depending upon who they call master. Each of the lesser fae are born with this mark, but it can stretch and distort as they grow. It will be burned again into their bodies if it is difficult to tell who’s mark it is.”

“Why brand them? Why not simply know who works for you?”

“So, the faeries can’t slip away in the dead of night and disappear.”

Sorcha’s mind raced. She knew what that meant, what darkness the Unseelie suggested brewed in the Seelie lands. “They’re slaves?”

“They most certainly are. Their king has turned them into little more than beasts to trade. They are born, bought, and worked to death long before they see their families grow.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered. “Why force your people to be unhealthy? It isn’t the mark of a good king if he cannot provide a good life for all his people.”

“Were you under the impression that the wise king is a good one?”

“Wise king?”

The Queen snorted, retreating from the altar with great thudding steps. “It is the name he has given himself. Wise, for his knowledge is vast.”

“Knowledge does not mean intelligence.”

“Astute for a human child.”

“You are not the first to say so.”

“One last vision especially for you, Sorcha of Ui Neill.”

Brows furrowed, Sorcha leaned over the pool and stared into the dark waters.

A woman appeared, painfully beautiful and holding her hand over her belly. Her waist length blonde hair swept nearly to the floor. Silver silk fabric poured from her shoulders to sweep the crystal floor.

“Who is she?” Sorcha asked.

“Elva, the most prized concubine of the king. Her mother was one of my most prized followers.” The Queen tapped the water with her nail. “She has just realized that she may be pregnant.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“That is not up to me to decide. You will need to know her name. You say you are a good person, midwife. This is one who you could save.”

Sorcha looked up. “Why would you want me to save any of the Seelie?”

“I am not a heartless creature. There are some who deserve to live and others who I would relish crushing their skulls beneath my hands. Elva is one whose true name I give to you in full confidence you will use it well.”

Another of the Queen’s daughters stepped forward, and Sorcha winced in preparation for the next dark deed. She couldn’t take much more of this. The Unseelie were always rumored to be twisted and depraved, but how far did that insanity travel?

Did they feast upon it rather than food?

“Peace,” the Queen whispered. “You have seen enough bloodshed.”

The Princess reached up and held a mirror towards her mother. Vines tangled around the handle. It was as large as Sorcha was tall, and the Queen held it as if it were nothing more than a handheld mirror.

“Do you know our history?” the Queen asked. “Do you know the difference between Seelie and Unseelie?”

“Your kind gave up honor and law to live wild and free.”

“Yes. And do you think we made the wrong choice?”

Sorcha didn’t know. She shrugged, frowning in concentration as she mulled the question over in her mind. “Who am I to judge others for the choices they make? If a soul is born to be wild, it will only grow angry with a leash wrapped around its neck. If a soul prefers order, then it will shrivel with too many choices. Neither is wrong.”

“You do not see darkness as evil?”

“Nothing is evil. The very idea was created by those who won wars and wished to paint their poor choices as the right thing. No one goes into war or battle thinking they are evil.”

“You speak with the tongue of a philosopher.”

“I am just a midwife.”

The Queen’s face split open in that jagged edged smile again. “Come closer, Sorcha. This mirror will show you the future.”

“I do not wish to see my future.”

“I wish to see it.”

Sorcha frowned and remained where she was. “You want to see my future? Why am I so important to the Queen of the Unseelie Court?”

“Look.”

She wanted to. Every fiber of her being screamed for Sorcha to look into the future and see what would happen. Who didn’t want to know what their end would look like? How much time she had left?

But what would she find? If she stayed on Hy-brasil her family would die and she would’ve done nothing to prevent it. If she returned home without Stone, it was likely she would die from the beetle plague. There was only one suitable ending, and it was slowly slipping out of reach.

Sorcha shook her head. “I have no wish to see my future. I will stand before the mirror if you need to see it, but I will not look.”

“You have no desire to see the end of your life?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “I want it more than anything, but I am also frightened of it. I make my own choices, and I would rather believe they have not already been destined.”

The Queen’s expression softened, a strange look on such a monstrous being. She lifted a hand and beckoned Sorcha forward. “Then I will look for you, child.”

Her footsteps echoed in the altar room. Each steady sound beat in tune with the pounding of her heart. She closed her eyes as the mirror began to move and turned her back.

Even the air seemed to hold its breath. The Queen was silent as she watched the images casting light on the floor. They twirled and moved at Sorcha’s feet and she watched them with rapt attention, but could not make out what they meant.

One of the daughters gasped, and a thick body moved above them. Sorcha held still until the cold sank into her bones. Her toes ached, her fingers trembled, and her breath fogged the air.

“So that is your choice,” the Queen said. “You are an interesting woman, Sorcha of Ui Neill.”

“Is it an agreeable choice?” She wanted to ask why she was making a choice at all. Thousands of reasons danced through her mind, but none seemed important enough to tempt a Queen. Of course, even the wing beat of a butterfly could change time.

“It is agreeable to me.”

“And to me?”

“I do not know you, human child, how should I know what you will find agreeable?”

Sorcha licked her lips. “May I turn around?”

“Do you wish to?”

“No.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“I have never flinched away from something I was afraid of.”

Thumping from the ceiling made the cobwebs twang. They vibrated as the great king of the Unseelie Court descended from his throne. He was so much louder than his wife. She prayed it was because he did not care to be quiet or dainty. She had a feeling she was wrong.

Sorcha slowly turned, holding her breath so hard her lungs hurt. She would not scream again. These creatures could try to frighten her time and time again, but she would not scream.

He stepped from the ceiling, long legs clacking as they struck the ground. Armor covered the hairy appendages that rubbed together with a grating sound. Like his wife, the king was too muscular to be attractive. His body bulged, swollen with meat and strength.

“This is the girl?” he grumbled. His eighth leg touched the ground and he lurched towards his wife, rubbing a leg against hers. “Did you find out what you need to know?”

“I found out enough.”

“If I may,” Sorcha asked. Her voice wobbled. “Will you now tell me why you summoned me here?”

“You’re going to find out soon enough. You are welcome to leave now, human girl.”

Sorcha wasn’t sure if she should. The entire situation was scarring and terrifying, but there was something strange about the faeries.

“You aren’t telling me everything,” she murmured. “Why are you meddling in my life?”

“The master of your isle does not know there are Unseelie living in his household. You must be careful, for you do care for them.”

“Who?”

“Oona is her given name, and as she is of my Court, I gift her name to you.”

“Who is she?”

“Your Pixie.”

So, her name was Oona. It was a beautiful name for a beautiful creature, and Sorcha was honored that the Queen thought her trustworthy enough to gift it.

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“I have no intention of answering.”

“Fair enough,” Sorcha murmured. “I’ll have to ask Bran if he has any idea.”

The Queen froze, and the King stiffened. He cocked his head to the side and lifted a long finger to point at her. “What does this Bran look like?”

Sorcha gestured at her face. “Half raven, half man. He has feathers, a raven eye, and the leg of a bird.”

Echoes of laughter came from all directions of the room. They bounced atop the ceiling and shook the webs.

The Queen shook her head, still chuckling. “Ah, you have met my ugliest son then.”

Ugly? The royals in front of her were anything but pretty. How could Bran be considered the ugly one?

The King shook his head. “Unseelie do not value beauty in the same way the Seelie do. He is too human, too weak, and can only change his form into a raven. Pathetic excuse for a child, but then, he is the youngest. We do not have to worry about him taking the throne any time soon. Be gone, human. Tell my boy to come home soon. His sisters miss him.”

One of the albino daughters lifted her hands as if she were pleading. Were these creatures even capable of such emotions? Did they miss their family or did they miss the way they might torture them?

Sorcha didn’t plan to stay and find out. Bowing so low that her forehead nearly touched the floor, she whispered, “It was an honor, Your Majesties.”

“An honor?” The Queen tsked. “Oh dearie, the Unseelie do not like lies. You may want to run, for my children are hungry and your fear tastes sweeter than wine.”

Sorcha did not have to be told twice. She’d counted each step as she followed the Queen and knew the way back to the portal.

Spinning, she raced down the stairs taking them two at a time. It didn’t matter that she might trip and fall. Breaking her neck would be a blessing if it meant freedom from this hellish castle.

Breath sawed in and out of her lungs until she tasted blood. Screaming laughter chased her, goblins and trolls whooping and hollering as they tracked her. Down the corridors she flew until she couldn’t hear them anymore.

She slowed to a walk, holding her ribs as they ached from overuse. Why did she ever wear the dresses Pixie gave her? They were too tight!

Oona, she corrected herself. Pixie’s name was Oona.

She smiled at the thought. Oona might not be pleased, but it was a beautiful name and Sorcha would never use it without permission. It was the third Fae name she held. How lucky a woman was she?

The portal room remained untouched. Fog swirled across the ground, lifting in tendrils that looked like hands reaching for help. Sorcha walked through them. She had to remember that these were Unseelie Lands and did not live by the same laws.

She couldn’t help those who were suffering without condemning herself to the same fate.

Sorcha pulled her cloak around her when cold air drifted underneath its folds. She shivered and peered into the darkness to find the watery portal, or even the barest hint of leaves.

There. In the deepest shadows between leaves and branches, she recognized a familiar stone wall.

Brushing aside ivy and moss, she placed her hands against its cold stone surface.

“There you are,” she said. “It’s time to go home.”

Nothing happened. She scraped her hands all over the edges, but couldn’t open the portal. Nothing seemed to work, no gemstone in a sword that she could push, no whispered words.

“Oh, what have you done?” she whispered into the night. “How am I supposed to go home now?”

“Portals are magic, you know,” a familiar voice echoed. Deep and baritone, she had only heard it once before.

Sorcha turned on her heel, pivoting to glare at the Unseelie Fae who stood behind her. “Bran.”

“Sorcha.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same question. Don’t you know that the Otherworld is dangerous for humans?”

“I could say the same for Unseelie. It’s worse here, so I’ve heard.”

“Ah, there are so many bad stories about my kind.” He grinned, his raven eye dancing to and fro while the human eye remained locked on her. “Not all stories are true, little human.”

“You’ve been kind thus far.” She pressed her spine against the wall. “I would ask you continue to do the same.”

“I hear you met my parents.”

“And some of your siblings as well. I would never have guessed you came from such parentage.”

“Where did you think I came from? A bird?”

“Certainly, something that suggests the same species,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “You lied to me. You didn’t tell me you were an Unseelie prince!”

“I was not aware that you were privy to such knowledge.”

Sorcha blinked in shock, her jaw falling open. “How dare you even say such a thing? You traveled across the sea with me! You followed me from the MacNara’s, and you teased me in front of Stone. I would even go so far as to muse that you were behind him moving me into the castle!”

“Do you think I’m looking out for you, I wonder?”

“Why else would you be following me?”

“Because the MacNara twins paid me to? Perhaps I wished to infiltrate your ‘Stone’s’ castle. Or maybe I wanted to drag you here to be my slave.” He cocked his head to the side. “There are plenty of reasons and none of them kind.”

“And none that I believe.”

“Is that so?”

“You are far too smart a man to be bought, even by the MacNara twins who appear to be intelligent and manipulative people. You don’t want to harm Stone; you practiced with him like an old friend and teased him quite mercilessly. And if you wanted to drag me back to Unseelie with you, why haven’t you? Why wait until your mother summoned me?” She tilted her chin up, refusing to be cowed by this dark man.

“Ever so brave,” he whispered. “You are a remarkable little human. Did you know that? There are few who would dare stand up to me in such a way, but you didn’t even flinch. You are quite the match for him.”

“For who?”

“No one.”

She arched a brow. “Really? That’s what you have to say?”

“No one, everyone, someone.” He shrugged. “There are plenty of people of whom I could be speaking. The long and short of it is that you need to go back home before he finds out where you’ve gone.”

“Stone?”

“Yes.”

“You—” she bit her lip. “You know him?”

“No one knows him.”

“But you know him more than most.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you might answer a few questions for me.”

Bran’s raven eye narrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest and the bird eye looked her up and down. He was measuring her or trying to see a way through her lies. Finally, he waved a hand for her to continue.

“Your mother made me look in the scrying bowl. There were faeries that the Seelies used for slaves. Branded, mistreated, living out their lives as if they were not worth even the slightest of things. Is this true, or was this some kind of Unseelie trick?”

He snorted. “The Seelie like to make their people labor until they break. They believe in bloodlines and power more than respect. Don’t let them fool you. They preach honor and then stab each other in the back.”

“Is Stone treating the faeries on the isle like slaves?”

“Do you think he is?”

She pondered the question before shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen no behavior that might support such an accusation. But I do not see him often, and secrets hide in the shadows.”

“I know Stone well enough to say that he’s not treating them like anything. He’s a solitary creature. Rare for a Fae.”

“Is it?”

“We’re creatures who like the company of others. Even the Unseelie enjoy each other’s company. Stone has never been like that. They say he used to tent away from his men on the battlefield. He was the first to reach enemy lines, and the first the enemy found if they came looking in the night.”

“And now?”

Bran cocked his head to the side. “Ask a more direct question.”

“Is he the same man now as he was back then?”

“No, but not in the way you think. He has become harder and softer with time.”

“How is that possible?” She wanted to know the answer so much it burned in her belly.

He shook his head. “That’s a story I can’t tell you. You must ask him if you want to know that badly.”

“How can I ask him? I rarely see him!”

“That might change soon.” Mischief and hidden knowledge sparkled in his eyes.

“You know something I don’t know.”

“I always know something humans don’t know. You’re a lucky little thing to be living in a time of such burgeoning change.”

Sorcha’s mind raced to keep up with the Unseelie Fae. His words made little sense, but she knew he mostly spoke in riddles. There was something he didn’t want to tell her. Something she needed to figure out for herself.

“Are you lying?”

“I cannot lie.”

“Are you hiding the truth?”

Bran’s face split in a jagged edged smile. His raven eye locked upon her gaze while the other glanced away. “Faeries always hide the truth. It’s too easy if we don’t.”

“I would argue it’s much better if you don’t hide the truth. You might get the results you want.”

“Where’s the fun in that? It’s better if the ending is chosen by free will rather than our own design.”

“Why get involved if you don’t have a specific ending you want to see?” Sorcha shook her head, knowing he wouldn’t answer her question. “Can you open the portal, Bran? I’d like to go home.”

“Home?” He tilted his head to the side again. “Curious choice of words.”

“Slip of the tongue. My home is with my sisters.”

“Perhaps now, but not for long.” He nodded at the portal. “All you have to do is see through the glamour, and you can go home.”

“How am I supposed to—ah.” She pulled the hag stone from between her breasts and placed it against her eye.

The stone turned to a watery portal through the small hole in the hag stone. Light shimmered from its surface. The ivy beyond had not been pulled back, leaving the room obscured and difficult to see, but it was there.

She knew it was.

“Thank you,” she said as she turned.

Bran had disappeared. There wasn’t time to figure out what he was hiding. She took a deep breath, stilled the disquieting sadness in her heart, and left the Unseelie lands behind.