Veins of Magic (The Otherworld, #2)

by Emma Hamm

Sorcha squeezed Papa’s hand. “I’m glad to help. It’s good to be home.” “But it’s not where you want to be.” “No.” “You want to be with him.” “Yes,” she breathed. “Very much.” “Then you must go back to him.” “I can’t.”

His jaw dropped, and she didn’t wait to see what he might do next. Geralt had tried for far too long to woo her. And as much as he would make a good, traditional husband, he would not be a good husband for her. Women were two-dimensional to him. They fit into a little box of his own making so he could explain their reasoning and actions. Sorcha stunned him every time she opened her mouth.

Gods, he tired of the cold. He wished for a warm ale in his hand, an able-bodied woman on his lap, and the cold to disappear forever. None of which were likely to happen. He had sent away the only woman he wanted in his lap, there was no ale, and frost was gathering around his lips again. He grunted and shook ice spikes from his shoulders.

“My name is Torin. I am your grandfather.” She stared at his hand. Fine wrinkles stretched from the palm out to his fingers. They would have meant nothing to her before coming to this clearing, but she read them easily. A long life. A lost love. Sorcha slid her fingers into his. “You are my mother’s father?” “I am indeed.” He pulled her to her feet. “And you look exactly like her.”

“You will learn!” He struck the staff upon the ground, and an echoing strike slammed against her ears. “You have no choice!” “You will be silent, old man!” Her scream echoed through the forest and shook snow from the leaves. A cry echoed hers, the aching grumble of a troll awakened from its slumber. “Oh,” he said. “So you are one of those.” “What did you say?” “We call your breed of druid a ‘Weaver.’” Sorcha shook her head. “What are you talking about?” “A Weaver’s purpose is to tie together the lives of druid and Fae. To link those of us who keep watch over the land and its people. It is a rare gift.”

“Do you love him?” Did she love him? Sorcha knew she wasn’t herself without him. That she missed him so much her heart ached, and a great crater grew with every passing day. She could survive without seeing his face. She just didn’t want to. Sorcha sighed. “What is love but burning passion and fleeting moments? I knew him for a small amount of time and I cannot say if I love him or the idea of him.” “He loves you.” Her heart stopped. Her stomach clenched and her hands began to shake. She tucked them underneath her armpits and shook her head again. “What?” “He loves you. Faeries do nothing by half, and he admired you greatly.”

“I remember you dragged away in chains.” “Tis a shame neither of us won our freedom that day.” The dwarf behind him inhaled. Eamonn thought it rather pathetic that he didn’t realize sooner the two men knew each other. Eamonn straightened his shoulders and placed his hands on his thighs. “Are you going to make me kneel for the rest of this conversation?” “I rather like you on your knees.” “Just so you can finally look me in the eyes?”

Lol.

“I gained perspective.” “You met a woman.” Eamonn glared. “In my experience, that’s the only reason a man would change his entire outlook on life. She must be a stunning faerie to have convinced you to return home.” “She’s not Fae.” “A human?” Angus’s knife slipped and cut his thumb. Fat drops of blood dripped to the floor, but he didn’t react. “You fell for a human?” “I fell for no one.”

“You can thank the little human for that.” “Oh?” Angus’s voice lifted in curiosity. “What’s she got to do with all this?” “She saw them as equals, even when I could not.” “I think I would like this girl.” “Most do.” “But still so foolish that she left you?” Eamonn growled. “That was my doing.” “Ah.” Angus maneuvered them around dwarven miners who stared up at the beastly man walking among them. Most shied away from meeting his gaze although a few glowered as they passed. “Then it is not she who is the fool.”

“So, you are the High King of the Seelie Fae?” “It appears so.” “I will not bow.”

I like Angus. Can't wait until he meets Sorcha.

“Thank you,” she said. “I will return as soon as I can.” “Don’t.” Briana squeezed her arm. “We always knew we only had you for a short amount of time, and it was selfish of us to keep you this long. Go be…whatever it is you are.”

“What’s your name?” Sorcha asked. “Aisling.” “Pretty name.” “I’d say you could tell my mother that, but she’s dead.” “Any other family?” Aisling paused with a mouth full of food. “No.” “Well, you can stay here then if you help out.” “I’m not asking for handouts.” “You just asked if I had money,” Sorcha said. “Didn’t say I was going to work for it.” “You are incredibly rude, aren’t you?” Aisling flashed a toothy grin. “Dealing with the Unseelie will do that to you.”

His father had suffered from what he called a blood rage. Eamonn knew the back of his father’s hand much better than the front. He had never wanted to become that man. He clenched his fists. “I have no wish to follow in my father’s footsteps.” “And you won’t.

Another voice interrupted, calling out, “Domnall! Where are you, boy?” Pooka turned bright red. “You didn’t hear that name.” “I wouldn’t have used it against you anyways.”

Cute

“I can try,” she whispered. “But I don’t know if he’ll listen to me. How long has it been?” “Five years.” She rocked back on her heels in shock. “Five years?”

Crap

Eamonn bent, lifting her by the hips until he could kiss her without straining. They poured their frustrations, their longing, their heartbreak into a single kiss that wiped those emotions away.

“Eamonn, don’t get mad at me for what I’m about to do.” “How could I grow angry with you now?” She drew back just enough to cock her arm back and slap him across the face so hard that the crystals on his cheek sliced through her palm. He flinched and lifted a hand to his cheek. “What was that for, you mad woman?” “Don’t you ever force me to leave your side again!” “There was a battle! You would have died if you stayed!” “And that is not your choice!” Her shout echoed through the glen. “If you get to risk your life for me, then I get to do the same. And if you try to do that again I will find a way to put a sword through your heart.” He blinked at her in shock. “Did you just threaten me?” “Never take away a woman’s choice to stand by her man. Do you hear me?” “I hear you.” “Say it again.” “I hear you, my fierce druid priestess.” He traced the outline of her lips with his thumb. “I mean it, Eamonn. Never again.”

Sorcha turned on her heel and grabbed the boy by the ear. His yelp sounded eerily like that of a wounded puppy. “I tell you what to do because you need to learn how to respect your elders. Go get the others before I leave an imprint of my boot on your behind.” “You wouldn’t dare.” “Try me, pup.” He glared for a few moments before his shoulders rounded in defeat. She gave his ear one more twist before setting him off. Oona chuckled. “You’ll have him fawning over you in no time.” “The boy needs to listen.” “The boy is halfway in love with you, and you hardly cast him a glance.” “Of course I don’t.” Sorcha rolled her eyes to the heavens. “He’s just a child!”

Cute!

“I don’t like ghosts,” he grumbled when he caught up with her. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” “We’re in the Otherworld. Anything is possible.” “Then I should like to meet them.” “Please don’t say that.” Sorcha grinned. “Is there someone following us, Eamonn?” “No.” “I’m quite certain I can hear a third set of footsteps.” “Stop it!”

Lol

people first started.” “Are you claiming druids came from the Fomorians? I thought we had Fae blood.” “We didn’t come from the Tuatha dé Danann.” He stopped in front of her and smiled. “It is why we’re connected to the land, to the sea, and to the sky. A faerie and a human can make a faerie or a human child. Fomorians and faeries made something else entirely.” “They made druids,” she said in wonderment. “Indeed.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to be a queen,” she growled. “It’s ridiculous to even consider the thought!” “You would make a good queen for the Fae.” “He’ll never ask.” Her heart shattered into a million pieces, but she meant every word. “He will be the greatest king they have ever seen. He will take a Seelie faerie as a bride and forget all about me. I will help his people, I will guide his thoughts, but he will never make me queen.” “He already has. He’s brought you before his people, made speeches with you by his side, planted his seed inside you. What more could you want?” Torin slapped both hands down on the thrones. “The words,” she said. “I want him to say it. I want him to ask me to be his queen. Otherwise, I'm forcing myself upon him.”

“You know who he is,” Sorcha exclaimed. “I do.” “Who?” “Ethniu’s father, King Balor.” “I thought he was dead?” “We all think the ancient ones are dead, but they exist in some manner.” Eamonn glanced down at her, brows furrowed in worry. “You are King Balor’s granddaughter?” “And you are Nuada’s grandson.”

She let her head tilt to the side as his fingers tangled in the curls above her ear. He frequently pulled on the coils, letting them bounce back into place before doing it again. She thought he enjoyed seeing something so vibrant in his life.

“You want me to believe you ain’t royalty?” Cait snorted. “Right.” “I’m not. I was raised in a brothel and became a midwife to heal my sisters and prevent them from filling the brothel with children.” “You were raised with whores?” Sorcha winced. “It’s a rather cruel word, but yes. My sisters made a good living and kept us all alive. I value them greatly, no matter their choice of employment.” The more she spoke, the further Cait’s jaw dropped. “You don’t care at all that they sell their bodies to whomever will pay the most?” “Not in the slightest. What they do with their own flesh is none of my business.” “And you don’t judge 'em for that?” “Not unless they get with child, and that would only happen because they didn’t take the tea I gave them. If they were foolish with their bodies, their hearts, their minds, then yes. I would judge them. But they are highly intelligent women. I have never once thought less of them for their choices.” “You know, I could like you.”

Bran sat down next to her. “Your mind is troubled.” “Is that why you took human form? Bran, I’m touched.” “What happened?” He nudged her shoulder with his. “Regardless of the fact that I dislike rules, nor do I follow any form of law, I still prefer to know what others are doing. And I find myself growing fond of you.”

“Ethniu?” Sorcha asked. “Yes, granddaughter. It is I.”

“If I measured my worth in beauty, I would live a life full of riches and happiness. If I am valued for the knowledge I impart on the world, then I live forever.”

“I release you from this realm,” she said. The magic needle between her fingers dipped. “Go home to your ancestors and family. Tell them of your journey and adventures, feel peace in the comfort of their arms.” “How?” The spirit looked down at his arms which were slowly losing form. “This is impossible.” “You have earned the right to death, warrior. Find your eternity.” “What have you done?” He looked her in the eye, horror and fear glimmering in their depths. “I have released you.” “Thank you.”

A kind gesture.

Controlling even the remnants of a soul felt wrong. It was the reason she was in this dungeon. Preventing others from controlling the free will and mind of faeries meant more to her than life itself. And then she used such power herself.

“There are many ways to alter the future. I wish to walk the path with the least death.” “Then you have chosen correctly. Towards the back of the room is my own tomb. You will find the sword in my corpse’s hands.” “You really are dead?” Balor seemed like he was impossible to kill. “Even the most ancient of beings must die, my dear child.”

“The future hangs in the balance,” Balor mumbled. “It is your choice now. Destroy the sword, use it, or throw it away for later generations.”

Big decisions.

“Sorcha, Cait doesn’t want to be here!” “None of them do!” “Is this what you think of me?” It all made sense now. He had been busy, there were too many things for him to oversee. He understood that she wanted to be with him. Eamonn missed her with every fiber of his being, but he could not allow his focus to wander. Every time he was near her, his soul drifted. He wanted to touch the beloved locks of her hair, trace the outline of her stubborn pout, ease the nightmares he knew plagued her. But he couldn’t. He saw his mistake in pulling away. Eamonn went to her, clutching her cold hands and pressing them against his heart. “A chuisle mo chroí,” he breathed. “Pulse of my heart, the folly is mine. I have done nothing to control the dwarves. They wish to be deep within their mountain halls with no one to tell them what to do. There are plenty of soldiers who wish to fight Fionn, and those who do not. I would never force a soldier onto a battlefield. That is a certain way to kill them.”

“I can’t hurt him,” he admitted. “He is my brother. My blood.” She tucked herself into his embrace, her tiny cold hands pressed against his chest. “I couldn’t harm my siblings either.” “And now I have no choice.”

“It is late,” she said with a soft smile. “We should be resting.” “I find it difficult to rest these days.” “Your mind is busy.” “Among other things.” He patted his knee for her to perch upon. She was so tiny, she could sit on his thigh and not worry about her weight or his discomfort. Sorcha found it easier to forget his size now that she was in his presence so much. But he was incredibly large compared to her.

“Why do you do that?” she asked. “What?” “You wrap my hair around your fingers over and over again.” “It helps me think.” “Does it?” Sorcha tucked her face into the hollow of his collarbone, grinning from ear to ear. “Why, does it make you uncomfortable?” “Not at all.” “Good,” he rumbled. “I don’t want to stop.”

“I tried to find a priest who we could safely bring into the Otherworld, but there were none near faerie circles for the past week. They do not seem to support the old ways.” “No, they avidly stay away from anything of the old religion. They don’t believe in it.” Sorcha wrinkled her nose. “Eamonn?” “I want to keep you safe. If I die, you should have everything of mine without question.” Everything clicked into place. She lunged back, slapping her hands on his shoulders. “Are you asking me to marry you?” “In a rather awful way, I suppose I am.”

😅

“You don’t seem the kind of man who would take the time to string together words. You’re more the type to back a woman into a corner and kiss her senseless.” “It’s what I did with you.” “Precisely.”

Eamonn grabbed her hand so quickly that she gasped. Her eyes wide, she stared at him as he brought her knuckles to his lips. “When I was young, I would have told you that I heard your voice in the song of the sea. That in your absence, the scent of strawberries filled me with yearning for your hair, your lips, the white moons of your fingertips.” He stared down at her hand in his, stroked her palm gently with his nails. “Eamonn—” “I am no longer the faerie prince with soft words. My poetry for you is a vow. The world may burn down around us, but nary a flame shall touch thy beloved flesh. The ocean may swallow the land, but I shall be your ship and feed you sweet air. A sword may try to cut you down, but I will bear all your wounds. I have lived a thousand years in the dark, waiting for the rays of your sunlight.”

He bit into the soft flesh, savoring the sweet taste that danced over his tongue. Nearly as lovely as her, but not quite so satisfying. He felt her eyes on him. The memories they shared lit a fire deep in his belly. “Are you not eating?” he asked. “I was enjoying the view.”

“Did you want children?” Sorcha couldn’t help but ask. “Yes.” “Why didn’t you have them?” “Lesser Fae in the service of Tuatha dé Danann cannot have children unless their masters permit them.” “Who was your master back then?” Oona glanced over her shoulder as Eamonn strode towards them. “His father.” “We have little time,” Eamonn called out. “Get her ready!” “Yes, master.” Sorcha’s heart clenched. She reached out and caught Oona’s hand that held the glimmering fabric. “You don’t have to call him master anymore.” “I do. That is what he is.” “He doesn’t want that to be the reality for Lesser Fae anymore.” “I know, dearie. But I won’t stop calling him that until that becomes truth for us all.”

She couldn’t tell him they were married, and Fionn knew he had her cornered. He was up to something, and she refused to play along with this game.

“How long will it take him to realize where you have gone?” “I imagine he already knows I have left, but he will never suspect I came here.” “Why not?” “He still believes I love him.” Sorcha leaned forward, steepled her fingers, and pressed them against her lips. “Did you ever?” “Love him? No.” It was a shame. Sorcha had seen how attached Fionn was to the beautiful faerie. Though it hadn’t seemed possible, he was gentle with his consort. Almost kind. Elva saw the emotions flicker across Sorcha’s face. “It is true, he loves me.” “How is that possible?” “Did you think him incapable of it? He is just a man, like the others.”

“You have done well,” Macha said. “Far better than I expected from a human girl.” “Druid.” “As you wish. Druid.” Sorcha licked her lips, refusing to glance up at Macha. “I did not uphold our deal. Have you come to collect my debt?” “No. You have exceeded my expectations and done the impossible. While Eamonn was not returned to my children, the outcome was exactly what I hoped.” Sorcha looked at her then, eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You wished Eamonn to start a war?” “That was the intent of bringing him home. I expected he would fight my children for a time, but then he would agree that returning to Tir na nOg was the only way to save his people. I did not anticipate he would fall in love with you and wish to take back the throne on his own.” “He didn’t really want the throne,” Sorcha hesitated, “he wanted a home.” “Yet, he found that with you.”

Although Fionn loved her, she had still been abused.

“I am so sorry,” she sobbed as she pressed her fingers to her belly once more. “You deserve so much more than this life. So much more than war and violence. You deserve a father who loves you and a mother who will kiss your bruises.” She couldn’t fight now. She couldn’t go into battle with thin armor and expect her child to live. What kind of mother would do that?

She was not a weak human. She was not faerie to hide behind armor and steel. The woad was her message, and it had been heard.

The Lesser Fae were brutal. They had so much anger built up over centuries and they showed no pity. The High Fae grew more and more angry that those who they believed beneath them would dare rise up.

Screw the High Fae

A sword split through the front of his armor and he staggered to the side. “No,” she sobbed. “No more of this.” Sorcha reached out and caught him as he fell to his knees. She pulled off his helmet and smoothed her hands over his handsome face. Shock reflected in his eyes even as blood dripped over his cheek. “You did not deserve this,” she said. “I am sorry.” He lifted a shaking hand lifted even as Elva cried out a warning. “You are not what I expected.” “Rest easy warrior.” “You should not be in war.”

She is still a healer at heart.

The faeries wore fine masks, the metal so thin it looked like wire. Their dresses were pristine and their movements graceful. They were so drunk they didn’t notice she had arrived.

Wow, this is so French Revolution...

Anger burned so hot that Sorcha couldn’t control herself. She leaned down, stuck her hand under a plate a passing waiter carried, and upended all the glasses onto the floor. The shattering made even the musicians shriek to a halt. They saw her now. The crowd parted, and she locked eyes with Fionn who relaxed on his throne. “There is a war on your doorstep, Wise King,” she mocked. “Or had you not noticed the blood coating your stairs?” “Kings do not fight in wars.” “No, but apparently Queens do.” She swiped at the blood on her cheek and pointed at him with a hand that dripped seawater. “I have come to claim what is mine.”

Sorcha is the best.