The Faceless Woman Emma Hamm (ebook reader screen TXT) 📖

snatch it from her hand. “But you must be certain, little changeling. Undoing the magic that wraps around you will release everything it holds at bay. If you want to remove your curse, you must be certain.”

“Anything,” she whispered. “I would do anything to see my own face, to be seen for the first time in so many years.”

“Then take the paper and seek your own fate.”

Her heart beat loud in her ears, but Aisling reached forward and took the spell. It was a simple one, and of course one she hadn’t considered. She hadn’t thought such an intricate curse could be undone with such a simple spell.

Hope fluttered to life in her chest. Anyone could look in her eyes and see who she was, what she felt, all the things that everyone else took for granted. She could finally be a person.

“Thank you,” she gasped. “Thank you, Duchess.”

“Do not thank me, child. Undoing a curse is not always a blessing.”

The duchess stood. Her skirts whirled in a graceful arc as she glided away from Aisling who could not stand even if she wanted to. Her knees shook, her soul quaked, and she looked up at the duchess with sudden appreciation for the strange creature.

“Oh”—the duchess paused at the door—“I shall host a ball to introduce you to my people. I find it’s much easier to know someone when they are expected to act properly. You’ll never forget the welcome our people give you. I’ll send a few faeries to prepare you.”

Before Aisling could say a word, the Duchess vanished.

She held the piece of paper in her hand as if it were made of the finest glass. She didn’t want it to crumble between her fingers. If this was some cruel jest, she might tear the entire palace apart.

Aisling breathed a relieved sigh when she saw letters still darkening the page. The duchess hadn’t lied. There really was a spell that could free her.

The sound of scrabbling at the window filled the room. She glanced over to see Lorcan pulled himself up the side of the palace, huffing and puffing on the windowsill before he dramatically flopped to the floor. “Are you going to do it?’

“You were listening?”

“Well I was going to come into the room, but since you insisted I hide, I assumed I shouldn’t.”

She cast a severe glance his way. “Lorcan.”

“I’ll try not to be so sassy,” he growled. “Are you going to? Badb put those on you for a reason, even though you weren’t even ten summers yet. I’m not certain removing them is such a good idea.”

“I’m tired of not existing to my own kind,” she responded quietly, her fingers stroking the page that held her future written on wrinkled parchment. “I stand in front of them, and they don’t actually see me. I can frown, I can grin, I can make all the faces I want and not a single faerie reacts to me. I exist between the world of the living and the dead.”

“But is that worth trading your safety for?”

“I just want to be a person. I want people to look into my eyes and see my soul. I want to see my own face for the first time in years.” She dashed a tear off her cheek. “Lorcan, I don’t even remember what I look like.”

“I’ve always been able to see you,” he murmured. He hopped off the ledge and hesitated before making his way toward her. His tail twitched as he traced her knees, twining between her legs. “I think it would be a shame to hide such beauty from the world much longer.”

She let out a slow breath. “Then I think it’s past time to shake off this curse.”

Lorcan padded away and jumped onto the pile of pillows. Dust flew into the air around him, and he sneezed violently. Once still, he quietly sat and watched her with wide eyes.

What was she doing? Had she made this decision too easily?

Badb had cursed her with good intentions. She wanted Aisling to remain safe, and to keep her soul intact if the Fae tried to use her against her family.

And yet…

She caught her reflection in the mirror. The smooth surface of her face and the vague blur where her features should be. She was tired of being a suggestion of a woman, a specter caught in a prison of flesh and bone.

Aisling fingered the edges of the parchment and carried it toward the stagnant pool in the corner. She shrugged the tattered fabric from her shoulders and left Bran’s clothing in a heap at the edge of the pool.

She took a deep breath, touched the water with her toe, and then slowly walked forward. The pool was deep enough to cover her shoulders. The burn of salt tingled upon her lips, the tangy taste bursting upon her tongue.

Holding the paper against her chest, she watched as the dark ink bled into the water.

“In the names of my ancestors, my gods, and myself, I call upon thee, spirits of water. Come forth, cleanse me of all magics, and restore my soul to balance. By our wills combined, so mote it be.”

Tiny ripples formed in the water from each of her exhalations. The ink swirled, growing thicker and darker as magic seeped out of her hands into the pool. It was dragged from her skin each second.

Tiny hands stroked her sides, the water spirits easing the protection spell from her skin moment by moment. Created by nothing more than water, they were incredible specimens and infinitely kind. Their bodies melded with the water, entirely invisible but easy to feel.

They existed on magic, and she was providing them a feast.

A small hand shoved her forward. Tiny tugs and pulls encouraged her farther and farther into the pool until she finally dunked her head underneath the water.

Dark hair floated around her in great swaths of darkness. Ink spread until she could taste the bitterness on her tongue. She felt the spirits of water pulling at the