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Saoirse's blood dances with iron and trickery, a secret she has managed to sheathe from all faery alike.
Until now, that is.
When Saoirse's cunning and charade is shredded to bits by the malevolent interfering of fa...
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SAOIRSE AWOKE TO A THUNDEROUS BANGING AGAINST HER DOOR.
She very nearly tumbled out of bed, feet swarmed by the edges of her nightgown. A plain, cotton, long-sleeved, too-long affair, the monstrosity had left her tossing and turning for a better part of the last hour. Strange, Saoirse, that you'd find discomfort in attire as opposed to the fact that you slumber in a den of vicious wolves.
Unfortunately, despite being a faery, she wasn't immune to sleep deprivation. She was, however, immune to drooling, owl-eyes, and gracelessness. Saoirse cupped her mouth with slender fingers, covering a yawn. She bent and gathered the edge of her nightgown in one hand, padding delicately across the floor. A mere glance at the mirror showed that her appearance had remained fastened all throughout the night, and showed no signs of collapsing.
Glancing at the arched window, shrouded by a thicket of roses and vines -- as if fashioning themselves to be curtains -- Saoirse peered at unfathomable darkness. It was late into the evening, and though speckled with stars, scant moonlight washed over them. She didn't know if it was by way of fey magic, or if she had been given an unfortunate placement in the Alder King's Hall, but it was curious indeed.
She hastened towards the door as the fist pounded again. Undoing the deadbolt, Saoirse yanked it open and the other Changeling nearly tumbled into her.
"Yes?" She demanded sharply.
The Mortal swiped a tousle of ebony from her eyes, back snapping straight. Her gem-like eyes bordered on frost as they appraised Saoirse. Evidently, she hadn't slept, for she was still attired in a blue frock and woolen shawl. Wrinkles creased the edges, but the Changeling woman displayed no other outward signs of fear. Her hair was perfectly neat, not a strand out of place. Her features were perfectly composed, not a wrinkle to be seen. "You present yourself to The Alder King's Court today."
"I am well aware of that," Saoirse arched a brow. "However, why that pertains to you, I don't know."
"We are on the same side, you see." The woman hastened to explain.
"Is that so?" Saoirse spoke dubiously. She knew for certain that they were not, on the same side. No one had been tasked with the mission of stopping the Wild Hunt but she.
"Yes, we both seek to survive in the Alder King's Court. We both wish to find a place in his Court, to ensure a good life. We both want to live protected in his Court, and not at the mercy of the whims of whichever faery finds us to their liking."
"By my accounts, that should make us bitter enemies." Saoirse straightened. "The Alderking seeks only one changeling."
