Page 12 of A Dance with the Fae (Mistress of Magic #1)

Faye stood in a town square looking out to sea.

She knew it was Scotland – but it was different; everyone wore different clothes: old-fashioned, no jeans, jumpers or parkas.

She didn’t know any of the people there, but they were all standing in a crowd, watching a priest sprinkling holy water over a number of women who were lashed to wooden posts on a raised dais in the middle of the square.

I’m dreaming , she thought.

In the dream, Faye looked down at her own feet to find them encased in rough leather boots.

She wore a dress of brown rough-spun material with a dirty, once-white apron over the top of it.

She reached up and felt her hair, plaited and pinned up at the back of her head in a way she had never worn it. What is this? What’s happening?

There was a man dressed in a fancier style than everyone else. He was on the dais, talking to the women. She heard him say to one of them, Confess, and ye shall go to your death godly. Not as the Devil’s whore .

‘I am no whore. I am Grainne Morgan, Beloved of the Good Folk!’ the woman cried. The crowd gasped.

Faye shuddered in recognition. Grainne Morgan was her ancestor. Grainne Morgan had been burned as a witch.

It was about to happen. She was about to see it happen.

Faye’s heart was in her mouth. If this is a dream, let me wake up , she thought, willing it all to stop, but the dream stayed, heavy and insistent.

‘No!’ she cried out, but her voice was subsumed in the noise around her.

‘You do evil today by taking the name of the Fair Ones in vain! They are no devils; they are our own angels, part of our lands. That have always been in the streams and rocks and trees and moss, since before there was Man, and certainly before there was this village,’ Grainne cried out.

Faye’s eyes streamed with tears. Grainne Morgan had the same auburn hair as she did, the same high cheekbones that Faye and Moddie had shared.

‘Please, please, save her, someone, help!’ Faye cried out, turning from one person around her to the next, but no one seemed able to hear her.

‘Aye, I do not go to my death. I go to live in the hills forever; in the far castles of the fae that are full of sweet mead and fresh bread and dancing for all eternity,’ Grainne continued.

The sheriff had lit the kindling at the bottom of the stake, and the branches and logs were beginning to flicker orange-red.

‘ No ,’ Faye cried out in desperation. ‘Please, someone, help.’

In that moment, Faye saw someone else on the dais. A tall, blonde man dressed in elaborate blue and gold clothes stood next to Grainne; he appeared to be slightly translucent – real, and yet not real – yet, Faye saw her ancestor take his hand.

Grainne raised her chin and drew in a deep breath.

‘But they will curse you, you men that bring pain to this land of magic! I curse you! In the name of the kings and queens of Falias, Gorias, Finias, Murias and the Crystal Castle of the Moon! In the names of earth and stone, air and winds, fire and hearth, water and sea, I curse you! Let no more the Good Folk help you. Let no more the wise ones negotiate with them on your behalf. Let a blight be on this land!’

Faye watched as Grainne slumped forward. The flames had not yet reached her, but Faye could see Grainne’s spirit leave her body and merge with the spectral figure next to her. She blinked; even in a dream, it was strange.

See the fate of your ancestors , a voice intoned in her mind. See the bond we have always had, sidhe-leth. For you are half fae; born in love, as was always the bond between the Morgan women and the kings of Murias.

Faye jumped, startled, and turned to see Finn Beatha standing next to her. He looked deeply into her eyes.

Reclaim your power, Faye Morgan. Reclaim your position at my side , he said. And reconnect your people to the protection of the fae. Or see your people perish.

You will know my words are true when I see you again. It will not be long before we are together again.

Faye awoke. Her heart was hammering in her chest. What had she just witnessed? And what did Finn mean? For you are half fae; born in love, as was always the bond between the Morgan women and the kings of Murias.

She was a normal person. The Morgan women had always been witches, that was true. But half fae? That had to be a fantasy, conjured in her dream for reasons of her own.

Reconnect your people to the protection of the fae. Or see your people perish.

It was just a dream , she told herself. Just a fantasy.

But what if it wasn’t?