He shook his head. “The dirtling? I wouldn’t touch her if I didn’t have to. She healed herself.”
That was a lie, which was weird.
At the table, Midir shuddered. “At least she has bathed.”
“Maybe I should go back to the Winter Witch and hang out with her ice wraiths,” I said. “Seems like a better time than this. More welcoming.”
Midir leaned back in his chair. “I do wonder why Lyr didn’t kill you a long time ago. If he’d wanted to, he could have ripped your head clean off your body. Just right off, like a child destroying a little doll.” He seemed all too gleeful as he described this. “Did you know that Lyr slaughters with alarming efficiency? He can make a person’s heart explode out of their chest, should the situation call for it. Though he’s much more restrained than I would be.”
“Relax, Midir,” said Lyr. “The Winter Witch has sent her back to us. We do not need to kill her.”
“It’s lovely to see you both again,” I said. “Are we going to move on to the details of the mission? Also, I heard there was dinner.”
Lyr turned and nodded at the servants who lined the wall. “We’re ready to eat.” Then, he gestured to Midir, whose vibrant red hair was wreathed with a spiky crown. “You’ve met my seneschals already, I believe.”
I nodded. “I learned all about their amazing torture hobbies.”
Midir’s eyes were dark as the bottom of the ocean. Everyone in this place was beautiful and terrifying. He twirled his wineglass, glaring at me. “You killed Irdion. He was useful. And he was my drinking buddy, if you must know.”
Lyr crossed to the table, taking a seat. “And yet we do need Aenor, and you are never short of drinking buddies, Midir. In fact, you are much more pleasant to be around when you’re drunk, so drain your glass.” Lyr gestured at an empty chair. “Join us.”
I pulled out a seat at the table. Lyr started to fill my glass with a golden liquid.
“What is this, exactly?” I asked.
“Dandelion wine,” said Gwydion. “Sweetened with honey. Obviously.”
It had been a hundred years since I’d tasted dandelion wine. No, a hundred-fifty. Gods, I remembered it being good.
A humid, salty breeze rushed in from the window, raising goosebumps on my bare skin. The wine tasted warm and summery, with just a hint of honey.
I took another sip, and it warmed me from the inside out. I’d forgotten how deliciously intoxicating fae wine was.
“Nice castle you have,” I said.
Lyr was studying me. “If you weren’t corrupted, you could have joined us here as one of the knights, long ago. You could have served the sea god.”
“What would she do for us?” asked Midir. “She doesn’t have power anymore. She’s broken. She’d never survive the trials.”
Truthfully, I knew probably just enough spells to compete in the trials to become a knight. I didn’t know a cleaning spell, but I did know how to explode a few things, how to give myself speed in order to run and fight. I could survive underwater for long periods of time. I could enchant people, as long as I had water nearby. But, I wasn’t going to bring any of this up. Let them think I was broken.
“Not to mention her disgrace,” added Gwydion.
They’d subjected me to such an unrelenting barrage of insults that I hadn’t had much time to wonder about the disgrace they kept talking about. I’d lost my kingdom and my power, but it’s not as though that were my fault. Someone had invaded our kingdom of Ys and destroyed everything I had.
“What is this disgrace you all keep going on about?”
Gwydion’s eyes went wide, a wicked smile curling his lips. “Oh dear. She really doesn’t know, does she?”
Chapter 13
“Know what?” I asked, losing patience.
“That we all know the truth.” Gwydion quite clearly found this hilarious. “We know your secrets. How you drowned your kingdom.”
I stared at him. “You think I what?”
“The wanton princess who wrecked her kingdom and ran off to America in disgrace,” Gwydion went on. “I do love a good tragedy, really. You drowned your own kingdom to appease a lover. The gods despaired of your recklessness and stole your powers. They left you with nothing but a ragged dress and a few spell books to your name as punishment.”
“We all know,” said Midir. “Everyone knows.”
I was gripping the stem of my wineglass so hard, I thought I might break it. “Is that what you think happened? That I drowned my own kingdom?”
Midir’s eyes were hard as flint. “Of course that’s what happened. You took after your wicked father and flooded the island.”
I could hardly form the words. “Y’all think I killed my mother, too?”
Gwydion shrugged. “I’m sure it wasn’t on purpose, but a fae queen dies with her land, and you drowned the land. So, yes, really you did kill her.”
Icy darkness slid through my bones. This is what everyone thought of me—all the fae who survived the drowning of Ys believed that I’d been the one who destroyed it.
But that wasn’t what happened.
I clenched my jaw. “Start from the beginning. What’s the story you all think that you know?”
Lyr’s body had taken on a strange, animal stillness as he pinned me with his glare. “You had the power to control the sea and drown a kingdom. It was your birthright. Do you deny this?”
I stared back at him. “That part is true. But I didn’t drown Ys. It was someone else. Did no one else see him?”
Gwydion sighed. “Look, you were young. We all know the story. You got drunk on wine, like you always were.”
I bit my lip. “I was often drunk, yes. I did not destroy the kingdom because of it.” Back then, I had so much power that it deafened me at times. The noise of it—the overwhelming rush of magic, the clanging cacophony and rushing waves—I needed the dandelion wine for a little peace in my mind.
“You had many lovers,” Gwydion went on, “which I don’t judge. In fact, I possibly admire it.”
“I wouldn’t judge that either,” I said. “Except it’s not true.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh come on. We all know. They’ve passed on the details. You had them wear black satin masks. Sometimes you strangled them in flagrante, and you forgot to stop before they died. Like I said, I admire that.”
I could feel that my cheeks were bright red. “This isn’t me.”
“But then one of your lovers betrayed you with your cousin,” Gwydion went on. “Whose beauty you always envied. In a drunken rage, your emotions got the better of you. You drowned the city.” He shrugged. “It could have happened to anyone with that power, really. I once cursed an entire village to dance to death because my boyfriend got off with his tailor. In my opinion, it’s perfectly understandable. But there’s no reason to lie about it. Own it.”
“What? Slow down.” I stared at him. “I hardly had any lovers, let alone many lovers in masks.” I’d had exactly two lovers in my long years. One a viscount’s son who’d seduced me in an apple grove for all of four minutes, and the other a human in London who liked watching darts. Both forgettable.