“My mother drew it.”
“Your mother?” The air shimmies around us, turning humid and sticky. “And her name is?”
“Ella Delaney.”
“Delaney? When we first met, you called yourself O’Sullivan.”
I want to step backward, away from her, but I don’t. “I lied.”
The queen’s eyes shimmer, heat misting my skin in a fine sweat, reminding me her power is water. “Is your mother a painter?”
“Yes, she painted.”
“I remember her.”
Footsteps sound behind us. The queen doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“Mother?” Raff’s voice. “What are you and Lara doing—”
Flinging both arms out, Varenus sends a torrent of water rushing through the center of the Great Hall toward Raff. He stands, gaze hard, fists clenched and lets the rolling wave of aqua and white hit him dead on. Then he’s gone, tumbling down the steps, hopefully not to his death.
My heart pounds, stomach roiling. “Will he be okay?”
“Perfectly fine. Now back to your mother, child. Her schemes are clear to me now. She was at Talamh Cúig one season, during springtime. She heard the legends of our court, our stories, and then thought to make you an impostor by branding you with false imagery.”
It is difficult to imagine my calm, gentle mother in this place, but if she survived it and managed to find a way home, I can too.
The queen’s gaze drops to my neck, then tracks downward to land on my pendant. Ever’s dragonfly. In slow motion, she cups her face in her palm as though she’s contemplating a pretty scene. It’s a seemingly sweet gesture. Then the nail tips pierce her cheek, dark-red blood beading on milk-white skin. At the same moment, fat drops of water descend from columns above my head and drip, drip, drip onto my hair. At least I hope it’s water. I’m too afraid to look.
I swallow down fear and clear my throat. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What has some fae legend got to do with anything?”
She paces in front of me looking like an irate mermaid, nails tapping against her forearm covered in iridescent pale-blue scales. They’re pretty, and I hope she’s not going to attack herself again and bleed all over them. “So, either your mother didn’t tell you or you are good at pretending you’re ignorant.”
I’m tired of listening to confusing prattle, so I hit her with a direct question. “Why does my tattoo upset Ever so much?”
“My son has seen this?” the queen asks, circling like a shark who’s scented gore in the water. Her hand flicks in my direction and I flinch, expecting a tsunami to crash down from the ceiling. When she laughs, I realize the hand gesture was dismissive rather than aggressive and relax for a moment.
She sighs through her haughty, narrow nose. “Of course he has. This explains why he had you moved to the guest wing. He would not want to dishonor you, tedious child, after seeing this. Still, he will never publicly accept you. At best, you would be a mistress, a consort, never a wife, so it would serve you well to remove any notions of grandeur from your sweet, little head as soon as possible.”
“I don’t expect him to fall in love with me—”
“And you shouldn’t,” she barks. “His is not the kind of love you wish for. It’s the kind you run from. Forever.” Then her head tips back, and she gazes through the vaulted glass ceiling into who-knows-what—the future, the past, or memories of her son’s dark deeds. Finally, she remembers I’m here. “Listen closely, mortal girl; you will not pollute our bloodline. If this tattoo is more than it seems, what is written can sometimes be amended, and I will find a way to change it.”
I have no idea what she means. Nor do I understand the horrible picture she paints of Ever. Yes, he can be an arrogant pain in the butt, but I haven’t witnessed sadistic behavior. Sure, he’s bitter and damaged, but he’s only once tried to kill me. Oh, yeah. Right. That’s bad. And, even if it occurred back when he saw me as an enemy, it does indicate a savage nature.
But since then, he’s proved to be reasonable—kind to his animals, sweet to Raff, and tolerant and patient with Kian, who probably does deserve to have the air sucked out of lungs with some regularity.
“Now. You must return to your rooms. Eärendil,” the queen calls, and a guard hurries over. “Take her to the emerald tower’s solar.” Both the guard and I stiffen, causing her to shriek with laughter. “Fear not, you’re only going back to the exalted chambers Everend put you in.”
What’s wrong with them, then? Do they have spiked walls that, with the press of a button, will shrink closer until they eventually stab me to death like some medieval torture instrument?
She glides up the stairs to her throne of crystal spikes, and says, “Go with Eärendil to your rooms and await my word.”
“Word about what? Please, Your Majesty, can you tell me what you know about my mother? How did she come here? How did she leave this place?”
“Oh, I suppose I can give you a tiny insight.” She inspects her nails, then scrapes them along the spikes of her crown. Well that’s disturbing. Just as I’m getting ready to flee from the mad queen, a vision of my mother wavers before my eyes.
Wearing a dress that appears made of midnight and stars, she stands painting in an outdoor pavilion surrounded with wild roses and jasmine. A group of fae gathers around her, a golden-haired child playing with a dog at her feet.
“Lara,” my mother says, turning to smile at me. The child turns too, his glowing silver eyes widening when our gazes meet. Oh, God! It’s Ever. A young, beautiful, and thoroughly innocent child.
Queen Varenus snaps her fingers, and the vision dissolves, taking my heart along with it.
“Your mother was the ceann a thugann athrú, the change bringer who introduced the Court of Merits to your mortal technologies that led them to the shunning of earth magic. One day, she simply disappeared. I thought her dead. But obviously not because here you stand.”
“But—”
“Be silent. Instead of drowning you, I have been more than generous. Return to your chambers, and I will find a way to help you depart my land forever. If that proves difficult, well, perhaps we will turn to more radical methods.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
Eärendil takes my arm, tugging me away from the throne.
“I don’t need any help to get back to my rooms.”
“He’s not helping you, dear, he’s assisting me.”
And that’s precisely what I feared.
“But before you go, you must return something that does not belong to you.” Her palm shoots out, and with a loud snick, my necklace is severed from my neck. I watch it fly through the air into the queen’s clutches.
I know I should stay silent. I should keep my lips zipped, but I can’t. “That’s mine. Ever gave it to me as a gift.”
Heavy rain buckets down, drenching me, while the rest of the hall remains dry.
“And I took it away to punish him. Go now before I do the same to you.”
Chapter 21
THE WORD
Lara