“What?Whathappened? And if Edmund isn’t my father, then who…” I can’t bring myself to finish the question. My own words echo in my head.
Edmund isn’t my father.
Edmund isn’t my…
No. No matter what Myrasa says, Edmund Snowwasmy father in the only way that mattered.
“You want to know who your real father was?” she asks.
I’m not sure I’m ready for that, so I say nothing. Then a chilling thought occurs to me. I glance sidelong at the kelpie who continues to pace behind me.
Myrasa chuckles. “No, not Vartul. He’s more of a business partner than a lover. Vartul serves me in any way I need. In return, I provide him with a body of water where he can safely feed.”
It isn’t hard to guess what she means by that. She allows him to feed off human victims in her pond—an illegal practice. The thought sends my stomach roiling.
“Your true father is just another dead man,” she says. “They didn’t all succumb to a limp stupor before they fell into my lake. I played with the handsome ones first.”
For the love of the All of All, is this monster truly my mother? “So you murdered both of them. The man who sired me and the one who raised me.”
Myrasa releases a grumbling sigh. “This isn’t at all how our reunion was supposed to go.”
“How did you think it would go? That I’d run into your arms and thank you for what you’ve done?” A sob heaves through my chest.
“I thought you would at least understand me. We’re the same, Astrid. Creatures of powerful magic.”
“I’m nothing like you! I’ve never wished for my magic to cause harm or distress. I’ve regretted every ounce of pain I’ve ever unwittingly inflicted upon anyone.”
She narrows her eyes, distaste stretching her lips thin. “Causing harm and distress is the natural way of life. The prey must suffer so the predators can survive. All of us are prey to something. Doing what I do, feeding the way I choose, is my right. At least it should be.”
“Murder should never be a right.”
She scoffs. “Before the war, there weren’t such harsh limitations on the fae like there are now. I fed on my own kind then, and I wasn’t punished for it. Anyone foolish enough to visit my lake deserved to die. I didn’t choose for human cities to grow around my lake, my forest. I didn’t agree to let humans onto our land, to let them mingle with us. I didn’t agree for my lake to fall under a seelie queen’s jurisdiction, nor did I agree to follow her oppressive rules. Those choices weren’t given to me. They happened to me. Why should I have to change?”
I feel only the slightest pinch of sympathy. I’ve heard about the struggles many fae have gone through—the unseelie in particular—in adapting to post-war changes. Courts shifted. Human cities sprouted where once there was only forest. The wildest of unseelie creatures were banished to lands that fell under the protection of each court’s unseelie ruler. Those who didn’t comply with the new rules were punished. So I can understand her frustration. But the way Myrasa kills is an unnecessary cruelty. If she only needs to touch her main body of water to use her magic, then there are other ways she can feed without killing people. She hid beneath the surface of the water on purpose. To kill.
But what she did to my father…that went beyond feeding.
“Perhaps I’ve misjudged you,” Myrasa says. “Perhaps you are softer than I thought you’d be. Regardless, I am glad for our reunion. You will forgive me in time.”
“I will never forgive you,” I say, my words laced with all my rage. All my grief. “My father meant the world to me, and you took him away. Why? Why, after so many years, did you suddenly want me back?”
“It’s not as sudden as you think. I need you, Astrid.”
Need. Not love. “Why?”
Her expression turns hard. “Because, daughter, you stole my magic.”
40
ASTRID
Achill runs through me. “What do you mean I stole your magic?”
Myrasa extends a hand toward a low boulder and stump near her pond. “Let us sit down while we catch up. I know it isn’t the fancy accommodations you’re used to at the palace, but you’ll have to forgive me for not being a queen.” Her words sharpen to a bitter edge at the wordqueen.
“I’m not sitting down. And we aren’tcatching up. In fact, I can’t…I can’t be here—” Torben’s face fills my mind, reminding me of his stupid, pointless sacrifice. Even with the knowledge that Tris isn’t the one who killed my father, I harbor no hope that she’ll let him go. I don’t know exactly what he intended to do during his meeting with her, but from the hollow look in his eyes to the hopeless way he said he loved me before he left, I know he didn’t plan on leaving the palace alive. My chest tightens as I wonder if it’s already too late.
Even if it isn’t…
