“Not exactly,” Thorne says slowly. “That’s a much more complicated tale.”
“Will you tell me?”
“I doubt I have a choice. If I decline, you might feelhurt.” This time there’s a note of jest in his voice when he refers to my manipulation.
I give him my sweetest smile. “I might.”
He emits a rumbling laugh, the first I’ve heard from him outside of my dreams. Then his expression turns serious. “Do you like stories, Miss Rose?”
“Sometimes.”
“Only sometimes? Then what do you like more than stories?”
“Dancing.”
“As in…you like to dance yourself or you’re fond of watching ballet?” There’s a keen glint in his eyes as if he already knows the answer.
“Both.”
“Then you can consider this story a dance of sorts. A waltz between feuding families and curses. Would you like that?”
His tone has taken on that slow, soft quality again, and it isn’t entirely comforting. Something tugs at the back of my mind. Some…memory that has me suddenly on edge. Still, I’m desperate to understand more about my parents. “I suppose.”
“There’s just one condition. You will forget my tale once I’ve told it and will only recall it when I’ve allowed you to.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “What—”
“Forget I’ve said that last bit as well.”
7
My heart thrums at a rapid pace for some inexplicable reason. I blink a few times, clearing my mind until I can focus on Thorne Blackwood again. For the briefest moment, I catch him smirking at me. In the next blink, the grin is gone. Was it even there in the first place?
“Where were we?” Thorne says. “Ah, right. I’m going to tell you all about the threat that has plagued you from birth.”
Oh, no wonder my heart is beating so fast. Mr. Blackwood is going to give me the answers my three teachers couldn’t. I nod. “Please do.”
He glances away from me, his eyes going distant. Thoughtful. “To explain that I’ll first need to preface with a bit of history. For the last hundred years or so, two families have been bitter enemies: a clan of mahrts and a clan of banshees.”
Since he already told me my parents are mahrts—dream fae—that must mean the banshees he’s referring to are their enemies. Or…my enemies too, I suppose.
“The feud began in the Lunar Court, where both clans originated. Back then they had no surnames, for such a human practice had yet to be established amongst the fae. The two families fought over everything from land to mates to food sources. After seelie culture grew in popularity, the mahrts decided to take on seelie form as their primary manifestation and join Lunar Court high society. Little did they know, the banshees too yearned for the seelie lifestyle. They clashed once more, but this time their wars shifted from outdoor battlefields to quieter societal ones, coming to a head during a baby’s birthday celebration.”
I frown. That sounds like an odd setting for a war.
“This happened a handful of years before the isle’s unification,” Mr. Blackwood says, “so the mahrts weren’t royals yet, just members of the fae elite. The matriarch of the mahrts, who by then had taken on the surname Briar, held a celebration for her firstborn, a boy.”
My heart kicks up. If I assume the Mrs. Briar of his tale is my mother, then the boy he’s talking about…could be my brother! Even if these figures are more distant relatives of mine, I’m struck by the realization that I have more than just my mother and father out there. I have a whole family! Siblings, maybe. Cousins. Uncles.
Thorne continues, stealing me from my racing thoughts. “Mrs. Briar invited all the important seelie fae, excluding only one: the banshee family matriarch, who had taken on a surname of her own, Lemuria. Feeling slighted, Mrs. Lemuria showed up anyway. As the banshee matriarch was equally popular amongst the seelie gentry, Mrs. Briar couldn’t turn her away without causing a stir. So Mrs. Briar received Mrs. Lemuria with a cold welcome. Everything went smoothly. Until it was time to sing the birthday song.”
“The birthday song?” I echo. If that’s a well-known custom, it isn’t something we’ve participated in at the convent.
He nods. “A tradition picked up from humans. The guests gathered around the young child and began to sing, but the song turned to gasps of terror when the first guest noted the tears streaming down the banshee’s cheeks.”
He pauses and meets my gaze again.
It takes me a moment to understand the significance he’s waiting for me to glean. I recall what I’ve heard of banshee lore. While I’ve never met one, as they are strictly Lunar Court fae, I know a bit about their magic. It moves through song. Banshees sing several types of magical melodies, but the one they’re renowned for is their song of death. If a banshee cries while singing, death is near.
