Alora was shocked silent, her heart beginning to pound. “You’re my aunt? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Salvia didn’t wish you to know, or rather, she wanted you to live a normal life for as long as possible. When you left here, I had hoped it meant you would live as a human…”
“I’m not part human?”
Lady Zinnia took a breath but gave no answer.
“I came for answers,” Alora snapped. “I need to know what I am.”
The wind bowled outside, making the windows rattle.
Her godmother, no, aunt, shifted in her seat, folding her hands on the table. “That is a difficult thing to explain.”
“Then begin with my mother. What power I have must come from her, and it’s clearly more than simply making flowers grow. Tell me the truth.”
Nexus leaped onto the table and sat primly, licking his fur. Lady Zinnia’s eyes widened at the sight of him, her throat tightening. She breathed once, steadying herself, then spoke.
“The Queen of the Spring Court in Arthal had many loves,” she murmured. “One of them was the God of the Mortal Realm…”
Alora’s breath stuttered, her hands trembling on her knees.
“His seed planted three daughters in the queen’s womb,” Zinnia continued softly. “My sisters and I.”
She stared at her, hearing what she didn’t say aloud.
They were more than fae.
Demigoddesses.
“Each of us arrived with a different gift.” Zinnia lifted her hand, and thorns unfurled across the tabletop like blooming steel. “I was the most powerful of my sisters, wielder of thorn and earth. A coarse strength whereas Salvia’s magic was gentle. She wove spells through song, source of spring and vitality. Our youngest sister had the gift of earthcraft, coaxing toxin or tonic from root and leaf. Such gifts earned us the attention of those who would use us. So we fled here a century ago, hoping for peace far from the wars of Arthal and its hungry courts. But peace is a fragile thing among mortals.”
Her lips tightened with quiet disgust, gaze drifting toward the window and the distant hills. “When Argyle discovered what we were, it threatened everything. I prepared for war. But Salvia”—her voice wavered—“Salvia chose negotiation. She offered her hand to Laurent when he came of age. Their marriage forged a pact and stilled the threat of conflict. But their union… was not blessed.”
Lady Zinnia met her gaze, weariness settling on her delicate features. “But Salvia could not bear children. We had no answers as to why and it broke her heart. She loved Laurent deeply, Alora. The kind of love that makes fools of queens.”
Alora stared at her, sensing something awful. “But… my father?—”
“Had no part in your making.”
The air left her lungs.
Zinnia’s tone was gentle but firm. “On the night of the Blood Moon, Salvia traveled to the ruins … and made a wish.”
Alora’s eyes widened. The Midlands had few laws, but the main one was to never go to the ancient structures that lay in the west by the sea.
“It is called Khar Avalen,”Zinnia said quietly, in the ancient language of the first people before the coming of the First Age. “A ruin old enough that even the courts of Arthal fear it. That place was built long before the fae ever crossed into these lands. There, mortals once worshiped the old gods, made sacrifices for their biddings and prayers. Some claim it was a cradle… a place of old magic when light and shadow still walked the world. Where wishes could be made. Your mother should not have gone there, Alora. No one should.”
“What happened?” she whispered, her hands clenching.
The air thinned, the atmosphere becoming hazy.
Zinnia’s fingers tightened around her teacup, the porcelain trembling as she whispered, “It is a difficult tale to share, one that I sometimes find hard to believe.”
“I will hear it,” Alora tightly and the cottage trembled with her power.
Sighing, Lady Zinnia stood and wandered to the window. She wrapped her arms around herself against the sudden coldness in the air, watching the full moon outside among the wispy clouds. When Zinnia spoke, she told her a story as if reading from a book.
“Once upon a time, a barren queen cried out for a child… and the dark itself answered. He was but a voice in a mirror, a crimson eye in faceless shadow who heard her wish and agreed to grant what she desired, but only if she swore to do the same when the time came. Deny him, and she would pay with her life.
