“Meriam turned Zendaya into a fuckingmareserpens?” My poor father sounds a second away from rupturing into feathers and smoke.
“The same way Queen Mara turned you into a bird.” Justus keeps his tone extra placid, surely sensing he must tread with care.
My jaw slips wider. “So my mother is a—she’s a . . . a . . .”
“Serpent shifter?” someone supplies.
I’m not even sure who speaks since I’ve eyes only for Justus and my father.
With a sigh, Justus says, “Not yet.”
Confusion grooves my brow. “What do you mean,not yet?”
“Zendaya will need to be blessed by the Cauldron to complete the transition.”
My mouth gapes wide, but no air penetrates my lungs. “But the Cauldron is—it’s sealed.” When my chest begins to burn, I gasp.
“I don’t believe you need more motivation to kill Regio, Fallon, but yes, until you’ve ended his line, your mother cannot be brought back.”
Focá.Half of Lore’s shadows waft back toward me; the other half cling to my father whose eyes are wide and glazed. He’s evidently elsewhere. Perhaps in the ocean. Perhaps in the past.
I touch his arm, and although hard as steel, it quivers like a banged gong. “Could Meriam not perform a spell to complete Mother’s transition?”
“No,” Bronwen murmurs. “Meriam may be powerful, but the sort of magic needed to give men or animals the power to shift . . . only the Cauldron and its keeper can complete such a feat.”
If a transition is even possible.
I snap my gaze to Lore, hunting his darkness for the twin pinpricks of gold, but he’s in too many pieces for them to shine through.
“Did you know, Bronwen?” My father’s lips lay so flat against his teeth that it roughens his already abysmal timbre.
“No, Cathal. I swear I didn’t.”
I look over my shoulder at where she stands, clutching Cian’s arm. “I know the Cauldron is livid and closed for business, but maybe it would make an exception for my mother?” I shrug. “After all, she did follow its wishes and manufactured its curse-breaker.”
Justus’s blue eyes take on a faraway glint. “Since the wards are of Meriam’s making, anyone who shares her blood will remain locked outside Shabbe until the ward rune is erased.”
The furrows on my brow only deepen because I clearly remember Bronwen suggesting— “You advised Lore and me to head to Shabbe to break his curse.” I don’t miss the swallow that agitates her thin throat or the miniscule step she takes nearer to Cian. “Why propose something impossible?”
“Because I was trying to protect my king, Fallon. In Shabbe, he would’ve been safe. He wouldn’t have needed to hide. He wouldn’t have lost one of his crows in a place not a single one of us can reach.”
Lore must yell at her because moisture beads from her white eyes and collapses down her ruined cheeks. Are those tears? I didn’t think Bronwen capable of grief.
“It was my idea, Lore.” Cian curls Bronwen into his much larger body and rests his chin atop the new growths darkening his mate’s scalp. “If you’re angry, take it out on me.”
I’m aware Bronwen meant well. After all, I also wanted to send Lore to Shabbe to keep him safe. Nevertheless, I very much want her to stop interfering—or at the very least, not do it so backhandedly.
However, there’s a time and place for all discussions, and right now, her bygone meddling is of little import. Not in comparison to the latter part of what she’s just said.
“What did you mean bya place no one can reach?” Wind buffets the mountain, and although I hadn’t felt cold before, between the news of my mother’s whereabouts, my flimsy dress, and nowthis, chills rock me. “Where is it that you fell, Lore?”
His shadows return to me, coalescing against my pebbled skin.Let’s get you inside. I want Lazarus to look over your wounds.
I’m fine.
You’re not fine. You tremble harder than a sprite in the company of a Crow.
Lore—
