I hold still. Even my lungs and heart rear to a stop.
“Isla and I believe that either he conceived her with our sister, or our sister bore the child with another Faerie and Svyato raised her.”
“What?” Izolda blusters, head pivoting toward the door still dripping with whorls of my blood. “Ksenia had a?—”
Konstantin leans forward to murmur, “Not that sister.”
22
ISLA
My father arrives for supper a few days later—alone.
Intent on uncovering the reason for my mother’s absence, I suggest we dine, just him and me. Nothing like a tête-à-tête to squeeze information from a person.
Mádhi hates what I’ve done, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s staying away,I ask, as we fly toward a restaurant located on the southernmost tip of the Voshnan Peninsula.
The establishment is operated by pure-blooded nobles, who didn’t attend the Jubilee, even though—according to Izolda’s guest list—they were invited.
No, mo khráach.
She’s Shabbin, Dádhi. Shabbins don’t get ill. Or if they do, they don’tstayill for very long. Certainly not for a fortnight.
My father remains tight-beaked.
You know what? It’s fine.Since emotional blackmail works best on him, I lay it on extra thick.I understand.
It takes a full minute, but, as expected, he bites.What is it you understand?
Why you don’t want to tell me. I don’t inspire much confidence, seeing as I’m not the cleverest of girls.
His blazing stare veers toward me.That’s absolutely—I never want to hear you say that! Never, you hear?
Just don’t tell my betrothed. He still believes there’s a glimmer of intellect inside my head.
Isla Mara Ríhbiadh, stop this nonsense!he bellows, guzzling down my theatrics, hook, line, and sinker.You are the brightest, cleverest?—
You’re my father. You’re obliged to love me no matter my flaws.I modulate my voice to make it sound strained and watery.Mark my words, though: someday, I will make you and Mádhi proud?—
Weareproud! We areso fuckingproud! It’s just that your mother wanted to tell you herself,my father thunders.
Tell mewhatherself?I ask, my bogus sadness a thing of the past.
A beat of silence slicks by, followed by several more, before my father finally says,How fast your tearducts dry, ínon…
I don’t even feign remorse, too busy running through all the possibilities of what my mother would want to— I swerve, knocking right into my father, before dropping so close to one of the chimneys that the smoke blisters my belly.
Holy spriteballs, I’m gettinga sibling!
Another grumble comes from my favorite feathered king.I can’t believe I fell for your performance.
You always do.Happiness multiplies the beats of my heart.
Do you know how few people are as adept at manipulating me as you are, Isla?
I learned from the best.
Yes, your mother is rather talented at prying everything she wants out of me.
