“No. Not Nimah. Margaret Morgan. Mymom,” I repeat, realizing she is thinking her father somehow has held captive the Fae whose DNA I share and not the woman who kissed my booboos. “The woman that raised me. The woman who showed up for me when she didn’t even have to.”
“The human woman,” Kestra says gently. She means well. But her words hold a double meaning I can’t quite see. “You cry for her.”
I swipe at a tear, looking down the long hallway knowing I have no idea where to go or how to even get to my mom. A human woman that this Fae, who I was beginning to see as an actual friend, refers to as the human woman.
Like there is a wall in her mind. Like a Fae couldn’t possibly care enough about a human woman to cry for her.
“She’s not human.” I sigh. “Just human plus. It’s a long story.”
“I’d love to hear about it.”
“How old were you when your mother died?” I ask instead of telling her the story, trying not to be angry at her when it might not even be her fault she doesn’t understand humans.
“I was just shy of turning two centuries.”
“Know what?” I shake my head and walk away. “Never mind.”
“Ash, help me understand.” She grips my bicep, her touch soft.
“Take me to her,” I counter, turning back to her. “Take me to my mom and I’ll explain.”
“I…” She nibbles her bottom lip and steps closer. “I can take you to her, but Ash, you cannot talk to her right now.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” I rip my arm away.
“I’m serious, Ash. Please.” I pause.
It’s the please that gets me. See, Fae don’t have the same qualms as humans. They don’t apologize. Ever. They don’t lie. Their nature demands the truth of them at all times.
But to beg?
I give her a curt nod. “Tell me why first.” I gesture for her to lead the way.
With a sigh that could mean resignation, could mean she’s humoring me—hell, I don’t know—she loops her elbow in mine, leading me down the long dark corridor. Light only exists in the spaces between steps where the glow of a double moon filtersthrough. The moons never leave that spot in the sky. Always there. Always watching.
I could ask about Kieran. Where he is. If exile means gone or just unreachable. If he ever asks about me.
I don’t.
Some answers are worse than not knowing.
“My father is a cruel man, Ash,” she begins, heading toward the usual tower, but she squeezes my arm when I tense up. Silently asking me to trust her. “His favorite game is manipulation, and you are currently his new favorite pawn.”
“That’s fucked up, Kestra.”
“I know. And I do understand, for the record.” She nudges me. “But human mothers are kind and gentle. My shock wasn’t that you felt that way, but that we have—” She swallows. “I don’t know how you will see me after I tell you this.”
“Tell me what?” My annoyance continues to grow as we get closer and closer to the doors.
Dread creeps up my spine.
“Then explain it. Be my professor. Please, Kestra.” I throw the word back at her.
This time her nod is followed by her opening the tower door.
My feet really don’t want to go in, but I do. Beneath her words the meaning is crystal clear. Her dad? He will hurt my mother in ways that make Amarantha’s cruelty nothing more than a paper cut.
But as the door closes behind us she presses her finger to her lips, and instead of going the entire way up the staircase, she pushes on a sconce and a hidden door pops out.
