Scrambling to my feet, I splash out of the water, but there’s no escape. She drew me here. How in the Underworld did she do that? She’s supposed to be trapped in the Mistmere Hallow, so how did she reach through the Hallow in Ceres—?
“I didn’t,” she says calmly. “You called me, Iskvien. And you opened the link between us. Since I cannot leave my prison….” She gives a sinister little smile and a shrug.
“Send me back.”
She tilts her head. “I thought you wished to talk?”
Every muscle in my body freezes. “The last time we talked, you trapped me into this fucking quest for a crown that doesn’t seem to exist.”
Dark, merciless eyes. “It exists,” she says and then turns and walks away.
I stare at her back.
“Then why is there no trace of it? Someone has to know where it lies. Or maybe it was destroyed—"
“It cannot be destroyed.”
She has to be lying. For every Spell of Making, there is a Spell of Unmaking.
“The crown is the key to everything. Come, Iskvien. If you wish to know how to defeat your mother, come….”
And so I follow her.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Mother smiles as she sinks onto her throne.
Carved of ebony basalt, it would seem almost menacing if not for the filigreed pattern of stars and moons woven into the stone. Someone has painstakingly carved moonstone and used it to fill the chiseled moons.
“You could defeat her, yes,” the Mother finally says. “Power sings through your veins, Iskvien. You have the promise of the best of my kind as well as your mother’s ancestry. If you learned to harness your gifts, you could force your mother to crawl at your feet. You could make her regret every little betrayal she’s ever given you. You could tear apart mountains with a thought and cause forests to grow in a night. You could sing the stars from the sky if you wished it.”
She’s lying. She has to be lying.
“You want me to free you. You’d say anything to make me free you.”
“Of course I wish to be freed. I never said that you will defeat her,” the Mother replies. “Merely that the promise is there. Do you think you are the first to be born of such a powerful coupling? Do you think you will be the last?” She leans forward. “I am patient, little princess. If not you, then another will come. If not you, then I will turn my attentions elsewhere. You’re not the only one who makes the earth tremble with their footfall. You could even hear them walking the lands if you learned to listen.”
My fingers slide to the golden filigreed bracelet trapped around my wrist. “There’s another leanabh an dàn?”
She merely smiles. “That is your question to answer.”
In the silence, all I can hear is my heart beating.
If there’s another one out there, then perhaps Angharad will turn her attentions upon them if she finds me too difficult to rein in. All I have to do is keep away from her hunters.
Find the crown.
And kill my mother.
“Why did you come to me?” the Mother murmurs. “For questions you could answer if you continue to search your books?”
I don’t know why….
Or do I?
I swallow. “Why did you help me? Why did you let Eris wake?”
“You wanted proof,” she says. “It’s difficult for the Dreamthief to escape the command of the Mirror, but he can do it, if the cause is strong enough. We have never been your enemy, Iskvien. But you know that, don’t you? That’s why you’re here.”
“You weren’t always the enemy of my people. The last queen who ruled Mistmere was fae, and she also worshipped you.”
The Mother of Night glances down. “Abalonia was a special case. She was wise and powerful and… she could be reasoned with. Mistmere is the border between two peoples—the seelie and the unseelie—and Abalonia knew it. She created a haven for her seelie, and yet she also welcomed the unseelie and the sylvaren within her territories. Hers was the only kingdom that knew true peace.”
I hesitate.
“What do you want to know, Iskvien?” Her depthless eyes seem to see right through me.
I rub my hands up my arms. “You said I was the leanabh an dàn.”
“Yes.”
“Who is my father?”
She cocks her head. “And what will you give me if I answer?”
No. “I’m not making any more bargains with you.”
“Then I have no reason to answer.”
This time it’s my turn to smile as I stalk up the hillside toward her. “Something just occurred to me—you were waiting for me to reach out for you, weren’t you? You’ve been sitting here like a spider in the dark, waiting for me to turn toward the Hallow so you have a chance to reach me.” I pause at the foot of the throne. “You cannot force me to free you and your kind. But you can persuade me to consider your argument. Well, this is your chance. Persuade me. Convince me you’re not a monster.”
“Oh, but I am, sweet child.” Curling her fingers over the arms of her throne, she leans forward, and it feels as though she grows. The shadow of her throne lengthens, sweeping across the island behind her. A vicious chill seems to settle. “I am the monster in the dark that my people prayed to. I am the cold, merciless vengeance they needed when their enemies stalked them. I am the beast that protected them when the bright and shining fae came with their wars and their armor. I am the Queen of the Whispering Dark, and I am the reason the fae feared the night.”
A little pit of terror curdles in my veins as she catches my gaze.
And then she leans back, and she’s merely a hooded woman with dangerously red lips and a smile that knows the fate of the world.
“We are all capable of becoming monsters for the ones we love, little queen. Even you.”
“I am no monster.”
“If you want to destroy your mother, then you must
