“When will I start looking like an elf?” I asked.
“You will be able to dispose of your glamour after the coronation,” Maeve replied.
“Okay.” I paused. “But could you guys, you know, drop your glamours so I can see what an elf looks like?”
Maeve’s brows shot up.
“I just want to know what I am,” I said defensively.
Maeve hesitated before saying, “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Yep. We fae are stuck in our glamours so long as the throne is empty,” Mickey said.
“Why?”
Maeve sighed. “It’s the queen’s way of ensuring that things don’t get out of hand during the interregnum—the time between queens. Our glamours limit our ability to access our magic—some more than others—but it is for the good of all. Imagine rogue fae going around working magic however they pleased. It’d be chaos,” she said, taking another bite of mash.
“But isn’t that what the fae council is for? To rule the fae in the queen’s absence?”
Mickey grinned as Maeve opened her mouth and shut it again.
“What Maeve didn’t mention is that our glamours are also how the ruling line maintains power. Kill the queen? Trapped in glamour. Refuse to coronate her heir? Trapped in glamour. Most fae would rather die than spend the rest of their existence living like magicless humans.”
“Huh,” I said, glancing down at my soggy cocoa puffs. “Sounds like a nice little dictatorship.”
Mickey chuckled. Maeve glared at him.
“It is what it always has been,” she said.
“Not always,” Mickey replied.
“As far back as memory goes,” Maeve said, acid creeping into her voice.
“That’s nice and all,” I said, cutting in, “but back to my mom making me a changeling. I don’t get that part.”
“Neither did we,” Maeve said. “Changelings are rare for our race since we value our young. We elves are not like the gnomes, who view offspring as a burden.” Maeve took a deep breath, steeling herself before she continued. “But I believe your mother knew of your unfortunate magicless circumstance and hid you away from the fae for your protection.”
“My—my protection? What?”
Maeve patted my hand, her face reflecting pity as she said, “Kella, you have no magic.”
“Okay,” I said, having already gathered as much. Yeah, I could see through fae glamours, but I figured that was because magic acted glitchy around me.
“And with no magic, you would have been defenseless among the fae. Surviving until you were old enough for the investiture would have been impossible given the current set of political circumstances. I believe your mother saw being a changeling as the best way to ensure you lived until the investiture.”
“Wait, what? Why would the investiture—” As soon as I latched onto a question, another one jumped up and shove itself forward.
I shook my head, trying to make room for one fully-developed thought.
“Who is my mom?”
“Your mother’s name was Ashlyn.”
“Was?” I said even as my brain tripped over the name. Ashlyn. That was the person that made Mickey vow to get me to complete the investiture. Maeve glanced at Mickey before looking back at me.
“I’m sorry, Kella, but your mother died some time ago.”
Dead. Of course she was dead. I couldn’t turn into an elf and magically have living elf parents, now could I? “What happened?” I said, my tone flat.
Maeve shook her head. “We’re not sure.”
“All we know is that she died going on twelve years ago,” Mickey said.
“What about my real dad?” Real dad. Part of me felt relief at saying that. At finding out that the man I hated, the man who never loved me, had never been my father.
“I’m afraid that he is to remain anonymous for now,” Maeve said.
The words stabbed me like a knife.
“He—”
“He doesn’t think it’s the right time for a family reunion,” Mickey said, shooting Maeve a warning look. “He wants you to adjust first.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Mickey said, slicing an apple on his plate. “He thinks his reappearance might cause too much turmoil and wants to wait until after the investiture. And that is what Maeve and I need to talk to you about—the part you are to play in the investiture.”
I took a deep breath. I wanted to scream, to pin him down and make him answer all my questions about my father and why he wasn’t here right now talking to me, but from the set of Mickey’s jaw, I knew all I’d get was a truckload of nothing.
“Fine,” I said, trying not to sound too bitter. “But how do you know my mom’s dead?”
Maeve and Mickey shared a meaningful glance—one that had me grinding my teeth together.
“Because,” Mickey said, his eyes boring into mine, “we all became trapped in our glamours.”
“Huh? But you said that only happens when the queen dies.”
Maeve and Mickey stared at me, waiting for the dots to connect.
“No way.”
“Your mother was the last fae queen,” Mickey said softly.
“And you are her heir,” Maeve added.
I whipped my head back in shock and said the first thing that popped into my mind. “But I can’t be. I have no magic!”
Maeve nodded. “That complicates things, but your lack of magic should only be temporary. The council believes the investiture will still grant you your ancestral powers.”
“Wait, why are you so sure I don’t have magic? Maybe I’m a late bloomer or something.” Maybe that’s all this glitchiness was—my powers beginning to manifest.
Maeve shook her head. “You don’t heal. All fae heal quickly, but you heal slower than even a human. And the ointment Mickey gave you for your nose—”
“The numbing cream?”
“It doesn’t numb. It guides a fae’s personal magic to heal her body faster than normal. Even though your magic hadn’t broken yet, it should have worked on you like any other young fae. Since it didn’t, the only explanation is that you had no magic for it to guide.”
“Okay. But as soon as I do this investiture thing, I’ll have all the magic I want—that sound about right?”
“All the magic you want?” Mickey asked, his brows raised.
I shrugged. “To heal Caleb.”
“You still want to… But he’s not your
