The principal nodded before leveling his gaze on me. “Kella, I trust you understand why we waited to tell you about your birthright and the fae.” His gaze was sharp, hawkish. I gulped before I glanced over at Maeve. She’d seared her lips into a tight line.
“Well, yeah. You guys didn’t want me freaking out since I didn’t grow up fae. That and I’d ‘just know’ soon enough, which, by the way, isn’t a good reason. I’d still need time to process stuff—and that’s on top of becoming super powerful and getting used to all of that.”
The principal’s brows continued to drift downward as I talked, and the more I talked, the more I realized that Maeve’s earlier explanation for not telling everything was probably not the whole picture.
Surprise, surprise. Another instance of them keeping information from me.
The principal shook his head, like he felt bad for me and my lack of information. “I am afraid that Ms. Reid did not wish to alarm you by raising all of her concerns. Kella…” His eyes bore into mine. “Have you heard of the rebels?”
“She might have mentioned them.”
“I mean fae who would rather stay trapped in their glamours than live under a queen again.”
“Why? Don’t their glamours dampen their magic?”
“If you had ever lived under a vengeful, spiteful queen, perhaps you would find their reasons self-evident.”
“Oh,” I said.
Maeve cleared her throat, her lips as tight as stretched rubber bands.
The principal shifted under her pointed gaze.
“What I am trying to convey is that the rebels do not wish to see a vengeful heir ascend the throne. For you to parade around making threats—well, it would not bode well for your life if they deem you an unstable influence in the monarchy.”
My throat went dry. “Got it. No threatening, even if deserved.”
He shook his head in agreement. “And another concern…with your ignorance of fae magic, you should not have been able to resist O’Faolain’s charm—which, while I do not condone his actions, he mentioned he implemented while seeking to diffuse the situation.”
I looked at Maeve in surprise, but her face was calm, betraying nothing.
“I do believe,” she said, “that strong emotion is a deterrent to a successful charm working, is it not?”
The principal nodded. “Yes, but surely she wasn’t so upset that—”
“I was,” I said.
The principal regarded me with something that looked like disappointment. “Yes, you are a rather emotional heir, aren’t you?”
I looked away from him, unsure of how to respond.
“Well,” he said, “it isn’t as if it is possible for magic to ‘leak’ from a changeling’s glamour, anyway. And seventeen years’ worth of pent-up magic does not suddenly break by blocking a charm, of all things.”
“Break?” I asked, curious even though I had no magic to break.
He smiled, shaking his head. “I forget, sometimes, how little newly returned changelings understand of our world. We waken a changeling’s magic in a controlled environment where we can slowly draw it out and siphon it off. Honestly, that is the best I can explain it.”
“But break?”
“Very rarely, a situation arises where a changeling’s magic breaks through the barriers before a proper awakening takes place. That situation would be existential. Life-or-death, in other words.”
I nodded sharply, annoyed. I knew what existential meant.
“And no, we are not about to awaken your magic, so please do not ask us to do so. And please do not get yourself into any life-or-death situations. In most situations, a sudden explosion of magic is not helpful in maintaining your status as a member of the living,” he said dryly, almost like he could read my mind—or at least what I would have thought if I’d actually had enough magic to explode.
“So, when are you guys planning on ‘awakening’ my magic?” I asked with forced disinterest. Just in case that council guy kept quiet, I wanted to know how much time I had before word got out about me being magicless.
He smiled. “That would be part of the preparations for the investiture. The unlocking of your innate magic will drain you enough to where the bestowal of the queen’s powers will be less overwhelming and less, um,” —here he paused, searching for the right word— “volatile.”
“Volatile.”
“Yes, volatile.” He smiled in an almost fatherly way. “Millennia of magic bestowed upon one being along with the wisdom of the past queens is best done while the subject is unconscious.” He paused. “From their magic being depleted from the awakening, of course.”
“Of course,” I murmured. So they planned on pumping me full of past queen wisdom and magic. That would sound nice if I was into the whole fundamentally-change-who-I-am thing. But I wasn’t.
My expression must’ve said as much, because he added, no doubt in an attempt to be comforting, “You can rest assured that your magical awakening will take place under closely monitored and appropriately staffed circumstances.” He nodded, emphasizing his own statement.
“That’s nice,” I said.
“It is a pity,” he said, his brows scrunching together, “that your glamour makes it impossible to do an accurate assessment of your magical capacity. I am incredibly curious.”
That bit of information surprised me.
“I thought there were ways to tell. I mean, like if a person has magic or not.”
“Well, of course you have magic,” the principal scoffed. “If you didn’t, you would hardly be fae, now would you? No, the question is how much magic have you got?”
“Yes, well,” said Maeve. “We’ll all find out soon enough.”
The principal eyed her. “We could always awaken her magic a few days before the investiture,” he said, his tone measured, as if he were setting down bait in front of a rattlesnake, aware he could get bitten instead.
But the bait he laid out wasn’t something Maeve was interested in. She narrowed her eyes. “The council does not see the point in doing so.”
“But aren’t you interested in what she could do by herself with her heritage?”
“I am not. Especially considering the current political environment. I would not wish to
