Netala’s and Tobir’s eyes widen in surprise. I personally have only seen Mother do this a couple dozen times over the years, but I know my father makes her use it when we aren’t around.
I watch her face, watch the way the scrawl spins in her eyes, the way the rest of her face has gone calm and relaxed. Ryatt is watching just as closely as I am, and excitement leaps in my belly. I love watching her do her magic, but I know it tires her out. Soon, the words stop spinning, and her strange gaze sharpens on Tobir. I hear the fae male suck in a breath.
“The red-cloaked bearer shall give you two truths and a lie. You will believe the wrong one.” Her voice is deeper, not her normal speaking voice, and just like the other times I’ve heard her make her foretellings, goose bumps go up and down my arms.
Then, Mother blinks quickly, and the strange words disappear from her eyes, the green in her irises fading back into view.
Tobir’s brown brows are knotted deep into his skin. He stares at her for a second, like the words are replaying in his head. “What is that supposed to mean?” he demands.
“Elore’s foretellings are not always clear to us at the time of speech,” my father says.
“So this is why you took an Orean for yourself, Stanton,” Netala says. “Was she able to predict the outcome of the war?”
Father shakes his head. “Elore’s magic only works on people, not worldly events. Some foretellings can be as inconsequential as buying a bushel of spoiled apples, and some…more significant.”
“Ooh, I am curious what she predicted about you,” she says to my father, her eyes lighting up with curiosity.
Beside me, my mother goes stiff.
Anger slides over my father’s features like slime under a slug, but he wipes it away quickly. “She has not made one for me as of yet,” he says lightly, but I’m not tricked by it. He might try to sound calm, but there’s something sharp underneath that makes me squirm.
Netala nods, taking another bite of her meal. As she swallows, her eyes lift. “It is a very impressive power, Elore. Your ancestors must have bred with very powerful fae. Tell me, you were one of the last Oreans to come into Annwyn, is that right?”
My mother tips her head. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Part of the agreement for my support in the war was that I was able to bring in a last batch of Oreans,” my father explains. “They make up all of my groundskeepers and servants. Very efficient. They get long life, and I get a long-lasting staff.”
I try not to scrunch my nose up. I hate it when he talks about my mother and the others like this. I scratch the back of my forearm, trying my best not to let my anger show up on my face.
My mother’s lips go thin, so I reach over and place my hand on her leg under the table and pat her like she does for me sometimes when my father is making me upset. She glances over at me, and her face softens for a second.
“Stanton, your sons are the spitting image of Elore,” Netala says, and even though she’s smiling, she doesn’t look nice.
I don’t like that everyone keeps talking about my mother instead of to her, either. It’s nothing new, though. Most fae that my father has over are rude to my mother. It’s not her fault that my father saw her in Orea and brought her here. It’s not her fault that she’s Orean, and I don’t see why it matters anyway. Just like I don’t know why it matters that Ryatt and I are only half fae. She just proved that she’s powerful in her own right. Her magic is better than most of the fae in the city, so they shouldn’t be mean to her.
I shove a bite of meat into my mouth, chewing through my anger, but I immediately grimace just like Ryatt does when he eats something he hates. The food tastes off, like it’s been left too long. I try some of the boiled apples instead, but it’s overly sweet and mealy, like it’s started to go bad. Yuck.
“They do,” my father says. “But it is not a bad thing. Elore is very beautiful—and her magic is impressive. It’s why I chose her.”
My mother twitches. The back of my arm itches again.
“I hope they don’t take after her completely,” Uncle Iberik says with a laugh, hand swirling his cup of wine.
Tobir keeps chewing away. “Mmm, yes. I’ve seen plenty of fae and Orean pairings where the child doesn’t develop magic. Dreadful.”
“My sons will both have magic,” Father says, voice like a whip to punish anyone who should say otherwise.
“Of course they will.” Netala smiles. “I’m sure they’re more fae than Orean, at any rate. Elore herself has been fae-blessed as a diviner. And you—you’re The Breaker. The most powerful fae in the kingdom, aside from the king.”
I look over at Ryatt as he squirms in his seat, and I want to do the same.
The Breaker. That’s what everyone calls my father, and for good reason. Because his magic does just that—it breaks.
I’ve seen him break rocks, break fingers, break a lame horse’s neck. I’ve seen him break a roof, making the whole thing cave in.
His magic is scary.
Before he retired, he used to help break whole cities for the king. It’s why he got this estate. It’s why we have forty-three rooms and Orean servants. It’s why he was allowed to go for one last trip to Orea to bring people back with him just before both he and the king broke the bridge and ended the tie between our worlds. It’s why he was permitted to choose my Orean mother.
But just because she lives here and has two half fae sons and amazing magic doesn’t mean that the rest of the fae will ever look at her as an equal.
The three of us continue to eat dinner while everyone else talks, even though every bite of food I take tastes gross. I eat it anyway, because no one else is saying anything, and I don’t want my father to notice me not eating.
Finally, the servants come in to clear the tables, and I set my fork down, feeling queasy but glad to be done with it. All of the servants are Orean, just like my mother. I think she feels guilty sometimes that they’re serving her.
One of them, a man named Jak, comes to collect my mother’s plate, and she turns her head up to smile warmly at him, and he gives her a smile right back. All the servants love my mother. I don’t know if it’s just because she’s Orean like them or if it’s because she’s so kind, but when my father isn’t home, it feels more like they’re family than our servants.
Luckily, the adults decide to go into the parlor for pipes and drinks, so my father excuses my mother to take us to bed. Even though we’re free from being around his guests, I’m still feeling mad and gloomy. My mother’s brows are pulled down, and Ryatt is scowling.
But when my mother brings us into our bedroom, we get ready for bed, and then she sits down in the chair set between our beds and tells us a story about Orea. About a place split up between seven kingdoms. About a land where people didn’t even have power until fae came. And it doesn’t matter that Orea doesn’t have magic of its own, because hearing her talk about it makes the whole place seem magical anyway.
When my eyes get tired, I shift on my pillow and yawn. “If the bridge of Lemuria weren’t broken, I’d take you back to Orea, Mother.”
I’m too sleepy to open my eyes, but I think she sounds both happy and sad when she replies, “I know you would, Slade. I know.”
CHAPTER 4
SLADE
I’ve raced against a storm before.
Many times, in fact.
Most of the storms have caught up to me in the past. Drenched me in a pouring shock of tepid water that smeared my mood and cut through my clothes with benign heat. Or pelted me with icy sleet so sharp it cut through my skin.
But to have to race against it now feels like a betrayal of the gods and goddesses. That they could be so fucking cruel as to add this to an already dismal fucking situation.
So I refuse to let the storm win this time. I refuse to let it catch up to Auren.