Page 22 of The Fae Lord

A slow smile parts my mother’s lips. “I know her, son, because I created her.”

Tar-like dread sweeps over me. My mind is playing tricks. This is not real. It cannot be real.

“What do you mean, you created her?”

“She is not what you think she is.”

“What does that mean?” Shadows start to swirl around my feet. My fingers splay out to the side, my wings block out the light of the rising sun. I am taller than my mother, and stronger. I tower above her, but she does not quake or seem afraid. “Tell me what you mean!” I reach for her. Grab her. Try to catch hold of her wrist, but my hand goes right through her.

She is not there.

“She is not what you think she is,” my mother’s voice whispers.

“Wait... stop.” I spin around, desperately searching for her. The shadows grow thicker and darker, they grip my ankles, my legs, they spread outward, over the parapet, down the sides of the castle. The sunrise quivers and darkens.

And then it starts all over again.

The screaming.

The demons.

The death.

The end.

I wake on the floor of my chamber. I don’t know if I was ever on the roof or if the whole thing was a dream. It is becoming harder to tell the difference between waking and sleeping, reality and nightmares.

I stagger to my feet, grabbing hold of the mantle above the fireplace.

I pick up my whisky glass and draw it to my lips. But instead of drinking, I throw it into the fire.

The glass shatters and crackles.

The flames burn brighter.

And then the voice comes to me again. “She is not what she seems.”

NINE

Alana

When I touch Kayan’s hand, a spark, like static, zips up my fingers into my wrist. Up my arm.

What is he?

He is here, and yet not here. Tangible, but just out of reach. The urge to wrap my arms around him, to feel his solid warmth against me is almost unbearable.

I lost him, and now he’s back, and to not be able to hold him is like torture.

“Kayan,” I whisper. “What do you remember?”

He tilts his head. His movements are slow, fluid, like water moving over pebbles in a stream.

“I remember him.” His voice darkens. “Eldrion. He looked into my eyes... Right into them. Then he...” He blinks, a calmness washing over him.

He tilts his head, brow furrowed in concentration as if trying to grasp an answer that eludes him. “I died.”

“Yes.” Tears are flowing down my cheeks now, but I can’t stop them. I don’t even try. “You did.”

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