Page 78 of The Dark, Dead, Deep

“Demanding this, aren’t ye.” She chuckled again, pressing her hand against the faelight. “I’m Urma Illfin. Cormac’s grandmother.”

“Lady Bloodtide’s mother?” I guessed, trying to keep my distaste from showing.

“Goddess, no,” Urma laughed, her tittering turning to an outright cackle. “I was King Ullurick’s mother; I have no relation to Lady Bloodtide save for a marriage broken by my son’s death.”

“Oh.” I blinked as I found myself drifting further into the room. “Is Cormac awake yet?”

“Ah, no.” Urma shook her head, tongue poking out of her mouth as she puttered about the room. “The other princelings are holding vigil, but the Undine King is a wily bastard. Who knows what curse he put on those wires.” Urma approached the tea tray in the corner and began to busy herself by pouring a cup. The bubble enchantment on the lip of the cup reflected the honey gold of the liquid inside.

I shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think it’s a curse.”

“You don’t?” Urma glanced over her shoulder. “You’d know, I suppose. Irvine is your uncle.”

My lip curled. “He’s no relation of mine.”

“Blood is blood.” Urma lifted the mug and drifted to where I stood, pressing the drink into my hand. “That’ll warm you up.”

“Blood is blood.” I gave her a disbelieving look. “Blood doesn’t—” I interrupted myself and shook my head, unable to think of how I would have finished the sentence, let alone to whom I was so willing to spill my secrets. “It doesn’t matter.” My fingers twitched around the handle of my mug as I lifted it to my lips and took a sip. It had been so long since I’d had something to drink that I had to restrain my moan of appreciation. It tasted like sunshine and violets.

Though undine lived underwater and didn’t need to drink, it was still comforting.

“You’ve more experience with Irvine’s magic than anyone in the castle.” Urma bustled back to the tea tray and began preparing another cup. “Might you have any idea as to what might cure my ailing grandson?”

I slanted a look at the elder Sídhe. “Does that ever work?”

“You’d be surprised.” She flashed a wrinkled grin that showed the sharp point of her canine.

I breathed a heavy sigh. “In my limited experience, King Irvine’s wires don’t last long after they lose contact with the skin. When we snapped the wires back in the pass, all of the dead suspended in the water suddenly turned to foam.”

Urma hummed in thought and lifted her mug to her lips. She took a sip, eyes narrowing as I watched a million theories pass silently through her shrewd cloudy eyes. “Cormac isn’t wearing your uncle’s wire,” She stated.

I winced. “I know.”

“What type of magic can your uncle infuse into the wires?” she asked.

“I’ve answered all these questions.” I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, but I wasn’t entirely successful. “If you don’t like the answer, will you throw me in the dungeon?”

“You think I can throw anyone in the dungeon?” she scoffed. “I’m just an old fool. No one listens to me.”

“Not even if you call the guards and claim that a fugitive burst into your room?” I stated dryly.

“Oh, child.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Trust is a divine gift.”

“The only divine gifts I’ve ever received are my hair and teeth,” I snipped.

“And what fine gifts they are.” She winked.

I took another sip of my tea. “You’re incogitable.”

“You’d be right on that.” She sunk into one of the cushions surrounding the faelight, a few feet from me. Her plump body folded in half until her tail swung out. “Where do you think my grandson got it from?”

I rolled my eyes, but she had a point. “My uncle can weave any spell into the wires. Like all Sídhe, the undine have specialties once they reach their magical majority. They might favor combat with a gift that allows them to always hit their target, or perhaps they can sing a song to make the best of friends turn on each other. My uncle is a Weaver; if he can learn a spell, he can weave it.”

“His magic is restricted to the weaving, though?” She cocked her head to the side.

I nodded. “The wire has to be touching your skin. It doesn’t work otherwise.”

“Has he ever used his weavings on you?” Urma’s shrewd eyes appeared to look directly into my soul.

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