Page 2 of The Secret Keeper's Daughter

My heart skips a beat. Is she finally going to tell me about my birth father? She’s always promised she would. Without much time left, the long-awaited day is finally here.

I’d rather have my mother alive and well than know anything about the man who did nothing more than sire me.

“Do you need anything? Can I get you something?” I ask only to put off the inevitable, as if my fussing could add even a moment to her life.

A raspy sigh escapes her mouth. “Your father… isn’t… who you think. Should’ve told you… sooner.”

My stomach drops. I’ve never given any thought to my real father. Literally nothing. The only thing I know is he didn’t stick around to help raise me. Well, that and he obviously has dark hair, eyes, and skin. It’s his features that make me stand out like a palm tree in the snow in a world of blonde hair and light eyes. But other than that, I’ve never wasted my energies pondering his identity or personality. At least, not him specifically. The mysterious half of my heritage, however? I’ve wondered about that more than I’d like to admit.

“You need… to find him. He has… answers. He…” She squeezes my hand. “He’s…”

“Yes?” My breath catches. The suspense is going to do me in. Whatever she’s about to say has to be bad. Maybe he’s in prison for mass murder. Or maybe he’s never been caught. Mother fled here while pregnant. That’s never been a secret. Now I realize she must have been running to keep us safe. It’s the only explanation—I come from someone who’s done terrible things.

“Who is he?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation from my tone. The last thing she needs is any stress right now.

She sucks in a deep breath, closes her eyes. For a moment, I think she took her secret to the grave.

“Mother?” My voice cracks. A tear finally escapes. “Are you still here?”

Her fingers slide through mine and squeeze. She’s still with me. “You… should find him.”

A thought strikes me. My father isn’t a killer, or she wouldn’t tell me to find him. It gives me hope that he isn’t worse than Gunnar. I need to know who he is, because I’m going to needhis protection once my stepfather disowns me. Once Mother is gone, I’ll be on my own despite Gunnar’s empty promises to watch out for me.

Mother opens her eyes, meets my gaze. “Find him.”

“Where? Who is he?” I plead.

“He’s… fae.”

The words are like a slap to my face. I struggle to find my voice. “Wh-what?”

She can’t be right. I had to have misheard her. There’s no way my father is fae. It’s impossible. I don’t have any powers. There’s not one thing special about me.

On the other hand, if true, this is a fate worse than death. Everybody hates halflings. Humans and fae hate each other—but both detest halflings. No one accepts them. That explains my stepfather’s utter disdain for me. It isn’t just because I’m another man’s child. I’m a halfling.

It can’t be true. It just can’t.

“D-does Gunnar know?” The question escapes my mouth before I can filter it out.

She shakes her head slowly. “Never tell him.”

Then my stepfather only hates me for normal human reasons. I can only imagine his wrath if he thought I was a halfling.

Mother clears her throat. “Don’t let him find out.”

“To keep me safe.”

She nods. We both know how dangerous this secret is for me.

Knock, knock!

“You’ve had enough time in there!” Gunnar’s voice booms through the thick door.

Mother squeezes my hands again. “You need to know he’s?—”

The door bursts open. My stepfather glares at me. “Do you think you’re something special? The rest of us deserve time with her too!”

I glance back down at Mother, her hands limply resting in mine. Silently I plead with her to finish her sentence. To mouth what she was going to tell me. What kind of a fae is my father? And therefore me?

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