Page 57 of Beneath the Cursed Veil

“And you? How does it help you?”

“It lets me see outside of myself. Think about others.” I huffed a laugh. “Helps me recognize when I’m wrong, despite the fact no one enjoys being wrong. I think there’s strength in that though. Doing the hard thing.”

Vareck’s eyes flick to my lips briefly before returning. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t admire that about you. My mother was similar. Where my father lashed out and couldn’t care less, she owned her mistakes and actually worked to do better.”

“She sounds like a good mom,” I said, feeling an ache in my heart for his loss.

He smiled faintly. “She was. Everything that is good in me, I learned from her. She was the one that believed in equity among the fae and abhorred the elitists who looked down on others. She reminded us that we were all specks of dust in the vastness of the nine realms, and only for a blip in time.”

“I wish I could have met her. Maybe all this wouldn’t have happened if . . .” I motioned to the snowy landscape, then fell silent. “I’m sorry. Again. Shit, I’m saying that a lot right now, but I didn’t mean to imply?—”

“I know,” he cut me off, saving me from sticking my foot in my mouth again. “How much do you know about the curse?”

“Very little,” I admitted. “My parents said it came on very suddenly shortly after the Mad King died.”

Vareck nodded. “There was a prophecy about him. It’s what started everything, but no one could have predicted how it ended.” His gaze was a thousand-yard stare. I didn’t know for certain, but I suspected he was seeing the past.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” I murmured, giving him an out. I wanted to build trust, but it was too much to ask him to relive that for my own curiosity.

“My mother insisted he wasn’t always mad. That paranoia poisoned his mind. I don’t know if I believe that, though. My mother saw the best in people, and someone like my father . . . you don’t become a monster overnight. Deimos Einar was cruel. Power-hungry. Long before I was born he had made a name for himself.” Vareck clenched his hands at his sides, the leather of his gloves pulling taut. “He was quick to anger and fast to kill. The few times a coup had been attempted ended with him making a horrific and inhumane example of the traitors. For better or worse, Faerie bowed beneath his power. My father wasn’t content with simply ruling this realm.”

“He tried to overthrow another?” I asked, unable to help the question from bubbling up. My parents had taught me the history of Faerie, but this . . . I’d never heard this version of events.

Vareck laughed coldly. “No. He tried to overthrow themall. Deimos believed that they were a threat, and in time that they would turn on us. He claimed they would steal his throne. In truth, I don’t know if he actually believed that. My father lied as often as he told the truth.”

“He could lie?” I frowned. “How? He was high fae.”

Vareck glanced sideways at me, his ice-cold stare heavy. “He was also a descendant of the goddess Amoret. The first Queen of Faerie. Most aren’t aware that my bloodline has certain abilities other high fae don’t—including the ability to lie.”

I struggled for words. “Why would you tell me that?”

Vareck didn’t look away. I felt like a spotlight was shining down on me, revealing every part of myself to him. “Trust has to start somewhere.”

My lips parted. “So, your father,” I said, steering us backto the history lesson at hand. “He wanted to lord over all nine realms?”

Vareck nodded. “Powerful as he was, he couldn’t go up against a god—let alone eight. That left him with a problem to which he scoured the lands to answer. When his search came up empty, he went to oracles, thinking that they might be able to lead him to what would bring him that power.” He looked me up and down, huffing through his nose. “Good thing he never found someone like you. If there was an artifact out there that could have done it, he’d have enslaved you for your power.” A shiver wracked my body, but I didn’t comment. “Eventually he found a banshee who claimed to have the answers he sought. She didn’t. When he brought her to court, she laughed at him and told him his search for power was all for naught.” Vareck’s jaw clenched, old anger rising to the surface. “She prophesied that he would never become a god and instead meet his end by a fury’s sword. We knew he was depraved, but no one realized the extent of his evil until then.” Vareck swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action. “He ordered the execution of every fury in the realm. No exceptions.”

My jaw dropped, and I looked at the statue of Lore. The wings. “But…”

He nodded solemnly. “My mother was the last.”

I swallowed thickly, feeling my mouth dry. “And your sister? Was she . . . a fury too?”

“Yes. She was a hybrid. Part witch and part fury.” He trailed off, his eyes becoming distant.

“The rumors say you killed your father . . .” I paused, not sure if I should finish my question, but half of it was already out there. “If that’s true, you are also . . .”

“Part fury,” he answered.

“But the wings.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Vareck understood.

“Unlike my mother and most other furies, I can summon mine at will.”

“I thought you were full dark fae. I had no idea.” All high fae fell on one side of the spectrum or the other. Some were light, others dark. There was no gray.

“What I am is rarely discussed anymore. I'll ask you not to repeat any of what I just told you.”

“I won’t,” I whispered, looking at his sister’s grave. “She died that day as well, didn’t she?”

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