Page 65 of The Unseelie Court

“Fuck—” She grunted as she did her best to help him to his feet. Really, she suspected she was just helping stabilize him.

Serrik clearly leaned as little of his weight on her as he was capable of doing. “My chair by the fire.” He seemed dizzy, suddenly. Woozy.

She helped walk him over there, one arm around his waist and one of his over her shoulder. It was strange to be so close to him. But she couldn’t focus on it. Not when he could keel over at any moment—which would definitely take her with him.

Setting him down in the chair, she went to the bar where she’d seen him fetch his alcohol from an earlier visit. Getting a glass and the whole bottle, she came back with them and poured him a double, wordlessly handing it to him before setting the bottle down on the table beside him.

“It is my turn to offer thanks,” he muttered into the rim of his glass as he took a sip. Leaning his head back onto the upholstery of the chair, he let out a long, tired sigh. “You should go now, Ava.”

“I thought you brought me here.” She knew she’d pulled him into her memories. But now she could follow him? Weird.

“No. It seems you were not done with me yet.” He glanced at her with those faintly glowing golden eyes. “A new ability I find mildly alarming.”

Huh. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

“Precisely why it is alarming.” He took another sip. The silence stretched between them for a beat. “Go on, ask your questions. It is why you are here.”

“I—” Was it? She did have a ton of questions after what she’d learned. But it felt wrong to pester the man. Fae. Monster. Spider. Thing. Whatever he was. “I mean. It’s clear you don’t want to talk about it.”

“No. I do not. I would rather speak of anything else, Ava. But you want to know the answers, and I would rather you learn the truth from me, rather than those two insipid fools filling your head with slander and rumors.”

She smiled sadly before sitting in the other chair by the fire, twisted slightly to face Serrik. “Nos and Ibin aren’tthatbad.” Okay, maybe Nos. But she really didn’t blame the grumpyFrankenstein-esque fae. He’d clearly earned his right to be a bit persnickety.

“We shall see.” He shut his eyes. “Regardless. Go ahead. Ask your questions, little butterfly. And I shall answer them.”

She watched him for a moment in silence, thinking over where to even begin. “You said you’ve been locked up in here for eighteen-hundred years.”

“I have. Give or take.”

“How old were you, when that happened?”

“It was my first day of fae adulthood. I was one hundred years old, to the day.”

Oh, god. She watched him in stunned silence for a minute, trying to process what that would have been like from her point of view.Congratulations on your eighteenth birthday. Now go live in your room and never leave it.“Why did you design a prison for the Morrigan?”

“I knew even then, living under the cruelty of King Dagda and King Bres, that something must be done about the fae. That our species should not be allowed to live freely. But at the time, I did not think extinction was necessary. I thought, perhaps, that it was better to simply reduce the damage they could cause. The Morrigan meddles.Pulls the strings of the world and lays the fault of her disastrous actions upon the altar offate.”He scoffed.

“You were trying to cut off the head of the snake?”

“More or less, yes. I thought with her safely contained in a place where she could play her gamesad nauseam—”He let out a breath. “She could be content, and our worlds would know peace. I told her this place was a game for her. A diversion. A toy. But she saw through my ruse. She already knew of my disdain for my people. They had not been kind to me.”

Watching the fire burn for a moment, she decided to be daring. Rip off the proverbial bandage. “Was that how you…lost a leg?”

“Yes.”

And that was all she was going to get out of him. The silence after hung heavy in the air. A spider with seven legs. She wasn’t going to ask for more. It was cruel, and he’d done her a huge favor that day.

“Who was your father? Did you ever meet him?”

“I do not have one, nor have I ever.”

She turned to watch him again. “Like, a Zeus-Athena thing? Immaculate conception, or?”

He chuckled. “I did not spring fully formed from my mother’s head, no, though I am glad the old legends persist. I suppose, if you wish to hear the whole story of my making, we should begin where it makes sense—at the beginning.”

“It is a very good place to start.” She grinned. She couldn’t help but pop out a quote now and then.

He eyed her curiously, then shook his head, understanding that he was clearly missing something, but not caring enough to stop for clarification. “My tale begins in the ancient city of Hypaepa…”

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