Page 35 of The Maleficent Faerie
But I can’t convince myself of that, not when I feelsettledfor the first time in my life. I didn’t realize how much dysfunction plagued my spirit until everything snapped back into place.
I once reseated a human guard’s dislocated shoulder—popped it back into the socket. The joint was functional again, seated correctly, but the pain and inflammation remained for a while. That’s how I feel right now. I am a human who has been operating under an invasive glamour for decades, my mind and body inhabited by the magic of three Fae. It makes sense that my restoration to my true self would leave me emotionally swollen and sore, even though my spirit is finally whole again.
I was always human. That’s why my magic was never very strong, why it was centered in my hands—I was unconsciously siphoning it from the charmed rings. That’s why my mothers had to teach me to channel magic from my palms, to my heart, and then to my head before I could use it.
I have to stop calling them “my mothers.” They’re not my mothers; they’re liars.
They told me to never trade places with the Princess. They warned me about it, over and over. “Let Etha do her job as the Princess’s double. Defend your own life, and Dawn’s.” Now I understand why they were so insistent about that point.
They subjected me to training, hours of it, endlessly building my strength. Making me into my own bodyguard. They hosted their own type of gathering to “refill” our magic. No doubt the Faeries infused more power into my rings during those sessions, so the energy in the charmed objects would not run out.
No wonder one of them was usually present when I flew any significant distance—probably to ensure that my borrowed wings functioned as they were meant to. Oh, I could fly on my own—short jaunts, a quick flutter here or there—but never very far or very high because my wings werenot mine.
Where did my mothers get those beautiful butterfly wings? What Fae’s body was mutilated so I could masquerade as Fae? How much of that Fae’s spinal cord and nerves did they weave with mine? No wonder the Void King had to hold me still while he unraveled the spell. I might have been paralyzed if he’d done it while I was struggling against him.
Why would the King and Queen risk permanently scarring my mind and heart with forbidden magic? Why would they keep me at arm’s length all my life, feigning love for another child?
And who is Dawn? Some orphan girl my mothers brought to the King and Queen as a substitute?
The Faeries aren’t my parents, but Goddess help me, I still love them. I still want Elsamel to fold me into a warm hug. I want Sayrin to guess exactly what kind of tea I’m craving. I want Genla to storm around the room, threatening harm on whomever has made me sad.
But they’re the problem. They have devastated me beyond words. And behind that devastation looms rage—the anger I’ve carried all my life, though I never knew why.
At last my fury has form and cause.
I’m angry for myself, and I’m angry for Dawn, too. What were my parents going to do when my twenty-fifth birthday arrived and the threat of the curse was past? Would they raise me up to my rightful place and toss Dawn into the streets?
There must be more to this story. The Void King said I need to hear the whole tale, from the beginning.
Normally I would never entertain the thought of believing him over the Regents and the Royals. But he’s the one who broke the visceral glamour and reassembled me as I was meant to be.Theyare the ones who lied to me and Dawn for years.
Disguising their daughter as Fae—such an idiotic scheme. I can see a hundred holes in their plan—not the least of which is its cruelty to a pair of unsuspecting children.
I pace the floor for seconds, for minutes, for an hour—I’m not sure how long. My mind races, straining the lies I’ve learned, sifting for truth. Rearranging what I know. Realigning all my memories in light of this new identity.
Finally I step too close to the vomit on the rug, and its stench flares in my nostrils. I nearly gag again, but I manage to control the impulse.
I need to get out of here. I need to breathe fresh, cool night air. And damn me—I need a drink. Several drinks.
I’ve never allowed myself to overindulge in liquor. But tonight seems as good a night as any to get roaring drunk.
Before leaving the Chapel, I pick up my rings and put them all back on. I hunt for the threads of magic in them, but I can’t feel anything. The rings were already weak, low on power, and the Maleficent One must have finished deactivating them. They are useless to me. Besides, wearing them stirs faint nausea in my stomach. They are symbols of betrayal, of deceit.
I scatter them on the rug and walk to the exit.
Placing my palms against the smooth wood of the chapel doors, I take a deep breath before pushing them open.
I half-expect there to be a joyful mob outside, ready to roar their delight at me, their long-awaited prey.
But the stone steps are empty, and so is the square beyond.
Briefly I think of running, before I recall what the Void King said—that he would weave a barrier along the border of the grounds. A border I can’t break, now that I have no magic.
No magic.
The loss bites into my heart, an unexpectedly sharp pain. I will never be able to use magic again. Not without fully-charged magical tokens like my rings.
I’ve heard of such items—rare talismans and unique objects imbued with temporary magic that humans can use. But I’d never seen any, nor did I suspect my rings were like that.
