Page 7 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

Sorcha favored him with a sly smile before saying, “None so interesting as you, Child.”

“Somehow I doubtthat, Auntie.” Urian shook his head.

“None so interesting tomeas you are right now,” she amended. “I understand that you threatened the Sunlight and the Dark.”

He squirmed. “The usurpers have thrones that should be mine.”

“Thelma would have shed tears that you are cruel to Aislinnoryour father,” Sorcha pointed out. She was, eternally, blunt to the point of pain, and in his earliest memories he saw his mother sitting at the High Queen’s side.

“You ought to be intimidated,” Sorcha chastised his mother, Thelma.

Thelma continued sorting through a pile of stones that the High Queen had either created or ordered gathered. As a boy, Urian had no idea how terrifying the High Queen was to most faeries. His mother treated her like a dear friend.

“Psh.” His mother had given the queen a look that had quelled Urian more than a few times. “Youaren’t scary, Sorcha.”

“I think you are, Auntie,” a very tiny Urian had insisted, hoping to appease her with his words.

Sorcha looked at him. “You never have things to fear from me, Child. I would be the dragon to slay monsters at your side.”

“His father isnota monster.” Thelma leveled a hard look at both of them. “The Summer King, on the other hand . . .”

“It is a rare woman who defends the Dark,” Sorcha had murmured. “Remember that, Child. Rare gems are harder to locate in that world, but they do exist.”

Urian tore his gaze away from his memory, heart aching at the sight of his deceased mother.

“She changed everything.” Sorcha glanced at a field that quickly shifted into a copse of trees. “His heart had been broken. Shattered by his own mistakes. His lover had left him, and then he met your mother.”

“And brokeherheart.”

Within the shelter of those trees, Urian’s mother appeared again.

“How can you love me?” Irial asked.

Thelma laughed and kissed him.

“I won’t even remember you.” He bowed his head and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“You taught me love, made me a mother, and gave me a safe home.” Thelma tilted her head to look up at the Dark King. “I shall live in hope that you will remember me.”

“Sorcha says you can come here whenever you need . . . if the baby had been a boy, you could stay.” Irial looked away, swallowing hard. “I hate the thought of our daughter or her daughter marrying Keenan.”

“I’ll raise Elena to be wary. And she’ll raise her child that way.” Thelma sighed. “I feel guilty, too. I avoided it, but hadn’t thought it would . . . that our child . . .” She started weeping then. “I don’t regret it, though. I don’t regret you. You taught me love.”

Urian turned his back. Sometimes he hated that the High Queen shared these glimpses that were nothismemories. He had never seen his parents that way. All he knew was that love of his father had cost his mother her life. She was mortal, in love with agancanagh. That was why she died, no matter what anyone else thought. Urian was sure of it.

“Maybe she wouldn’t have loved the Summer King, but she’d be alive still . . . and I wouldn’t be”—he gestured at himself—“a monster too. And Moira wouldn’t have died.”

Sorcha sighed. “That’s not how the threads work. If she hadn’t fallen in love with Irial, the then Winter Queen would’ve killed her. Beira set out to have Moira die. She set out to murder Aislinn. . . and you, my small wonder, would have never existed.”

Urian ignored the “small wonder” remark. He towered over the High Queen. “I would rather my non-existence than her death.”

Sorcha stepped in front of him. “Obstinate child. She died no matter the path. Helping your father save your mother created more years for her, healed his heart, and thwarted Beira. Do not question my wisdom, Urian. I adore you, but I am still responsible for a great many things more than your wounded heart.”

Urian bowed his head. She was the closest thing to true family he had. His relationship with his sister caused him too much pain, and both his mother and niece had died.

That left the monster who sired him and the usurper to his mother’s throne. And the High Queen, who was not true family by blood. She was his by choice, though, and when so very many things were outside of choices, that made the ones hedidhave matter all the more.

He dropped to his knees. “I beg forgiveness, Auntie. I do not mean to doubt your wisdom. I love you.”

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