18. Lysandra
I should have stomped on his foot harder.
For a second, I thought we could be…well, not friends exactly, but civil. For the briefest of moments, I could imagine a realm where the two of us could work together. Granted, I was the queen in this fictitious reality, but Puck was around.
I can’t believe I fell for his bullshit charm. And, what’s worse, his attention was intoxicating; it lit me up from the inside out.
Fucking asshole.
I’m mad at Edina too. She looked so proud that Puck was fooling the courtiers by pretending to be nice to me. I thought I could get past her favoritism, but I didn’t expect her to cheer him on while he caused me public humiliation. So, instead of spending the day after the ball with her, I’m flying toward the border of Spring and Day Court, aiming for the looming mountain range in the distance.
Last night solidified one thing for me; I need Fae on my side. I need someone not enmeshed in court life who I can count on to not be fickle with their friendship. On top of that, I want to know more about my mother—if she was as bad as everyone says. So, if I need to, Ill search every peak in the Orasite Mountain range to find her old village. It might be a waste of time; I’m only going off the little information Farah provided, but I need to try.
There’s a thick layer of rain clouds between me and the Spring Court, providing cover while I fly high above them to avoid getting damp. I’ve opted to wear leggings and a loose racer-back tank top that allows my wings to open unencumbered, going for comfort over style since I have no idea how long I’ll be flying. Despite the rain, the sun above the clouds is hot and I’ll likely be burnt by the end of the day, even with the spell I used as a sunblock.
When the clouds grow sparse, I drop my altitude. The grass turns from lush green to brittle yellow before rocks eclipse it entirely. A few of the mountains in the distance—those closest to Winter Court—have snow-capped peaks, but the ones I approach are made of reddish-orange rocks with the occasional spindly tree that managed to survive life in the harsh terrain. I wonder idly if that’s why my mother was so rough around the edges—if growing up on the mountains made her as hard as these rocks.
I circle the first mountain, ascending until the air becomes thin. There’s no sign of a village—not even signs of wildlife—so I fly to the next one, descending until I’m back near the ground. My ears pop so many times I’m convinced they’ll burst as I continue my search, leaving no stone unturned. I find a few villages nestled in the lush green valleys, but none on the mountains themselves. That was the one piece of information Farah remembered: my mother’s family lived on a mountain.
When I get to the middle of the range, I see Day Court’s palace. It’s built into the side of the mountain, the exterior almost invisible unless one knows what they’re looking for, but Larisa told me its location when we were chatting during the ball.
I debate passing it by when I see my name spelled in magical sparkles, the writing blinking like a beacon atop one of the stone balconies. I approach warily and find a small patio table beneath the signal, a robust canteen, and two papers sitting atop it.
The top page is a note written in a sprawling, looping script.
Did you know Day Court has the most extensive library in the realm?
When a little birdie—by the name of Farah—told me you might be looking for a village in the mountains, I mentioned it to our record keepers. They instantly knew which one.
Hope this helps. Good luck.
-Larisa
P.S. If you’re not dining with family tonight, join me here and tell me all about your encounter.
Thank you, Farah.
The second paper is a map of the Oraiste mountains. Little villages are dotted up and down the peaks; one is circled in sparkly, red ink.
That’s where they are. Titania’s family; my family.
They live on the tallest mountain in the dead center of the range. It’s still far from where I am, but at least I won’t waste any more time scouring each mountain.
I’m actually going to meet them.
I spring into the air, a light laugh bubbling from my lips as I fly faster and harder now that I know where I’m going. My stomach is a mess of nerves and my hands tremble as I keep hold of the map. A little figure appears on the paper as soon as I leave the palace grounds and starts slowly moving in the direction I’m going. Leave it to the Day Court to devise a magical GPS.
The constant sunlight is disorienting, and I lose track of time as I fly. What feels like forever and simultaneously five minutes later, I approach the tallest peak in the mountain range. I check the map again, confirming I need to go to the north side. I’m not sure how people live up this high. The rocks are steep, and while there are footholds and ledges, none of them are large enough to build a home on.
As soon as I circle the mountain, I understand.
A shelf juts inward, large enough for people to land and enter a cavern hewn in the side of the mountain. Unlike the palace, this place has no outer structure, but the little I can see into the darkness looks fully developed. It’s so wide a dragon could fit inside, and I briefly wonder if I’m walking into a dragon hoard before remembering they mostly live in Summer Court.
I approach slowly, hovering over the ledge and peering into the dark. “Hello?” I call. My voice echoes against the rocks, bouncing back to me, but there’s no answer. I land on the ledge. “Hello?” I take another step closer to the entrance.
My stomach lurches into my throat, stealing my screams as I hurtle downward through a chute in the rock. My wings flap uselessly as I plummet down and down and down. It feels like there’s wind pushing me from above, increasing the speed of my descent. The abrupt change from light to dark causes green and blue spots to dance in front of my vision, making it hard to see anything around me.
I land roughly on my ass in the middle of a cage made out of the same rock that comprises the mountain. The room beyond the cell is lit with magical orbs that cast an eerie green light just bright enough to see. The walls and floor are uneven, as if this room was carved as an afterthought. There’s a faint gurgling, indicating running water somewhere, but I see nothing.
“Anyone home?” I wait approximately thirty seconds for an answer before I wrap my hands around the bars and tug. The rock shatters in an explosion of dust that coats my hands and leggings.
“I’ve been expecting you,” a cool female voice says from the shadows. “Though you could have given me a minute before ripping a hole in my jail cell. She steps into the light.
She’s easily seven feet tall, with large white wings that reach just as wide even when folded in. Her wings are covered in soft, down-like feathers that shimmer in the eerie green light. Her skin is the same russet tone as the rocks, and her hair is sleek and black like an oil spill. But her most startling feature is that her nose isn’t a nose. It’s the shape of a beak, and her hands more closely resemble talons.
She’s a harpy.
Harpies are one of the races of Fae I’ve found the least amount of information on. They’re incredibly private, keeping to themselves on the mountaintops.
“Welcome, Lysandra,” she says, extending her hand and retracting her talons so they’re regular fingers. “My name is Celaeno, and I’m your grandmother.”
Frozen, I stare at the female’s hand.
My grandmother.
I hoped to meet some distant cousins, maybe Titanias childhood friend; I didn’t expect a grandmother.
How does no one know she exists?
“Come, dear. I know you were raised in the mortal realm, but surely you were taught some manners,” she says, but there’s no malice in her words. In fact, the cool demeanor she had upon entering the room is gone completely. She almost seems warm and welcoming…except for the beak, which looks like it could gouge my eyes out.
I shake myself out of my stunned silence and extend my hand. It’s so small comparatively, but she still clasps mine in both of hers. She bends lower so I’m not craning my neck, and her warm brown eyes—the same shade as mine—glisten with unshed emotion. “I’m sure you have questions,” she says, her beak transforming into a crooked nose. “Come, let’s sit and have something to drink.”
As if she knows I can’t form coherent thoughts, let alone follow instructions, she keeps hold of my hand and guides me out of the prison cavern and down a long hallway. The rock is polished smooth here, and the walls are painted in little sections, each one signed at the bottom.
“An art project for the children,” Celaeno says, motioning to a section of the wall. “We say it’s a rite of passage, but it’s a way to occupy the time. The little ones get a bit stir-crazy staying under the mountain. Your mother did that section there.” She points to a painting of fields with brilliant purple hills and yellow skies. “She had quite the imagination.”
The paintings become interspaced with wooden doors. Celaeno stops before one that is turquoise, extracting a skeleton key from her pocket and opening the brass lock. The room inside is simple. Theres a bed with a colorful quilt and a dresser covered with nicknacks. But the showstopper is the window that overlooks the mountain range. From this vantage point, I can see over several of the smaller mountains before another juts up to block the view. Children are outside, flying around excitedly while harpy women fly horizontally as if sunbathing.
“Come, sit,” she says, gesturing to a two-person table that’s set with glasses of what looks like iced tea and a tray of cookies. The cookies are each the size of my fist and have large chunks of some kind of berry and chocolate. They instantly make my mouth water and remind me that I skipped lunch.
I take a seat on the cushioned chair and Celaeno serves me before taking a bite of a cookie and a sip of her tea. It’s a tradition in Faerie for the host to eat first as a show the food isn’t poisoned. I never really cared before, but seeing as I’m about to eat with a female who imprisoned me and then told me I was her granddaughter, I appreciate the custom.
“Why the cell?” I ask, breaking my silence before I take a bite of the cookie. It’s dark chocolate with cranberries and sea salt, and it’s so fucking good I have to hold in a moan.
“Old security measure,” she says. “I was thrown by your wings.” I didn’t even realize they were still out, but I suppose my wings look far different from hers. The texture of mine is membrane-like, and where hers is one long swooping curve, mine jut in at a harsh angle and back out again. From the few harpies I see flying outside, their wings appear to be natural tones—white, brown, black, gray. It’s a stark opposition to my chartreuse wings with forest-colored vines winding down the length.
“And you’re my grandmother?” She nods. Can you tell me about her?
I cant offer much. I didnt have much contact with her after she emerged. Celaeno turns to gaze out the window, looking over the expanse of mountains that dip so low I can’t see their base. “From an early age, she showed an affinity with earth magic. We’d often take trips down to the valley so she could grow flowers and play in the grass. She would have lived down there if I let her.
She could never shift as I do, but I held out hope until she emerged.” She wrinkled her nose. “Her wings were these light little things, barely more than tissue paper. I should have known from her orange hair that her father’s genes ran stronger in her than mine.”
Her father? My grandfather?
Yes. Hes an earth elemental and lives in one of the villages in Spring Court. Lives. As in, hes still alive. “Our relationship is as close to marriage as an elemental and a harpy have. He sired all three of my daughters, and I plan on returning to see him to try for a fourth soon.”
Holy shit. I have a grandfather. And aunts.
I take a long drink of my tea, which must have some restorative properties because the dehydration I was feeling is instantly quelled. So, Titania left after she emerged?
Very soon after. We have a tradition amongst our kind. You see, harpies can only birth females, so when a female is of child-bearing age, she’s sent to live in one of the courts until she’s with child. It came time for her to leave to try and bear a child,” Celaeno says softly. “She told me she was going to a village by the palace. When I didn’t hear from her for a few months, I went to the village and they said they’d never seen her.
“I searched for a long time,” she says, a dark storm cloud settling within her brown eyes. “Her father contacted me when he heard the announcement that she accepted Oberon’s proposal.
“I heard she was traded in exchange for an alliance between Day and Spring Courts.”
“Perhaps, but she orchestrated the whole thing.” My grandmother sips her tea. “Titania was never content sitting on the sidelines. She never wanted to be a player; she wanted to create the game. It wasn’t a secret the king had a nasty habit of screwing other monarch’s lady’s maids; so that’s what she became. Once she had him in her claws, she did the only thing she could to assure he would marry her.”
I gasp.
“You’re still an only child,” she says, reaching over to pat my hand. “Someone helped her fake a pregnancy. It’s a rare bit of magic, changing one’s scent to appear as though they’re carrying a child, but she pulled it off. Once the marriage was solidified, she pretended to lose the baby and spent the rest of her life secretly taking tonics to keep from getting pregnant. Until she had you.”
It sounds like my mother was always self-serving. I’m not sure why that hits me so hard. I’m not her; I wasn’t even raised by her. I may have some of her abilities, but I’m the product of my father, who was the kindest man in the world. He’s the reason I am who I am today.
But deep down, a part of me wanted to believe that she wasn’t as bad as the stories. And now, I have to let go of any delusions that she would have been the mother I dreamed her to be.
I slump in my chair, sucking down my tea as if the magic-laced liquid can temper my disappointment. It doesn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Celaeno says. “I know that wasn’t the story you were hoping for. You were hoping I’d tell you she wasn’t as bad as the Fae let on.” She shakes her head, tears threatening to fall. “I’m not sure what I did to make that girl the way she was. Her sisters are the total opposite.”
“How did you know she did all those things?” I ask around the straw I’ve started chewing.
“She told me.” I meet Celaeno’s eyes once again. “There was a war a while back in the mortal realm. The Witch War, I believe they call it. When she returned, something had spooked her. She came back here and told me the entire story and said that, if she should die, I should keep an eye out for her daughter. She wouldn’t tell me your name or where you’d been hidden in the mortal realm or we would have come to you. Harpies take care of our own…when they don’t abandon the colony, that is.”
I nod again, my head bobbling on my neck without any rhyme or reason.
“I know you don’t owe me anything, but may I offer you some unsolicited grandmotherly advice?”
“Why not?” I abandon my cup in favor of finishing my cookie.
“We’ve heard of your trials,” she says carefully. “Your mother may have wanted the crown to pass to you, but if you don’t want this life, you’ll always have a place here.”
“I want it,” I assure her. “I’m ready to lead Spring Court.”
“The offer always stands,” she says, and though her tone is light, the sentiment leaves me feeling uneasy.
Does she mean if I lose?
I haven’t given much thought to what will happen if I lose the trials. I can’t imagine Puck would let me stay, even though, technically, I am the princess and he can’t kick me out. I suppose I could work for Hades—though having her as a boss sounds awful.
I watch as Celaeno takes a gigantic bite of her cookie, and it makes me chuckle. Maybe I could live with family if things didn’t work out. The Day Court doesn’t seem that bad. I could visit Larisa and use their library, and I’d be surrounded by my kin.
It would be nice to have a family again.
“Could I meet my aunts?” I ask.
Celaeno’s face lights up. “And your cousins. You have six.”
I spend so long meeting family and the other females of the colony that when Celaeno insists I stay for the night, I oblige.
The next morning, after a huge breakfast, they send me on my way with a full belly and a promise to attend my victory party as my personal guests.