Away with the Faeries

Chapter Thirty-two

  What sort of comic book line was that? You are the only one who can end this war, but not without great cost. Did this make me a superhero now, do I get my own comic? Questions bubbled, frothing at my mouth. Answers only led to more questions, creating a seemingly endless loop.

Finally, I blurted one out, "Who is my biological father?" I don't know why I asked that. I didn't care, not really. I already had a dad and he was great.

She toyed for a moment with the gold cuff on her ear, "He was charming and terribly handsome. You have much of his spirit. Both of you share the same, do-first-think-later attitude," she laughed slightly to herself at that. "Such a stubborn fool he was. He worked as a gardener for Erde. At the time my parents were trying to hire more Human staff to ease the rising tension between Erde and Bloed." She glanced at me, "You have his fair skin," she laughed then at some memories unbeknownst to me.

"A curse he'd always call it. He would burn redder than a tomato after his long days in the gardens. Girls were always tripping over themselves to get a glimpse of his broad shoulders, long beachy hair, dimples, and those eyes—." A soft sigh escaped her, "he had the most beautiful golden eyes. I had never seen anything like them."

A hard pit formed in my stomach, and my face fell. I knew three pairs of eyes like that. "Mother," I begged, "what was his name?"

Her small smile widened, "Otis," she murmured, "Otis Hanes."

Bile rose quickly to the back of my throat, I placed a shaking hand to my lips. Willing to keep my breakfast down. My mother looked so happy, talking about her old lover, the King of Bloed. A monster. His dirty blood ran through me. Another wave of nausea hit me like a truck at the thought. I was going to be sick.

"Do you still love him," I asked, dreading the answer. "What about Dad?"

"Of course, I love your father."

"Which one," I retorted.

She threw her gaze to the floor, nervously fiddling with her gold cuff once more. I guess that was all I needed to know. I slumped to the floor. If only she knew that Otis was a murderous king who aided Ignis in the war efforts. If only she knew that the man she was hopelessly in love with no longer wore the matching gold cuff. He shed it long ago.

My mother fidgeted in her seat, "Who's your friend," she asked in a lame attempt to change subjects.

I paused a moment, meeting her eye; "Marcel Benett," I said at last.

Her mouth fell agape, "Marcel," she echoed as if the name had become foreign, "Marcel is alive?"

"He better be or I'll kill him myself," I cursed, stressfully threading fingers through the thick carpet.

Her eyes grew wide, "What's happened."

That was a loaded question. "I can't even begin to answer that," I groaned.

Besides us a door creaked open, some acolyte popping their cloaked head in. From beneath a spanning hood, their large eyes bounced between the two of us before they entered, falling into a curtsey; "That is what the Council would like to explain to you, Your Majesty."

———

There were no tears. The Aubert women don't mourn broken hearts or the men responsible for the breaking. There was only red lipstick and wine. In abundance.

"One more time," my mother lulled, lifting her lipstick-stained glass to her mouth. Her eyes had become distant and cloudy. I wasn't entirely sure if it was from the wine or from what the Council had told her.