Shaking her head, she focused on the story. “Athena flipped out, ripped up the tapestry, and shamed your mother. Which inspired your mother to hang herself, and then Athena cursed her, or felt grief over your mother’s death, to be a—” Oh.Oh. Oh shit.“A spider. Right. Her name was Arachne.”
“My mother did not kill herself. That is some wonderful addition made by time. No, Athena was beaten. And in her wrath, assured that if my mother wished to be the most talented weaver in the world, she would be so for all time—and cursed her form to be twisted into one that was half woman, half spider.” Serrik’s eyes slipped shut as he seemed…tired by the whole ordeal. “Much like what Athena did to Medusa for her beauty.”
“Catty bitch. See? I was right.”
That only got the briefest smile out of him.
But Arachne was only half the equation of how Serrik had come to be. And it seemed the rest of the story was even more uncomfortable than the first half, judging by how long it was taking him to brace himself to tell it.
Finally, after what seemed like minutes, he opened his eyes. “Then, the Morrigan.”
After a moment of silence, she had to say it. She just had to. “Okay, last time, I swear. Does Loki exist?”
“Loki exists.” He cringed. “Or at least, he did.” The way he said it made it obvious that he knew first-hand and wasnotthrilled about it.
Can of worms. Okay. Moving on. “So…the Morrigan and Arachne.”
“As soon as I was born, the Morrigan took me, for Arachne wanted nothing to do with her young. Though I do not know for what purpose the Morrigan wished to bring me to Tir n’Aill. I was not welcome there, from the instant I set foot within it.” The darkness that was settling over him was starting to make her nervous.
Cold Serrik was safe Serrik, she decided.
“Why?” She figured being part spider—which shereallyhad questions about, but she’d get there—couldn’t be that big of a deal, when Ibin could turn into a bird. “Your being…a little unique-looking can’t be that upsetting to them.”
“You are correct. Look about yourself.” He gestured at his library. “Tell me what you see.”
It sounded like a stupid game. A test. But she did what she was told. “Books. Papers. Scrolls. Nicknacks.”
“Items ofrecordedpower.Witchcraft,Ava. My gifts are closer to that which you wield in that grimoire of yours than the raw rivers of power of the fae. My gift comes from the written word. I can tap into all of their knowledge, whether or not it is mine.” His smile once more sank like a rock in a stream. “I am adangerous heretic to them. My wellspring is that of the Greeks, drawing from the soul, both mine and others—and my method is the spoken and written word. But I am still partfae.They feared I was able to tap into their own souls with my gifts, giving me the ability to wield all the power of Tir n’Aill.”
She stared at him blankly. “Can you?”
Serrik’s laugh was quiet. It sent a cold wash of fear down her spine. “Oh, yes. And if I so chose, end my miserable race with it.” He reached out to grab a piece of cheese and ate it like he was discussing the weather, not…you know,genocide.
His expression fell. “I did not always wish such a thing, Ava. No one desires slaughter at birth, save creatures with a compulsion bred into them like King Valroy. No, they saw to that. I did not wish death upon my kind when I was a child. I simply wished to belong, as any other might want.”
She finished her booze and when she went to refill it, realized the bottle of scotch was just as full as it was when they started. Oh, that was super dangerous. She really would have to slow down. Fae and their magical booze bottles. “Why are Ibin and Nos here?”
“Those are their stories to tell. Ask them.”
Watching him for a long time, she didn’t know what to do. What to say. How to feel. He’d done her a great favor. Ahugefavor. “Why did you really offer up your memory in lieu of mine?”
His jaw twitched. “It is a matter concluded. Leave it be, Ava.”
“Please tell me.”
“I wish to no longer discuss the matter.”
“Serrik—”
He pushed up from his chair and walked to the window. He cut an eerie silhouette against the moonlight, folding one of his hands at his lower back. Whatever button she was pushing, it really bothered him. And she didn’t know why.
So she switched buttons. Damn it, she was going to get something out of him. Anything. They were stuck together, and he was dodging her left and right. He’d recounted his life story, but he still wasn’t meeting her halfway. “Can I…see your real self?”
He visibly flinched, even with his back to her. “You have been put under a stressful situation. I do not wish to overwhelm you more than you already are. My true form is…grotesque.” The hand at his lower back tightened into a fist briefly then relaxed.
Grotesque.
Did he really think that?
