I give myself a moment to process this. He looks no more than a few years older than me, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five, and Leon’s the same. Of course, I know it takes fae much longer to grow up, and eighty years ago must seem relatively recent to them, but it’s still surprising.
“Interesting,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You look good for a hundred and sixteen.”
“Thanks, I try to stay fit.”
I smirk at his response, but my mind is reeling, and I try not to get sidetracked by the strange way fae bodies age.
“So if the royal forces used these tunnels in the war, how do we know they won’t have soldiers using them now?” I ask. The tunnels were never mentioned in my history books.
“Palquir’s spies used them, so they were never common knowledge. Even after the war, the royalists didn’t trust the Temple faction enough to reveal their secrets. I mean,weremember, but of the humans we fought with, I doubt more than a handful are still alive. I guess they fell out of use. The only people who kept the knowledge of where exactly to find them were folk in the area looking to move around out of sight.”
He means criminals, which doesn’t sound much better than royal soldiers, even if I suppose right now, the latter are more of a threat to me.
But what snags for me more is how calm Alastor sounds while talking about my ancestor. When I asked Leon earlier about my parents, he was quick to shut me down. Maybe Alastor will be more forthcoming.
“You think it’s likely no one at my parents’ court knows about them then?” I ask him, steering the conversation in the right direction.
“They might have heard rumors of their existence, but I doubt they’d be able to locate them. The Wirstones are vast. You’d need to know where to look to find the route we’ll be taking.”
“You met them, didn’t you, my parents?” I ask lightly. The horses slow down as we climb a slope, the soft stomps of their hooves providing a backdrop to my question. “What were they like?” I try to sound casual, afraid Alastor might clam up like Leon.
“I can’t tell you much, Your Highness,” he says. “But only because I didn’t see them for very long.”
“Just give me your first impression then,” I say. I’m desperate for any shred of information about the people they really were, instead of the image I’ve constructed in my head.
“Well, you look like your mother—a bit like your aunt, too. There’s a similarity in the face and eyes, but you have your father’s hair.”
I know that already from having seen portraits of them. I want more.
“What about how they seemed? Were they cold, or warm? Did they—” I hesitate, wondering whether to ask the question. “Did they seem in love?”
It’s a childish concern, but I can’t help myself. I want to understand how they felt about each other, like that might give me a clue to how they felt about me.
Alastor clears his throat.
“I can’t speak to that, but I’ll tell you what I can. Your mother was impressive. In control. You could tell she was the source of the royal line—a queen through and through. Your father was maybe not so serious, more friendly. He told a joke to break the ice. They were gracious enough hosts. Your mother focused more on her guests being comfortable than worrying about formality—her servant told me that.” He exhales, like he’s searching for more to say. The two horses have moved closer together as we climb the slope, and I wonder if Leon is listening. Probably best to wrap the conversation up, just in case.
“Thank you,” I say. “I know you’ve given me all you can.”
“He left something out,” Leon says, making us turn our heads toward him.
“Leon.” There’s a warning note in Alastor’s voice I don’t understand.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“He left out the part where they brought their sniveling Temple lackey along to the meeting just to insult us.”
“We don’t know that—” Alastor begins, but Leon cuts him off.
“You think that was an accident? Her parents showed they were happy to disrespect the fae more than once, and to neglect their duties, just as they neglected her all those years.” He throws a stormy look in my direction. “I wouldn’t call that impressive.”
He turns to face forward again, and we fall into a heavy silence.
It’s clear now Leon thought very little of my parents. But I’m still confused about why. It can’t just be about the one meeting Alastor described. Maybe bringing the cleric was an intended insult and maybe it wasn’t, but either way, it doesn’t seem all that serious. I can tell Leon’s bitterness goes deeper, the emotion profound and scathing. Whatever the reason for his hate—and that’s what it sounds like—it feels rooted in something very personal.
A few minutes later, he nudges his horse, putting distance between him and us. I wait as long as I can stand, but finally, I have to let the burning question out.
“What was that about? What’s his problem with my parents?”
