Liam Cruinn
Liam did not dare argue when the royal advisor came to his rooms, demanding his presence in the early hours of the morning.
As a youngling, he had been jealous of Maeve’s summons, but now, in the same boat, he found himself filled with dread.
Liam had seen the High Throne.
He knew Cruinn ‘s dark secret.
His mother had all but ignored him since she had threatened to raise Scylla—the beast with a dozen mouths. He hadn’t been allowed out of his rooms and had no way of sending a missive to anyone in the Dark Sea. All he could do was listen to gossip when the servers brought his food or delivered the soap-silt for bathing. Whispers about his mother, coming apart at the seams.
Cruinn was used to insanity. The Mad Queen had been given the name for a reason.
Liam wanted to open his window and scream to the city below. To run. To fight.
But every time the thought occurred to him, he realized that the Undine were probably safer in the city, protected by his mother and her magic.
He’d been thankful for the time alone, honestly. Without his mother commanding him all over the castle or attending endless dinners to entertain the Esteemed Undine Court, he had finally found his magic—much to his own consternation.
Liam Cruinn had believed he would be a Troid Sídhe, but it seemed his Abyssal bloodline was too strong to be beaten. His maternal family were Weavers after all.
His nameless father had been a Troid Sídhe, and that was the only information he knew about him. The discovery of his Weaver abilities was a finality that he hadn’t expected.
Douglas Dougall had been King Irvine’s chief advisor, and a general in the King’s army—though the Sídhe seemed happy enough to play courier.
Liam did not dare ask where they were headed, as the advisor led him through the castle to the stables.
It was the dead of night, and not even the moon pierced the lake’s surface. His eyes struggled to focus without the faelight of the castle, but Dougall steered him through the stable doors and then left without a word.
Liam was alone, save for the rows and rows of enchanted steeds.
As a youngling, Liam had hoped he would have a steed of his own. A Bubble-mare or Reed-steed. Something to ride to the front lines.
Now, the idea filled him with dread.
He didn’t hear her come in.
One moment, he was alone, eying the enchanted horses through the open stall doors, and the next, his mother breathed down his neck.
Elaine Cruinn seemed to be changing by the day, but Liam did not dare say so.
His mother had once been very concerned about her appearance. Her dresses and hair, just so, but since Maeve had left for the Dark Sea, something had snapped.
Elaine no longer wore any sort of genteel mask. No smiles or pleasant nods.
Instead, it was as if a shark had crawled under her skin. Liam could see the cool, detached darkness in her eyes, and he did not like it.
She used to hide it much better.
Liam cleared his throat. “Hello, mother.” He bowed his head. “You had need of me.”
Elaine scoffed. “Need is a strong word.”
Liam said nothing.
“The Mer. Illfinn. He has neglected to answer my missives. He has refused to check in and inform me of their journey.” Elaine sniffed and tilted her head pompously. “It's left me rather peeved.”
Liam knew his mother’s anger was not something to be joked about, even if she used such a light word as ‘peeved’.
