I had thanked her and kept the hairpin in my clothes ever since—though I had to be honest—just thinking of choosing Bran over Lachlan or Lachlan over Bran, made me feel sick to my stomach.
But I didn’t have to choose right now—I just had to prick my finger. Which I did and then I let a single drop fall into the silver basin, like Queen Elia had.
For a moment, our two drops of blood just sat there on the surface of the water. It was odd that they didn’t diffuse into the water, I thought, frowning as I watched them.
But just as I was about to ask the Queen what was supposed to be happening, things started to change.
First, the two droplets merged together, like two balls of Mercury running together and sticking when you break an old-fashioned thermometer. Then they began to sink to the bottom of the bowl like a rock—or more like a small, round, red pebble, I supposed.
“Ah…good!” I heard the Queen murmur. “Not a by-blow then.”
“Uh, does that mean I’m not a, uh, bastard of the King?” I asked, wanting to be sure I was getting it right and hoping I wasn’t offending her.
“That is exactly what it means, my dear.” Queen Elia smiled at me. “If you and I were not blood related in some way, the droplets would have avoided each other rather than running together. So you are related to me. The question is, how?”
She waved her hand over the broad silver bowl and murmured some words in Gaelic or Celtic. A flash of purple light lit the bowl from within and then the blood droplets, which had merged into one, began to change.
First, they put out tendrils of blood, diffusing into the clear water—which was what I would have expected to start with. As the tendrils drifted upwards, they began to form patterns and then faces.
I saw the queen’s face and then an older Fae man I assumed must be King Tyr. He had golden hair and purple eyes, just like mine.
“Ohhh,” I breathed. “Amazing!”
But the blood droplets weren’t done yet. Another tendril rose into the water and another face formed—this face was a young, handsome man with golden hair and eyes like mine and the king’s.
I stared at him, amazed. Was this man my father? Was the silver scrying bowl showing us some kind of family tree, drawn in blood?
“Ah, my son.” Queen Elia sounded sad. “My sweet Tarren—how I miss him!”
But the blood wasn’t done yet. It formed another face which was connected to the young man but unconnected to Queen Elia or King Tyr. I stared at it as it took the shape of a young, beautiful woman with long, black hair who didn’t look so different from me, except that she had pure gold eyes.
Was she my mother? And if so, who was she? I noticed that Queen Elia didn’t say anything about her, but she didn’t look surprised at all as the woman’s face formed in the scrying bowl.
Another tendril of blood reached out from the young man’s image and met one which was reaching from the young woman. Between them, a new image began to take shape. After a moment, I recognized the face it was forming as my own.
“Those are my parents,” I whispered, understanding what the bowl was showing me. “Which means that you…you’re…” I looked up at the Queen. “You’re my grandmother! Is that what the bowl is saying?”
She looked up from the bowl and there were tears in her blue ringed eyes—tears of joy, I realized.
“Yes, my dear!” She took in a sobbing breath and reached for me, hugging me tight. “After so many years I had given up hope! But yes, you are my granddaughter and the rightful heir to The Summer Court!”
I hugged her back, barely able to take it all in.
“I…I’m a fairy princess?” I asked at last. How strange the words sounded, spoken out loud! It was the kind of thing you dream of as a little girl but who would ever believe that such a dream could come true?
“You are, my dear. You are a princess of the Fae.” My grandmother, the Queen, pulled back and held me at arm’s length, looking me over from head to toe. “And so lovely, too! Oh, I’m so happy to have found you! At last I have an heir!”
“I’m really happy too—to know who I really am. And to finally meet my family,” I said, smiling at her. “So your son was my father?”
“Yes.” She sighed sadly. “He ran away from the Court and his responsibilities many years ago, I fear, and has never been seen since.” She hung her head. “I fear that he is dead.”
I bit my lip, uncertain how to tell her what Headmistress Nightworthy had told me.