Mother watches us with grim satisfaction, finding pleasure in my horror. Alice doesn’t realize she played right into her hand. By vowing to be my illanté, she used herself as my mother’s tool to wound me.
“It’s better this way, Brahm.” Mother smiles as she steps toward the door. “Your human knows her place—it’s time for you to learn it as well. Consider this your only warning—stop your ridiculous attempts at defiance. It’s becoming embarrassing.” With a sweep of her hand, she prepares to leave. “Come along, Ian.”
Rushing forward like a ferret, the count opens the door, letting in the winter chill. “Your Majesty.”
And with that, the queen of West Faerie slips into the night.
I’m left grasping for a solution, begging my magic to release Alice from her vow. But it doesn’t waver, and why would it? Though Alice became my illanté, she made the agreement with my mother.
Unable to look at her, I turn toward the hearth. I press my palms to the brick, racking my brain for an answer but finding none.
“You don’t know what you’ve done!” I finally cry, turning back.
“You know it was the only option.” Alice stares at the floor. “And I don’t regret it.”
“Yet,” I say darkly, rubbing my hands over my face. “But you will.”