Page 57 of Cursed Shadows 5

Pity.

A rare feeling for me, and utterly unwanted. It’s uncomfortable enough to lure my hand to my chest, and I rub as though I can massage away the pain.

“Bracken’s glares,” Melantha tells me, “are for my children who are trophies of my husband’s victory but his own failures, reminders that we will never come to be.”

For a long beat, I just look down at the water-stained toes of my suede boots. The spots are as dark as puddles in a mist of navy blue.

I murmur the confession, “I am sorry.”

The warning in her tone doesn’t go unnoticed; “Do not pity me.”

My mouth slants for a beat. “It isn’t pity. It is truth. I am sorry for your pain in life,” I whisper words I fear to speak, words that open myself too much to a vicious fae, and words she might cut me down for. I find no strength to meet her gaze. “I am sorry for your losses. I am sorry for all that has been taken from you.”

The words I don’t speak linger on my tongue, ‘I am sorry your son became his father.’ I have smarts enough to silence those words before they can utter.

My jaw rolls once, twice, then I lift my chin—and my gaze lands, not on her, but on the milky reflection of the soap-stained windows of the shopfront.

Melantha’s stare pierces through me.

I toss a glance down the street to the faded red door that leads to a narrow staircase—and ultimately to my dwelling.

There’s an older male hunched on the step beside it, rolling a grimroot in his black-stained fingers. He is not quite an elder, but a long life wears him down to the fine lines around his mouth and the streaks of white in his furry brows.

In the Queen’s Court, I was sheltered from so much. Fae like this, included. The fae who mine for a living, hunt whales and merfolk, the ones who are without homes or contentment, who know nothing of a gentle life. Those who work hard just to feed themselves or have shelter.

I didn’t see many of them around the Queen’s Court.

Now, they are all around—and I am one of them.

“I watched you.” Melantha considers me, still, and has made no move to leave me on the street. She keeps her back to the stained shopfront. “You offered your womb to Mother.”

The look she gives me is cold, but there’s an edge to her lifted chin, an edge of… pride? Approval? I don’t know.

I manage a faint nod in answer.

“Did she accept?”

My mouth flattens. “Since the human realm is suffocating in the Cursed Shadows, I doubt Mother accepted my offer.”

The look she gives me is nothing short of patronising. “Your sacrifice was to protectthe light. One might think that means Licht, not the human realm.”

My brow threads together as I mull her words.

I was determined in my wish. The whole time on the mountain, I was winding up to plea with Mother. I made the decision over and over and over in my mind, as though the last time wasn’t a firm enough declaration.

And yet, now that I stand here in the echo of her words, I find I didn’t really know what I was wishing for.

Protect the light…

Whatever that means.

“A womb is too great an offering.” Melantha sighs, curt. “With two of my children gone, and my remaining son too distant, there is no heir to carry on the line. Unless Eamon fulfils his duty to reproduce. Otherwise—” she snaps her fingers. “—an ancient bloodline is gone.”

I fail to see how this is my problem.

I almost ask,why don’t you have more and not push the expectation onto everyone else? But then, maybe she cannothave more children, or to have more with that brute of a husband is a curse she can’t face again.

A niggle eats at the back of my head.

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