Page 181 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
The woman with her blade to Aislinn’s throat was Cerridwen Ardencourt.
Aislinn’s grandmother.
Aeronhasbroughtsomeoneback already. One of the heroes.
Aislinn had assumed it would be one of the dwarven heroes—because why wouldn’t she? But Cerridwen was one of them, too. And a recent one, by their history. Someone they would remember.
It shouldn’t be possible.
But what if her body was preserved, like Dillon’s was? In the vines—or somewhere else?
Juliana had never told her what had happened to her mother, only that she was dead. She’d been told not to talk about it. Cerridwen was spoken about in the same way the dwarves sung her praises, like she was a legend of old. Only occasionally would Juliana speak of her like she had ever been a real person.
Curse you, Mother.
“You,” she said.
Cerridwen frowned. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Why do you look like—”
“Like you?” she said. “Or like your daughter?”
Cerridwen trembled, but she did not let go of her sword. “How do you know about Juliana?”
“Because my name is Aislinn Ardenthorn. I am the daughter of Prince Hawthorn, now King, and Juliana Ardencourt. I’m your granddaughter.”
Cerridwen shook her head. “No. No, he said Juliana died, that it had been centuries—”
Of course he’d say that. If he only brought her back to prove her power to the others, he’d need her on his side, need her to believe there was nothing to go back to.
“It’s been almost seventy years, for you,” Aislinn explained. “But I assure you, my mother is very much alive, and the Queen of Faerie.”
Cerridwen did not let go of her weapon. “Aeron tells me one thing, you another. You both look like fae. How am I supposed to know who to believe?”
Aislinn swallowed. She should have been expecting this. She would be wondering the same thing herself. “You used to sing her a song,” she said,“I saw a sweet and seemly sight, a blissful bird, a blossom bright, that morning made and mirth among—”
“That’s an old mortal ditty. Anyone could have told you that.”
“Her best friend was Dillon. He’s here with us, hiding in the stables—” Shehopedhe was hiding in the stables— “He didn’t see you come in. He’ll back up my story—”
“You could have told him anything in the meantime, and how am I to know if this person reallyisDillon? He was but a child when I last saw him.”
It was a fair point. Aislinn wracked her brain, trying to remember something—anything—that might help her, but Juliana had only been three when Cerridwen had supposedly died, and her memories of her had been minimal. She’d had so little to pass on—
Her other grandmother, though, the Dowager Queen, had more. Like Juliana, she had been reluctant to talk about her dead friend, as if speaking of her was painful, but one year on Hawthorn’s birthday, she’d scooped up Beau and Aislinn as their parents danced, and told them that today was also the anniversary of the couple first meeting—not that either remembered. Hawthorn had been only an hour or two old.
“You were with Queen Maytree when she gave birth to her son.”
“Many people were with her.”
“My mother came in crying for you not long after he was born. It was just the four of you, then. You were her friend. She gave your daughter truesight. It was such an impropriety to ask, that Maytree only ever told Juliana… and she told us.”
“Us?”
“Me and my brother. Beau.”
The sword finally lowered. “You’re telling the truth.”
“Yes.”
