Page 56 of Hair, She Bears
“Then, who?” Mother’s anger vibrated off the rafters.
“The same person who told Malik I was still alive.”
Darkness clouded Mother’s eyes. “How long has Malik known?”
“About me?” Moira waited a beat. “Not long. Came as quite a shock to him, considering you described my murder to him in graphic detail on his fourteenth birthday.” She paused again. “Where is my son?”
“I’d like to know the same thing.”
“You would know better than I,” Moira’s tone hardened, “since you turned him into a bird, broke his wings, and threw him from a tower.”
“Did a little waif tell you that?” Mother snarled, his dark gaze locking on Zenna. She took a step backward.
“I heard it from Malik’s own beak,” Moira replied.
“You’ve talked to Malik?” Mother paled, his gaze returning to the mirror.
“Several times. He introduced me to that sweet child you have trapped in the tower.”
“She is not your concern.”
“My son loves her.” Moira’s tone softened, flowing through the mirror, and wrapped around Zenna like a comforting blanket.
“He’s a fool!” Mother’s jaw clenched.
“Mac,” Moira sighed his name as though this argument had occurred before. “I warned you not to stand in the way of his destiny.”
“I taught him to take hold of his destiny.”
“You taught him cruelty,” Moira growled. “He will never be like you.”
Mother’s eyes narrowed. “How has he forgiven you so easily? All these years and you never came back for him. I would be livid.”
“I was not strong enough to fight you, a feeling Malik understood quite well when I explained my position to him. Had I returned, you would have tortured and killed me in front of him. What good would I have been to my son dead?”
“You are no good to him now.”
“It will be a pleasure to watch your world burn, Mac.” Hatred flowed from Moira.
“It’s been years. If you could hurt me, you would have done so already,” Mother sneered, his lip curled.
“You’re right, I can’t touch you from here.” Moira’s voice hitched. “And I had to watch, every day, unable to intervene. The things you did to him…”
“So, this is your revenge, to blind my son with love.” Mother slashed his arm at Zenna. “His infatuation will fade, just like every other girl he’s met, and he will find a new amusement.”
“I may have lent you most of my powers,”—Mother scoffed at Moira’s words—“but divination was not one of them. Malik will take your kingdom with this girl by his side, my powers will be returned to me, and your punishment will be knowing I’m the one who brought about your downfall.”
“Your son is dead.” Mother snapped the mirror shut and threw it at the wall, where it shattered, flinging shards across the room.
Zenna screamed and ducked behind the sofa, her hands covering her face. Mother stomped toward her, his footsteps vibrated across the tower, stopped beside her head, and stooped.
“How many times did you speak with Moira?” Mother asked, his quiet tone sent ice sliding down her spine.
Zenna lifted her head, swallowing. “Once.”
“What did you discuss?”
“The wedding.” Zenna gulped as the lie left her lips. Would Mother believe her? She lowered her gaze to Mother’s boots, fighting the urge to glance at the window. How much time had passed since Malik left? Surely, he would have freed Carlyle by now.
