Page 19 of The Crowned Fae Queen
“Get out of my head.” I groan, rubbing my fingertips against my temples. “If it’s my trust that you seek, mother, you will find that prodding around in the privacy of my mind will not earn that for you.”
“Pardon me.” Her tail flicks over the surface of the water, creating a small wave that slaps against the rock’s edge. “I only wish to know you better.”
“That's the thing. You don’t know me at all. I’m no one to you.” With a grunt, I flick my hand toward the water, splashing it over her head in my own petty attempt at insult. Standing against the solid rock, my boots create mud within the shallow puddle at my feet. I turn toward Miranda. “I think we are about done here.”
My mother reaches back to Miranda, letting him interlace his fingers with hers, though she keeps her eyes pinned on me. “I can’t let you leave without offering you a gift. A gift for my most precious of all guests.”
With her free hand, she reaches behind her neck, unclasping one of the layered necklaces resting on her collarbone. She holds the jewelry up toward me. A string with a simple silver shell, a worthless item.
“I don’t want your gifts,” I mutter.
“This one you may. It’ll bring you to me whenever you’d like. No fussing with the forest, the wall, fears, or my precious spiders. No matter where I am, you can use this to get to me.”
“I don’t have that kind of magic. An item like this will do me no good.” I stare down at the present, opening my palm and accepting it to examine each ridge and curve of this unique shell.
Aspasia laughs a little, her smile lopsided as she glances between Miranda and I. “My girl, you are the daughter of a water witch. You have more magic than you realize. Come back to me, and perhaps we will practice. A lesson or two should do you some good.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I shove the piece into my pocket, not wanting to dwell on the idea anymore. A small piece of me, the motherless child longing for her approval, wishes for the relationship. An open wound in my hollow heart feels freshly cut and raw inside my chest.
Twisting on my heels, I face the wall of spiders as they crawl up and over, down and under one another. “Must we go back out the way we came? Or shall I use this special little shell to take me away?” I shoot a look at my friend.
Miranda kisses the witch’s scaly hand as he stands. She reaches for his pant leg, unrolling the folds for him as she smiles with her wicked set of sharpened teeth. “Aspasia, would you do us the honors?”
“I will, always.” She lifts her hands, pointing her attention back towards me. “You’ll want to hold your breath for this, unless you want to get it knocked out of you.” She begins rotating each of her hands over the opposite wrist, wind picking up along my feet before surfing up my limbs and playing with my hair.
“Wait.” I hold up one hand.
The witch raises a near-invisible eyebrow, her hands and the winds stilling.
“My father always called you Daphne. Aisha called you Ellowin. Yet, Miranda calls you Aspasia. Which is it? Which is your real name?” I chew on the inside of my lip, waiting as she stares at me for a moment with no answer.
“Only the trustworthy truly get to learn my name. I’m a valuable witch who has been hunted many times before.”
“So, do you trust Miranda?”
Aspasia smiles and begins twirling her wrists once more. Wind stirs at our feet. Miranda looks at me with a wickedly sly grin of his own.
“Syren, you have more power than that of a regular water fae. And remember, you must ask the water the right questions.” The wind becomes a tornado, lifting my hair off my shoulders and above my head, the witch’s words swirling around me with droplets of water and a few lingering spiders. She and Miranda completely lost from my vision.
I inhale. My body feels weightless before my feet slam into the ground, and I feel a thousand pounds of gravity pushing me into grass and mud. I gasp, blinking up to the moonlit sky. A single arachnid crawls under my nose over the uneven terrain. Miranda shudders with a cough and stands, brushing snow and leaves from his pants.
“That never gets better,” he wheezes, taking my hand and helping me up.
Next to us, the coachman dismounts from his perch, easily opening the door of our plain carriage as if we hadn’t appeared from thin air. Miranda doesn’t miss my look of astonishment as the servant looks utterly bored and unamused.
“He is paid well for his silence on the witches.” His eyebrows furrow. “Your mother's whereabouts.”
My weight rocks the wagon as I pull myself into the seat. “Everyone has their price, and there are a lot of people who would like to get their hands on this witch.”
“Are you worried for her or thinking of selling her to the highest bidder?” Miranda scoffs.
“Maybe both,” I purr, patting his knee, still wet with her handprints.
“Should the coachmen talk or sell away his knowledge, his family has been spellbound and will die the moment the words are uttered.”
I blink, somehow surprised by the security measure. No wonder she is this kingdom’s most well-kept secret.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Miranda sucks his teeth. “You married the Cruel King himself.”
