Sláine, High Prince of Earth and Ruin, Lord of the Sídhe.
Roark, Prince of Air and Darkness, Lord of the Ravens.
Lugh, Prince of War and Chaos, Lord of the Wild Hunt.
My brothers and I. The ink script of my name is more faded than theirs. My fault, that. I spent too many years sliding my finger over the words, as I do now, forcing myself to believe I deserve my place here. That the ink somehow makes my sacrifices permanent. That my presence on this page means I’ll be remembered after I fade into nothingness.
Behind me, a door opens and there’s a hesitation before the room echoes with the click of heels.
“Can you afford to leave your guests?” I ask without looking up from the book.
“If my son is in pain, of course,” my mother says. She peers over my shoulder and smiles down at the page. “You’re the only one to bear my title.”
I straighten and close the book. “I know, Mother.”
“I’m afraid it made your elder brother furious.”
“I know that, too.”
A rustle from my left. Her dress is the color of snow, with shadows clawing up the fabric like skeletal branches, clasping her in a corset of darkness which extends higher into a subtle collar and higher still to her crown. A gleaming contraption of shadow and bone and ice, leaving no doubt to her right to rule.
She takes a place by the fire, staring at the flames. “You have been throwing yourself into your work for days. Bridget says you rarely take meals or sleep.”
“My apologies.”
“I am worried.”
I bow my head at the mild accusation. “I’m healing.”
“In body or mind?”
“Both. I’ll be ready to take on the mantle.”
She lets my lie hang between us and moves away from the fire that casts her features in flickering light. She stands beside a small table and the delicate chessboard resting on it. All the pieces are carved from bone. White from Seelie, black from Unseelie. A gruesome tableau of the enemies who failed to dethrone her. The second chessboard on the bookcase near the table remains unfinished. It’s been that way for centuries.
“I heard you visited campus today.” Her dark eyes pierce me as she runs her fingers over one of the pawns on the chessboard. “You returned in a temper.”
“I don’t like delivering bad news.”
“I also heard you returned bloodied.”
I keep my mouth shut.
She sighs. “Did you run into the human? Does he know we aided his family?”
“No. I intend to keep it that way.
”
“Hopefully you can soon be done with him.” Her features gentle and she graces me with a rare smile. “I wish you happiness, my son. I wish you joy. But we both know you must move on to find that.”
“I have no intention of doing so.”
The flames in the fireplace whip into nonexistence as their fuel ices over. The room is deathly still but for the tap-tap-tap of her finger on the knight piece.
Mother watches me with serpentine eyes, dark and fathomless and deadly. “Roark Tahm Lyne, you must end your puerile fascination with him.”
“His name is Phineas. And I...can’t.”