by Jenna Black
I invited myself into my mom’s room and sat on her bed. Sniffling, she reached for a tissue and scrubbed at her eyes.
“I’m not going to let him take you,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, either from all that crying or from an earlier shouting match with Dad.
She didn’t have the power to stop him, and we both knew it.
“I’m sure Dad told you what will happen if I don’t go.”
She dismissed that with a wave. “Some nonsense about your aunt Grace. I don’t believe it for a moment. He’s just using that excuse to scare you into doing what he wants.”
My dad can be majorly manipulative, but he wasn’t sneaky about it, at least not with me. I wasn’t sure Henry really would have me arrested and carted off to Faerie if we refused the “honor” of the Queen’s invitation, but I was sure my dad believed he would.
“I want to go,” I told my mom. It was a total lie, but I wasn’t above lying if it was the only way to get my mom to calm down. She’d obviously run through her repertoire of hysterics with my dad, and if I could get her to skip the repeat performance with me, I was all for it.
She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Not if I’m the Queen’s guest. I’ll be fine.”
I’d been angry with my mom for almost as long as I could remember. Angry at her drinking, angry at her neglect, angry at the way I had to function as the adult of the family from the time I was about four. Until I’d run away from home, I’d been real, real good at hiding that anger, stuffing it down inside me so I could do what I had to do to take care of her and run the household.
I was out of practice keeping my anger under control, and I ground my teeth to keep myself from saying anything about how absurd it was for me to be comforting her under the circumstances.
“Dana, honey,” Mom started, but she couldn’t seem to figure out where to go from there. At least she wasn’t throwing things.
She came to sit on the bed beside me, her head bowed, her shoulders slumped. “I can’t stand the thought of you going off somewhere where I can’t protect you.”
A little more tooth-grinding was in order. Since when had she ever protected me? It wasn’t that she wouldn’t protect me with all the ferocity of a mama bear if I were in danger and she were sober enough to realize it. The will was there, and I knew that she loved me. But being willing to protect me and being able to protect me were two very different things.
“You can’t even protect me here,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle. “Not with the kind of enemies I have.”
Ever since she’d stopped drinking, she’d been fidgety, constantly moving like a hummingbird on caffeine. The more upset she got, the more she fidgeted, and she had a major case of the fidgets this time. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that this couldn’t be easy for her. She’d tried very hard to keep me away from my dad and from Avalon precisely because she wanted to keep me safe from the political intrigue. She might not be a candidate for mother of the year when she was drinking, but I knew she loved me.
Once upon a time, I’d thought that if she would only stop drinking, she’d become more like a normal mom, that she’d take care of me and protect me, et cetera, et cetera. But all the evidence suggested that she was pretty damn needy even without the booze.
“I want you to make me a promise,” I said.
“Of course, sweetheart,” she said after a momentary hesitation. “Anything.”
I refrained from snorting. My mom wasn’t big on making promises, and she was even worse at keeping them.
Why was I asking her to keep one, then? Because it was the only thing I could think of to do, the only faint hope I had that when I returned from Faerie, she wouldn’t have morphed back into her drunken alter ego.
“I want you to promise me you won’t drink while I’m gone,” I said, then braced myself for her inevitable reaction.
She stood, too agitated to hold still, and I could see the emotional barriers going up. “Dana, really!”
How she could act offended when she had to know why I was asking this of her is anyone’s guess. I don’t care how deeply in denial she was. There was no way I believed she didn’t know she had a problem.
My fists clenched in my lap, and I forced myself to relax them. “It won’t be for that long,” I said, hoping it was true. “You keep telling me you’re not an alcoholic, so it really shouldn’t be that hard for you, should it?”
“I am not an alcoholic! But you don’t get to decide whether I can have a drink or not. I’ll be a nervous wreck while you’re gone, and if I can’t even have a calming drink now and then…”
A calming drink now and then. That’s what she called starting her day with whiskey in her coffee and ending it passed out with an empty bottle or three at her side?
“What happened to ‘I’ll promise anything’?” I asked bitterly. “You only meant anything that didn’t really matter to me.”
I could see from the look in her eyes that she was hurt as well as angered by my accusation. At that point, I didn’t care. I was pretty hurt and angry, too.
“That isn’t fair,” she said, and I wanted to scream.
“I’m going to be out there risking my life, and it’s too much of me to ask that you stay sober for a little while? That’s just great, Mom. Thanks a lot. Glad to know I matter to you so much.”
I was so mad I felt like hitting something, and tears burned my eyes. Why didn’t she care how much her drinking hurt me? I might not be perfect or anything, but I thought I was a pretty good daughter. I never got into any trouble—at least, not until I came to Avalon—and I’d always taken care of her. Above and beyond the call of duty, no less. I got good grades, and I usually managed to keep my anger securely hidden.
She’d been the one constant in my life, when my life revolved around moving from place to place every year or so. I couldn’t make any long-term friends, had never had any other family. My mom had been my everything for as long as I could remember.
My lower lip quivered, and a tear trickled down my cheek. Usually, I fight tears with everything I have, especially when I’m not alone. Today, I let them come. I let my mom see just how hurt I was.
The look in her eyes softened into one of dismay, and she came back to sit beside me and take my clenched fists into her hands.
“Dana, honey, of course you matter to me.”
She pulled me to my feet and wrapped her arms around me. I was far too angry to return her embrace, but she didn’t let go.
“I love you more than anything,” my mother said as I stood stiffly in her arms and cried. “You have to know that.”
“But not enough to stop drinking,” I said, my voice muffled by her shoulder. “Never enough for that.”
Mom’s hands slid to my shoulders, and she pushed me away a little bit so she could look into my eyes. I wanted to look away, but she took hold of my chin.
“My drinking has nothing, nothing to do with how much I love you.” She smiled wanly and brushed a lock of my hair away from my face, like I was a little girl who’d skinned her knee. “Just because I don’t always do what you want me to do doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “But you don’t care that it hurts me to see you destroying yourself.”
“I’m not going to destroy myself,” she said, sounding like she meant it. “There are lots of people in the world who drink, honey. It’s just … something adults do. I am truly sorry it bothers you, but please don’t worry about me. I’m going to be just fine.”
What was the use in fighting it? Even if I somehow managed to get her to promise, there was nothing I could do to make her keep the promise. Nothing sent her diving for the booze faster than stress, and she was going to be stressed to the max for the entire time I was gone.
I jerked away from her, no longer able to stomach the excuses or the hollow reassurances. “Fine,” I said. “Drink as much as you want. Pickle your liver and pass out on the floor in a
puddle of your own puke. See if I care!”
“Dana!” Her cheeks went white with shock, although this wasn’t the first time since we’d been in Avalon that I’d given in to the temptation to let her know what I really thought of her. I was being a mean-spirited, ungrateful little bitch, and I didn’t give a damn. I was tired of pretending all was well when it wasn’t, tired of humoring her, tired of forcing my feelings into a little mental box so I could be the polite, dutiful daughter.
“Go home, Mom,” I said, pulling away from her when she tried to reach for me. “I’m sure Dad will give you your passport back before we leave for Faerie. Go back to the States and stay there. There was a reason I ran away in the first place, and obviously nothing has changed.”
I slammed out of the room before she could respond. I half expected her to chase after me, but she didn’t. Maybe my words had cut too deep, maybe she needed time to recover. Or maybe she knew I’d say something even uglier if she came after me. Whatever the reason, the fact that she stayed up in her room and made no attempt to get me to come back just made me that much angrier.
* * *
Both my dad and Finn looked at me in dismay as I slammed the door to the stairway and stomped into the living room where they were waiting for me. There was no way either of them could miss how upset I was. I might have wiped the tears away, but I’m sure my eyes and nose were all red. I suspected this was not what my dad had in mind when he asked me to come over.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I declared before either of them could say a word.
If either one of them had been human, they might have tried to talk to me anyway. However, the typical Fae reserve worked to my advantage. Finn was never big on talking, and my dad looked lost and uncomfortable.
“I want to go home now,” I said, staring at the floor so I wouldn’t have to see their faces.
There was a moment of silence.
“Call me if you decide later that you want to talk after all,” my dad said. “Anytime.”
His gentle tone almost made me start crying again. A few weeks ago, he hadn’t even known I existed. Now he was the only parent who acted like he loved me.
As it was, I managed to croak out a thanks, then made a beeline for the door so fast Finn had to run to catch up.
* * *
The rest of my afternoon sucked—I brooded about my mom and what she would do when Dad let her go. I racked my brain for something I could do or say that would make her decide to stay off the booze, but I’d already proven that nothing I said or did mattered.
There were probably a million things I should have been doing to prepare myself for the trip to Faerie, but the drama with my mom had robbed me of my will. Instead of being productive, I spent hours playing stupid Internet games on my laptop, lulling myself into a zombielike trance.
I was playing a really convoluted game involving dice, cards, and—ha-ha—zombies, when I was startled out of my stupor by a knock on the door to my suite. I blinked and glanced at the clock on my screen, seeing it was already eight o’clock at night. Finn is really good at being unobtrusive, and he usually confines himself strictly to the guard room, giving me some semblance of privacy in my suite. I don’t get too many knocks on my door, especially not at night.
My pulse jumped, and I feared more bad news was on its way.
“Come in,” I called, crossing my fingers.
The door opened to reveal not Finn, but my father. I was surprised to see him, because he usually called before coming.
“Is something wrong?” I asked before he had a chance to say a word.
“No, no,” he said as he came in and took a seat on the sofa in the homey little sitting area. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
“I still don’t want to talk about it,” I warned, gearing up for an argument.
Instead, Dad nodded. “Understood. I don’t know what happened between you and your mother, but I know it’s my fault for asking you to come over when she was so overwrought. I’m afraid I was a little out of my element, and I leaned on you when I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
My throat tightened with gratitude. There was no denying that sometimes, my dad could be a pretty cool guy. “’S okay,” I said, not completely sure how to respond to a sincere parental apology.
There was a long silence as both my dad and I tried to think of what to say next. This whole father/daughter relationship thing was equally new to both of us.
Eventually, my dad cleared his throat and said, “I thought you might have some questions to ask me about Faerie and the logistics of our trip to the Sunne Palace.”
Wow. My dad, volunteering information! I wanted to accuse him of being a pod person, but I didn’t think he’d get the joke. Humor is not his thing, though considering what little I knew about his life, that wasn’t a surprise. My father was something like a thousand years old, and you can pack a hell of a lot of trauma and heartache into a thousand years.
“If I start asking questions, you’re going to be here all night,” I warned.
He smiled at me. “A fact of which I’m fully aware. Make me a spot of fortifying tea and I’ll be fully prepared to face the Inquisition.”
All right, maybe he had a sense of humor after all. It was just on the subdued side. “One tea with thumbscrews, coming up.”
I made coffee for myself while the water boiled for Dad’s tea. I could drink tea in a pinch, and I could drink it to be polite, since everyone in Avalon apparently worshipped at the Holy Church of Tea, but I would never learn to love it.
I set my coffee and Dad’s tea down on the coffee table, then curled up comfortably on the couch beside my dad. With typical Fae formality, he was sitting up straight with both feet flat on the floor. I wondered if it made him uncomfortable to have my bare feet up on the couch so close to him. If it did, he made no sign of it, merely stirring some honey and lemon into his tea as he waited patiently for my first question.
It was hard to decide what to ask first. I had so little idea what to expect from this trip, or from Faerie. But instead of asking a sensible, practical question, the first question that came to my mind was far more personal.
“What’s up with you and Prince Henry?” I asked. “You obviously don’t like each other.”
Dad hesitated a moment, probably as surprised as I was that that was the first thing I wanted to know. Then he grimaced and took a sip of tea.
“No, we don’t like each other. In fact, we’d each be happy to see the other dead.”
I couldn’t help a little gasp. My dad always seemed so cool and rational, even in the face of danger. It took a lot to crack his facade, but what I saw in his eyes now was nothing less than pure hatred.
He smoothed the expression away and then took another sip of tea. “I have enemies at Court, Dana. Everyone who’s ever spent any significant time at Court does, and I was Titania’s consort for well over a century.”
“Enemies who want to kill you.”
“No, enemies who’d like to see me dead. There’s a difference.” He gave me one of his wry smiles. “If one is a courtier, one does not kill one’s enemies. That would be far too vulgar. I told you once that at Court, lying and deceit is an art form. I was speaking rather more literally than you probably imagined. The Court awards figurative style points for the subtlety and ingenuity with which one destroys one’s enemies.”
Geez, and I was going there to meet a whole bunch of courtiers and the Queen herself. Fabulous.
“So why are you and Henry enemies?” I asked.
“Titania is never without a consort. Prince Henry’s father was her consort before me. There was a noticeable reduction in both their statuses at Court when Titania put Henry’s father aside. Henry, quite naturally, blamed me for it. He was only twenty when it happened, and I was a far more experienced and polished courtier. He tried to start various unsavory rumors about me, but I always managed to turn them back on him. And he never could control his temper, which is a fatal fla
w in the Court. To lose one’s temper is to admit defeat, and I had little trouble making Henry do it, even in public.” Dad smiled like he was reminiscing about the good old days. “Every attack he made saw his status within the Court slip just a little more. He was forced to leave Court or eventually he’d have faced total social ruin despite being the Queen’s son.”
I gaped as Dad took another sip of tea. This was a side of him I’d never seen before. Sure, he was manipulative, and had a politician’s way with words, but I’d never thought he’d take such obvious satisfaction in basically ruining someone’s life. Henry seemed like a total jerk, but still …
Dad saw my expression, and he put down his teacup and turned to face me on the sofa.
“The primary reason I left Faerie and came to live in Avalon was to escape Court social politics. I am still capable of playing the game, but that isn’t who I am. Not anymore.”
That didn’t make me feel a whole lot better, and nothing he’d said so far made me any more pleased with the idea of going to Court. “So are you and Henry going to be taking potshots at each other for the whole trip, like you were at the dinner?”
“Undoubtedly. And he’s gotten a lot better at it since he was that sullen, untried boy. Luckily, my standing at Court is no longer of great concern to me.” Dad’s smile held a touch of malice. “And his temper is clearly still a liability. He must be beside himself at the thought that Titania would invite my daughter to Court. And he must have done something to annoy her for her to send him, of all people, to escort us.”
Glad to know Henry saw having Dad and me traveling with him as some kind of punishment. “But she didn’t really invite me,” I pointed out. “Not if she’s really planning to have us arrested if we don’t go. Or is that part Henry’s idea?”
“Hardly,” Dad scoffed. “I’m sure he’d have been happy to drag us off to Faerie in chains, but it certainly wasn’t his idea to blackmail us into going. He’d rather eat iron nails than see my daughter honored. No, he’d have loved nothing better than if we’d been free to refuse the invitation and mortally offend his mother.”
