“‘None’ would be an understatement, and ‘some’ would begenerous.”
Yes, thank you for the very clear answer.
“I guess with the wings and stuff, it’s hard to tell who started out human, huh?” My wings flutterslightly.
“Oh…” She sets her teacup down on its saucer with a thud, waving her hand. “No, my darling, the way Moth healed you? It is not a power shared byeveryone.”
“It’s not?”
“It is passed down from the royal family. You may have noticed the pattern of Moth’s wings: a Death’s Head marking, black with yellow spots, and a skull at his shoulder blades—his father hadthe same.”
I always thought it just looked like some big dots. Clearly, I would have failed an ink blob test for creativity.
“Claws to kill—and the power to save. The mark of Death has always meant new beginnings.” She clasps my hands in hers. “I’m glad I’m here to see yours.”
“So, if Moth wasn’t—Imean, um…”
“You likely would not be seated next to me.”
I’ve known how lucky I was that Moth found me, but the gravity of justhow luckyhits me right in the stomach; it stirs up an unwanted feeling too big to acknowledge while surrounded by floral stationeryand tea.
I steel myself as I look up at the family portrait. Moth’s father glares down with the same dark wings as Moth, but Holly’s are an iridescent blue.
If she was the one who tried to rescue me, I’dbe dead.
“My mother is of the Butterfly Court. Holly takes after her,” Queen Plume explains, following my gaze. “To have them both under one roof again…” She shakes her head, dismissing tears before they have a chance to fully form.
“So, is everyone named after their wing pattern?” I ask, eager to change the topic before more tears fall. Before last year, I never really spent much time in nature, so bug types are more than a little lost on me.
“Here and in the Butterfly Courts it is tradition.” She wipes a few rogue tears from her eyes before an award-winning smile spreads across her lips. “The others have their own way of doingthings.”
Others.
“So, Moth and hisfather…”
“Were both called Death, yes.” She nods “Though the king preferred to be addressed asyourhighness.”
Huh.
That’s surprising considering how informal Holly and Queen Plume are with each other.
“Even by you?” The question spills out before I can catch it. Her face falls. Shit, I totally overstepped onthat one.
“I would say we’ve done enough work for today.” She reaches for a silver bell on the end table, and with one small jangle, a group of maids file out of the hallway, a spring in their step. Queen Plume instructs her attendants to finish off the rest of the invitations and help themselves to the teacakes—which the girls seem delighted by.
“Let’s see what those children of mine are up to, shall we?” The queen clasps my hand, and as we rise from the couch, she lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “I never thought I would say those words again.”
Well, we find them—but not howI expect.
Moth sits on the floor with a tiny wooden teacup that looks even smaller in his massive hands. Gathered around him are equally adorable children dressed like they’re from a regency novel. As a group, they seem to be having a very a very serious discussion about—well, honestly, I have no idea. It’s mostly high-pitched babbles with a few random words thrown in, but straight-faced Moth seems to be keeping up. Sprout lays nearby, his tail thudding every once in a while as if agreeing. I blink, struggling to take in the cozy—yet somewhat chaotic—scene.
ThenI seeher.
My breath is caught in a giant lump in my throat.
On the couch next to Holly sits the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—and mind you,I’ve been to fashion week.
Her skin is a warm dark brown, and her black hair is styled in an intricate updo. She swoops up a rogue toddler, who cozies onto her lap. The murmured “mama” confirms that they’re her children. There’s a twinkle in her amber eyes when she takes in the scene that causes a pang of jealousy to settle inmy chest.
