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Lanterns filled with silver fire hung from the boughs of gnarled pines and silvery birches, lighting their way as Isleen cut right, taking her down a narrow path, through a hazel thicket, to where a burn bubbled over stones. An ancient willow guarded this secluded spot, its naked branches hanging low.
And there, her mother settled herself down on the mossy bank and patted the ground beside her.
Ailsa approached and took a seat opposite, tucking her legs under her.
They sat together in silence for a while, listening to the gurgle of water over stones before, finally, Isleen shifted around to face her fully. “Go ahead … ask me anything you wish.”
Lantern light caught her mother’s face. It made her beauty look almost eerie.
Ailsa remembered Fern’s warning then. Don’t make her any promises.
19: WHAT AM I?
“WHAT AM I?”
Despite that Ailsa knew she needed to be careful, the question rushed from her before she could help it.
The need to know pulsed against her ribs like her heartbeat.
It was why she was here, why she’d taken a detour from their journey to Duncrag.
Isleen smiled. “You’re one of us.”
“And what are you exactly?”
A pause followed before her mother began to talk. Her voice was soft and lilting as she explained the ways of the bavaan: how they lived inside their hill, and how they fed on the blood of deer when no unwary hunter was to be found.
Ailsa listened silently, taking it all in.
Eventually, her mother leaned closer. Her gaze never wavered. She hardly seemed to blink. “We are predatory fae, Ailsa. We stay out of daylight and hunt men in darkness. We’re sisters … and we look out for each other.”
Ailsa resisted the urge to look away. “You say I’m one of you … but I’m not. Marav blood runs through my veins as well.”
Her mother lifted a slender shoulder in a shrug. “Faerie blood is stronger, Ailsa.”
Is it?
Queasiness rose within Ailsa. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
“I watched you from the trees before we intervened … I saw how you fight.” Isleen lifted her hands, long bladelike nails gleaming in the lantern light. “Your bavaan instinct comes naturally to you … don’t fight it.”
“If you’re so sure I’m like you, why did you give me up?”
The question was blunt, yet her mother didn’t flinch. She merely watched Ailsa in that still, quiet way of hers, making Ailsa shift uncomfortably on the bank. In her dark eyes, she caught no remorse.
Isleen didn’t reply immediately—and when she did speak, her voice held an edge that was almost … wistful. “This cold, drafty hill is no place for a tiny bairn … I wanted to give you a chance.”
“A chance?”
“I dared imagine you in another life, one where you might see sunlight and crave other things besides blood.” Isleen paused then, her gaze flicking away to where water bubbled over stones. She then added softly, “And you reminded me of him.”
Him.
The man Isleen had bedded and then killed.
Ailsa leaned forward, her fingers digging into the moss she sat on. “What of my father?”
Her mother glanced back at her. “Did Kayla tell you anything about him?”
