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“Oh, touché, mon mari,” Siobhan says.
I never took French in school, but her statement echoes in my head, jerking at my attention.
“Mon mari?” I ask, glancing at her then back to Dugald. “Doesn’t that mean—”
Siobhan’s smile stops me in my tracks.
“Oh gross,” I snap. “Seriously, Dugald? Her? What happened to you love me oh so much.”
“Don’t be childish,” Siobhan says. “It was a convenience, that’s all. I needed a child; he served my needs.”
“As if that makes it any better,” I say, suppressing a shudder of revulsion.
Sure, Siobhan is beautiful, in a deadly “predator might eat your soul” kind of way. If you’re into that, which apparently Dugald is. Or was, at some point. None of which makes sense with his claims of our shared history, but whatever.
“Quinn, I can exp—”
“No,” I say, holding up a finger. “It doesn’t matter. We don’t have time, as you keep reminding me. My mother. Tell me what happened.”
“You have to understand that your mother was a changeling,” Dugald says.
“She was a Fae?” I ask, surprise causing my voice to rise.
“Not directly. Like you she was half-Fae,” Moira interjects.
“Aren’t changelings when a Fae switches babies at birth?”
“That’s a myth,” Dugald says.
“A nasty one, isn’t it? How terrible must a Fae parent be to want to switch their own child for a human, ugh,” Siobhan says.
As much as she annoys me, she has a point that I hadn’t thought about.
“Go on,” I say.
“Your mother was half-Fae, as Moira says,” Dugald continues. “It’s why she left Scotland as a teenager. She met your father and wanted to leave the Fae and our realm behind.”
“Too simple. What aren’t you telling me?”
“We knew you were due to return,” Moira says.
“Due to return? What does that mean?” I ask.
“You’re the Destroyer,” Siobhan sighs. “Can you seriously not put all this together yourself? You think we’re all idiots or something?”
“Enough, Siobhan,” Moira says. “We’ve kept her in the dark. She doesn’t know.”
“Look how well that’s worked out,” Siobhan says, waving a dismissive hand around the air.
“For once, I agree with her,” I say.
“We knew the end of the age was coming,” Dugald says, ignoring all the interruptions. “The signs were clear and that meant the Destroyer would be reborn soon. That you would return.”
“Return, again,” I say. The word has weight that echoes in my soul. Memories? Maybe? Déjà vu? Or is it only symptoms of a shared psychosis?
“Again,” Dugald agrees.
“What does that have to do with my mother?” I ask.
