Seven Black Diamonds (Seven Black Diamonds #1)(65)

“We are not halflings,” he said.

“Lilywhite is obviously not,” Rhys allowed. He was straight-spined on the vine-wrought chair Eilidh had created. Even after Lilywhite had lashed him to the chair, even after he’d tried to compel words from her, he was implacable. At his side, Eilidh was quietly speaking to Torquil.

“None of us are halflings.” Zephyr stood, his anger pushing him to move. It was a trick he’d learned as a child: movement helped him focus past the emotion. Creed and Lilywhite stood when he did. Even though there was conflict, they were still his friends. For a brief moment, he took comfort in that.

“You are, Zephyr. Lilywhite, as I have said, is more.” Rhys leveled a stare at her that spoke volumes. It was abundantly clear to everyone present that she was far more like him than like them. Her gifts were stronger than anyone else’s.

Because we are still young, and the gifts don’t always manifest until later. Clara had explained it. All of their handlers had explained it that way when they were children. They’d had to hide some of their gifts, and their appearances were certainly fae enough to arouse unwanted attention. She’d said, “You were chosen because we could hide you more easily.”

“The humans call it ‘halfling.’ You have one parent who is true fae.”

“Okay, so we’re born of one of the fae, maybe that’s not so different than being fae-blood.”

“Try saying so without ‘maybe,’ niece,” Rhys challenged.

She couldn’t, and they all knew it. They were less fae than Zephyr had believed, but they were also more fae than she’d thought.

“The Sleepers are not true fae, but not simply fae-blood.” Rhys’ voice had the sort of edges that made Zephyr’s skin prickle. “You, however, are more. Your mother was the first child born to both fae courts. You are her sole child. Whether you were born of a fae father or not, yours is the union of the two strongest lines of all faeries. You are the child of the first, the strongest, and so you are more. It is that simple.”

Again, Rhys gestured at Zephyr and Creed. “None of the Sleepers are what you are. No one is.”

Zephyr’s temper grew sharper and sharper. Geysers of soil and water erupted from the ground, showering all of them with mud. Leaves and blossoms clung to their bodies, stuck in the mud that was now covering all of them. If not for the fact that he’d all but attacked one of Endellion’s children, it would be amusing. Jets of water continued to flow like a series of small fountains bubbling out of the earth around them.

Rhys wiped his hand across his face, revealing a studious expression. “Your fae parent was of a strong line.” He tilted his head, looking similar to a household pet who’d been caught in a storm. “Earth and water. I have only the earth, but my mother . . .”

“Mother’s primary gifts are sea and soil,” Eilidh said as she looked at Zephyr again. “Creed said that you were the one she hand-selected for leading this cell. You’ve met her, as well. No other Sleepers have had a private audience with her.”

What was Eilidh saying? Zephyr thought back to the terror of kneeling before the Queen of Blood and Rage. Was she telling him that Endellion was his mother? He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse if she were to be his mother. It would mean that Lilywhite was his . . . niece, his family, not his intended.

“I’m sure the queen isn’t the only one who has those affinities,” Zephyr pointed out reasonably. “I’ve never summoned water. There’s no saying that”—he gestured at the small geysers somewhat helplessly—“was me.”

“You have hair that could be hers,” Rhys said.

“And eyes that could be yours, Rhys,” Eilidh offered.

The severe faery stiffened at her words. His attention swept over Zephyr. “I’d like to say Mother wouldn’t do such a thing, but she has no lines she wouldn’t cross for her plans.”

“What human birthed you?”

Zephyr shook his head. “You have to be joking.”

Torquil, who had remained silent for much of their meeting, spoke then. “He is not. You favor him, and the queen is thorough in her plans. She cannot carry young easily, not since the baby’s death or . . . disappearance apparently.” Torquil very carefully looked at Eilidh. “There was a time when some of us were invited to lay with mortals, to create young with them. She had hopes that we could breed with the humans, to have children—even halflings—to replace some of those we lost. Only those who were the strongest of the fae and those she herself trusted were invited to that night’s party. It was an odd request, but we do not survive by disregarding our queen’s requests. Even the king is not so foolish. He did as she bid. We all did. Rhys was there.”

“It makes sense,” Rhys mused. “She’d said the children weren’t conceived, that the wine was bad and none of us had impregnated the women.”

“She lied,” Torquil suggested.

“She wouldn’t want us to get attached to humans, but she would want to have strong halflings for the program. It would allow their fae traits to overcome the weaknesses of humanity.” He reached out and caught Zephyr’s jaw, holding him still and staring into his face like the truth was there if only he stared long enough. “I suppose you aren’t disposable after all.”