What Lurks Between the Fates (Of Flesh & Bone, #3)(27)

She held my gaze as I twisted my body, preparing for the words that would come next. They hung between us, silent and deadly. Words that I knew I would never un-hear once she put them out into the open. It was something I wanted no part in but could never erase from the deepest parts of my worst fears.

She held out her hand, reaching toward me without ever taking a step. “You remind me of myself. Young and full of life, full of wrath and vengeance, desperate for the world to know the kind of pain you’ve survived. You can have all of those things, Little Mouse. All you need to do is take my hand.”

I stared down at it, noting the way her fingers remained as pure and porcelain as the rest of her skin. Whatever magic she possessed, it didn’t affect her physically in the same way mine did me. Imelda’s fingers had the same night sky at the tips, the magic of the night bleeding into our skin.

“Where is Fallon?” I asked, tipping my head to the side. “Shouldn’t you be concerned with improving your relationship with your daughter, or have you already given up the hope that she will be useful to you?”

“My daughter’s name is Maeve,” Mab said, clenching her jaw as she turned back to the door. She grasped the handle, twisting it and pulling it open so that she could step into the dimly lit hallway just beyond the threshold. A guard waited there, their presence never far. But it was the face beside him that made my heart stall.

Imelda stared back at me, the pure white of her hair gleaming in the firelight.

I shoved aside my relief at seeing Imelda unharmed, focusing on the other of our friends who could have been suffering in that very moment.

“If you hurt her…” I trailed off, staring into the back of Mab’s skull. Whereas any normal being would have treasured the return of her long-lost daughter, Mab seemed to be disappointed by the reality of the person Fallon had become.

“I’ve no reason to hurt her so long as she proves herself useful. I did not lay with her father so that she could prove to be without magic. At some point or another, she’ll have no choice but to let whatever waits within her free,” Mab said.

Imelda’s face twitched with anger at the harsh words. She shut it down as soon as the expression fluttered across her cheeks, forcing herself to remain impassive as Mab stepped into the hall.

“Heal the girl. She will remain chained in iron for the time being and needs the assistance.”

Imelda stepped into the room, turning and nodding to the guard, who closed the door and gave us a few moments of privacy. She dropped the bag strapped across her shoulder down atop the table without preamble, turning to me and taking my face in her gentle hands. Her touch was like coming home, soft and soothing and gentle in all the ways Mab’s touch had felt wrong.

“Estrella,” she murmured softly, placing her hand around the back of my head and tugging me into her chest. When she pulled back, her eyes dropped to the blood smear on the floor where Ophir’s body had been dragged out. She touched a thumb to my cheek, and I felt the skin shift as she pushed the two parts of my flesh back together.

She frowned, stepping back and looking over my body. She passed by the burns on my wrists where the iron rubbed against my raw skin, knowing that until the shackles were removed, there was absolutely nothing she could do for them.

“Is my mother safe?” I whispered, not wanting anyone to hear about her existence. Until I knew she was safely tucked away somewhere that Mab couldn’t find her to use against me, no one within the walls of this cursed place could know of her existence.

Imelda nodded. “The Wild Hunt and I saw her to Twyla in the Winter Court. She’s given her refuge, tucked her away from prying eyes as much as possible, and told her not to speak of you until you’re free from Mab. The fewer people who know of her connection to you, the better off she’ll be. If nothing else, she’ll be free to live out the rest of her life comfortably, regardless of how long you’re here. It’s a better life than she had in Mistfell,” she answered. The meaning of her words was clear, striking me in the chest like a lightning bolt.

Caldris had fought against Mab—been her prisoner for lifetimes. The odds of me escaping Mab before my human mother lived out the duration of her life were slim.

I would likely never see her again.

I’d known that was a distinct possibility when Brann and I escaped Mistfell originally. I’d had to come to terms with that knowledge. But to find my way back to her just to have her taken away from me all over again was a cruel fate I wouldn’t have wished upon my enemy.

“That’s good,” I said, nodding through the pain. I had so many questions for her that she would never answer. About my father, about how Brann had come to be a part of our lives.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Imelda asked, running her hands over my arms and checking for signs of injury. They pressed into the tense muscles at the back of my shoulders, her scowl deepening when she found the lump on the back of my head. “Gods. The idiots have no concept of how precarious an injury to the head can be. Sit.”

I moved to the chair I’d taken before, distinctly avoiding the place where Mab had sat. I had no desire to touch any thing that belonged to her. Imelda took out her supplies, setting her mortar and pestle on the table as she rooted through the herbs she carried with her. She pulled out a pouch filled with something dried, dumping out the wine from a spare glass and putting the leaves into it. She poured water from a pitcher, stirring it quickly with a spoon. Pausing, she picked up the knife from beside my plate and pricked her finger with it. A single drop of blood fell into the goblet, splashing into the cold tea. Imelda’s multicolored eyes drifted closed, and she waved her hand over the goblet in a slow, steady circle.