Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(56)

Faelan gets annoyed when I start laughing as I read.

“So . . . am I seriously a princess?” I ask, trying not to fall out of my chair.

“Yes,” he mutters. “Perhaps you could consider acting like it?”

That just makes me giggle more.

There’s also this group called the Cast who seem very shadowy. If I’m following it right, these beings were created to keep the demigods and demigoddesses in line. It began long, long ago, when the mother goddess, Danu, anointed and made seven humans immortal, choosing them for their mercy and wisdom to watch over her grandchildren and keep the Otherworld and its children hidden from humanity. These seven immortal humans are now known as the Cast. They stay in some sort of parallel universe, rarely crossing over to this side, usually sending envoys to speak their will. They sound a bit like untouchable government officials.

At the very bottom of the pack are the aptly named underlings. These are beings that were created by the Penta. Some were once human but changed, like shades, while others were born as what they are, like selkies, pixies, and alfar. According to this book, wraiths are made from emotions. From the descriptions, they sound a lot like poltergeists. I know firsthand that they’re definitely terrifying.

Then there are the children of a union between a demi and a human, like Aelia and her coven. They aren’t considered underlings—they’re in a sort of side category that some people call witches. I remember Aelia calling herself a druid, which the book says are the priests of the Otherworld.

Hilarious. Aelia, a priest?

After a few more minutes, the words on the page in front of me become vague and too confusing for my foggy brain.

My eyes wander and land on Faelan.

I know I should turn away, but I can’t seem to find the energy. He’s really nice to look at. It’s like being in the presence of a lovely painting or sculpture—you have to admire the artistry. So my gaze trails over the angles of his profile, across the strong curve of his shoulders as he leans over what he’s reading, before I become mesmerized by the way that strand of hair stays tucked behind his ear, refusing to fall.

I want to scoot to the edge of my chair, get closer to him so that our shoulders will brush. But I stay where I am, baffled by my thoughts. I can’t tell if the urge to touch him is coming from my human side or the side of me that burns down houses.

He looks up, like he senses me watching.

I take the opportunity to ask a question that’s been rolling around in my mind since last night with Kieran. “Do I really have a sister?”

He goes still.

“Is that a bad question?” I ask.

He shuts the book with a thwack and sets it aside. “I’m not sure this is the time for that. It’s a long story.”

“It shouldn’t be a story, it should just be yes or no,” I say.

“If only it were that simple.”

That sounds daunting. Aelia made it sound like this sister was a horror. Kieran made it sound like she was amazing. I don’t trust either of them.

“Her name was Lily?” I prod.

His gaze skips to mine. “How did you know that?”

“That dark prince,” I say.

Faelan leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Of course Kieran would bring her up.” He shakes his head, annoyed. But then he says, “Her name was Líle ó Braonáin. She was a force. She was . . . stunning,” and I think there’s affection in his voice.

“Is she dead or something?”

“She’s been imprisoned in the Pit for several hundred years.”

Unease settles over me. “That sounds bad.”

He nods. “It is. It’s similar to the legends of the biblical hell.”

They sent my sister to goddess hell? How can that be a thing for someone so powerful? “What’d she do?”

He rises to his feet, wandering over to one of the small trees lining the other side of the greenhouse. He runs a finger along one of the larger green leaves, turning it yellow, then orange, then amber. It breaks free and floats to the ground.

I watch, confused for a second before I realize he’s feeding.

“I never believed that she was fully to blame,” he says, “but her crime was severe. I’m not sure how to talk to you about it. So much of what happened never made sense.”

“No secrets, Faelan,” I say. “I need to know everything that I can.”

He touches another leaf, looking nervous. “Yeah. Agreed.”

That’s not what I expected him to say. I thought he’d argue.

He moves back to the table and pulls what looks like a scroll from behind a stack of books. “Just know that I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. But it’s not something I can speak to, not really. Not with clarity. It was the fourteenth century when she was accused of killing the king and was taken by the Cast. I was young at that time, only twelve years old. I hadn’t reached my majority and was still being kept out of the court for the most part—as Otherborn, we age the same as a human until we reach the eighteenth or nineteenth year, and then the usual entropy of aging slows to a crawl.”

Again, the idea of being immortal hits me in the gut. I’m not going to die. And I’m eighteen, which means I’m going to stop aging now, basically. Completely nuts.

He continues, unaware of my turmoil. “It was a fluke that my brother allowed me to be present at the queen’s feast that year. So what I know firsthand of your sister is from the limited awareness of a boy. And when I met her, she seemed very sad. I would never have thought her capable of murdering her Bonded. But they claim it’s what drove her to madness and caused her to poison the earth, creating the seed for the scourge of the Black Death.”