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“Well, they were very beautiful. They must have been carefully maintained. They showed scenes of the fae and humans.”
“A time when the two races mingled together. What a sight that must have been.”
“Yes,” I said carefully. “But the fae looked very... off-putting in some ways. I am not sure our history books quite prepared me for how they were presented in the mosaics.”
My uncle smiled slightly. “Your brother has always preferred the historical interpretations that say the fae left this realm because humans expelled them. A battle of might in which humans were ultimately triumphant.”
“These mosaics...” I said slowly. “Seemed to show the fae dominating us. Not the other way around.”
My uncle raised his eyebrows. “Fascinating,” he said again.
“Was my mother truly fae?” I suddenly blurted out. “Full fae? How could she be? How is that possible?”
My uncle’s face twisted. “Your father certainly thought so. Didn’t he?”
I nodded reluctantly. “She died before I could talk to her. About any of this. I have always had so many questions.”
“Your mother... She took the same medicine herself. Did you know that?”
I let out a small cry of surprise.
“Oh, yes. Ever since her marriage to your father.”
“He forced her to take it, you mean?”
The old apothecary laughed. “No, she insisted upon it. She was adamant. She said it would keep her safe.”
The word hung in the air between us.
“Why?” My voice was soft.
“Well, for the same reason you do, I suppose. She did not want to deal with any unwanted traits which she feared might manifest. It made her time amongst us easier, I suppose.”
I thought of the mosaics in the temple and a nightmarish image of my mother came unbidden to my mind. I brushed it away as quickly as I could.
“She wanted to be accepted by the people,” my uncle continued. “To be loved. Your father was overjoyed that she would go to such lengths for him.”
Had the medicine truly made it easier for her to blend in? I wondered how exactly. I would never accept that she truly had succeeded. My father had made that impossible.
I could also not imagine my father ever being “overjoyed.” I quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, if not ‘overjoyed,’” my uncle clarified. “Then certainly appreciative. At least at first. You know he could never appreciate anything or anyone for very long.” He gave a heavy sigh.
“No,” I agreed. That was certainly true.
“Your brother came here recently asking a very similar question.”
“About my mother?”
“No, about the medicine you take. He, too, wished to know if you could make it yourself. Or have someone other than me make it for you.”
“He did? Why?”
Caspar tilted his head to one side. “I suspect he is planning a journey of some sort. And that you are to accompany him. Why else would he ask such a thing?”
“A journey!” Now I was well and truly shocked. The word sent butterflies spinning in my stomach. “Me? Travel? With Arthur? Where?”
“I have absolutely no idea. He did not care to share any of that with me, of course.”
