“I want to talk to her again,” she said without hesitation.
“Then there we go,” Titus said, waving at her. “You two might be kings, or whatever the hell you are right now, but she’s our queen.”
“I agree,” Sol put in.
“Me, too,” Vox murmured.
Cyrus shook his head. “You’re all playing with fire.”
Titus’s palm blazed to life as he grinned. “And what fun it is, Water Prince.”
My brother snorted and doused the flame with a spray of mist. “Fine, I can see my intelligence is outnumbered here. So how
do we go about talking to her again?”
“I have an idea,” I admitted. “But it’ll take me a few days to get it worked out. In the interim, bolster Claire’s elements. She’s going to need them.”
It took effort to convince Claire to fall back asleep, but it was the middle of the night and she needed rest. Especially for the festivities to come. The fae did not play around during the Festivus season. There would be a bonfire, dancing, and endless nights of drinking ahead. Which would hopefully help her relax, at least a little.
Although, she seemed rather content in the bed with Sol, Vox, and Titus.
Those three certainly knew how to wear out our mate.
With a small grin, I stepped into the hallway where Cyrus stood waiting.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he demanded, his irritation coming through just fine despite his low whisper.
“I don’t think Ophelia is a threat,” I admitted. “She seemed a bit insane, but not in a cruel way. There was no darkness in her aura, just a hint of desperation that escalated when she latched onto my power. Like she’s been starved and needed my energy to survive.”
Cyrus narrowed his gaze. “Go on.”
Those two words showed how well he knew me. I never stopped analyzing and theorizing, something he was guilty of as well.
I palmed the back of my neck, blowing out a breath. “If someone’s kept her locked up all these years, then that could explain why she latched onto Claire in the death fields. She would have been so hungry for spirit that she’d have done anything to absorb it. Including attack her own daughter. Which explains the energy depletion on Claire’s part.”
My brother considered my words and stroked the stubble dotting his chin. “That would also explain why she tried to go through your bond to get to her.”
“They’re related by blood. That links their spirits.”
He nodded, then frowned. “But why starve Ophelia?”
“To feed off her own power?” I suggested. “She looked ill, Cyrus. Like a thousand-year-old fae, if not older. When she’s, what, maybe fifty years in total? Not even?” I shook my head. “Something isn’t adding up here.”
“That something seems to point to Elana,” he added.
“Half Dark Fae, half Spirit. That’s what Ophelia said.” Of course, she was probably stark raving mad, but it was worth bringing up again. “What if she’s talking about Elana?”
“She’s a Spirit Fae.”
“With access to only spirit.” A trait that was exceedingly rare for our kind. Although, lately, I’d begun to question whether or not it was true, because I’d sensed her water element rise on more than one occasion. As had Cyrus. “Who were her parents?” It wasn’t something I’d ever thought to investigate or to know, but now it seemed imperative that we found out.
“I can ask my father,” Cyrus murmured. “He wants to talk to me about coronation stuff anyway.” He grimaced over the words.
“At some point we need to tell Claire what it means to be queen,” I pointed out. She sort of understood, but not really.
His lips curled down. “Yeah, that’s a conversation I’m not looking forward to.”
“She’s strong,” I said softly. “Intelligent, too. She’ll understand.”