Fifteen Years Ago
Fingal couldn’t stop shaking his head. “She’s not a fae.”
He turned to help Riona, whose thunderous crash to the floor surely would have alerted anyone in the kitchen. She was a crumpled heap of violet wings, torn dark fabric, and hair, but her pointed lavender face emerged, seemingly unscathed. She glanced between Fingal and Brendan, lips pursed in question.
As Fingal helped Riona to her feet and sorted out her dress and cloak, Brendan prowled the room with an unstable gait. “The fae don’t look like that. They don’t look like that.” He kept repeating this over and over to himself, as if each iteration made it more true.
Riona’s wings fluttered and curled around her comparatively small body. “Mama says I’m special.”
“So you do have a family,” Brendan said. There was a hint of relief in his voice as he sunk to his knees. “Where are they? Why aren’t you with them?” Then, aggressively, to Fingal: “Did you take her from her family?”
“How could you accuse me of that?” Fingal retorted….