He crossed his arms across his chest and looked me up and down. “You’re a sturdy-looking lass, you are.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Hello, Grandfather.”
“So you’ve a tongue, do you?” Dougal’s voice was gruff, and somehow, he made me feel five years old. “Well, we’d best get started.” He glanced over at the Banra-Sheagh. “Let’s get this court underway.”
“Very well,” she said and right then, I knew that my grandfather had sway with the throne. She motioned for me to step back in front of her.
I did, darting a nervous glance at my mother. Phasmoria was scowling, and so was Kipa. I wanted to edge over to stand beside them, but I knew better than to defy the Queen.
“Dougal of the High Crags, do you claim this girl as your granddaughter?”
“I do swear by the flame and the sword, and declare Raven BoneTalker to be my granddaughter.” He barked out his words, and I had the sudden vision of him in his natural form—as black as pitch, with blood-red eyes. The Black Dogs were a form of hellhound. For the first time since I’d been born, the idea made me nervous. My father had played with me when I was young—both in his two-legged form and in his dog form, and I loved dogs. But there was something intimidating about envisioning my grandfather in that state.
“Curikan, Black Dog of the Hanging Hills, do you claim this girl as your daughter?”
Okay, this was getting weird. I was beginning to feel like I was being marked. The next thing you’d know, they’d be challenging Kipa to a pissing match.
“I do swear by the flame and the sword, and declare Raven BoneTalker to be my daughter,” Curikan said. He spoke more softly than Dougal but as they stood there, side by side, I began to see the resemblance.
“Very well then, lineage is set on the paternal side. Phasmoria, Queen of the Bean Sidhe, do you claim this girl as your daughter?”
Phasmoria fidgeted and I could tell she was getting impatient. “Of course she’s my daughter. She came out of my womb, she rested inside me for months and then clawed her way out to make her way in the world, like one of my children should.”
“Lineage is claimed on the maternal side,” the Banra-Sheagh said, ignoring my mother’s irritation. “Phasmoria, Dougal has asked that you give up claim on the girl, so she may take up the mantle of Chatelaine of the House of Dougal. Her grandfather wishes her to move to Scotland and take her place in the life of the Highland Crags Black Dogs Clan.”
“You have to be joking!” My mother wasn’t laughing. Her eyes grew darker and her voice was quickly edging up to Bean Sidhe level.
I started to gasp but the Banra-Sheagh turned back to me. “Raven BoneTalker, think carefully before you speak. This offer would mitigate your crimes in the Court of the Banra-Sheagh.”
Unable to keep my tongue, I burst out with, “What the hell did I do? You say I’m accused of crimes. Well, what crimes have I committed?”
The Queen stared me down, looking absolutely unimpressed with my outburst. “Hold your tongue, girl. Very well, we’ll leap to that portion of this trial. Tryx, read aloud the list of accusations against Raven BoneTalker.”
A guard who looked almost exactly like the one who had talked to me stepped forward and held out a scroll, unrolling it, then raising her head after she spent a moment reading it.
“This list comprises the list of crimes against the bone witch, Raven BoneTalker, are these: One, the accused has befriended numerous human and Fae, and has not taken care to secret herself or her life in any way. Two, the accused has chosen to immerse herself in human society, therefore casting herself into the Exosan encampment. Three, the accused is entertaining a dalliance with one of the gods. Four, and most damning, the accused remains friends with Ember Kearney, a tralaeth who has openly admitted to murdering Blackthorn, one of the Ancient Ante-Fae. She is keeping company with the enemy.
“Let it be known that should Raven BoneTalker not break off any communications with the modern world and return to the bosom of her family, taking her rightful place as Chatelaine of the Clan of the Highland Crags, she will be forever cast out of the world of our people, and forever be considered pariah to our world. None of the Ante-Fae will speak to her, nor accept her presence in their midst. None of the Ante-Fae will lift a hand to help her, even should her very life be in danger.”
I swayed, trying to take in everything, but the next moment, my mother stood by my side. She placed her hand on my shoulder and I straightened, grateful for her presence. I had no clue what to say, but my mother didn’t suffer from the same problem.
“I will never willingly give up claim on my daughter. She will always be the daughter of the Bean Sidhe, who I might add are all Ante-Fae, and we all consort with the gods. The Morrígan is my goddess, and Cerridwen and Arawn are my daughter’s gods, and they alone may decree what she is allowed to do.” Phasmoria’s voice echoed through the chamber loud and clear, leaving no mistake as to how she felt about the matter.
My father glanced at me, and I stared back at him. He was always the one who taught me to care about humans and to care about the people around me. Now, he was willing to stand here and listen to this garbage?
I had to speak. “Da, how can you hold your tongue? You’re the one who taught me how to care about others, regardless of their heritage. You are the most tender-hearted man I’ve met and I always respected you for that!” I ignored the guard, ignored the Queen, and stomped my way over to Curikan.
But he merely stared at the floor. “I’m sorry, my child, but…the past month has taught me other ways. I never understood why my family—my father—was like he is. Now I do, and I have to say, I misunderstood my father’s messages all these years. It’s vital to keep the heritage alive, to keep to tradition.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My father was throwing away everything he had believed in. I whirled to face Dougal. “You did this! What did you say to him? What did you do to turn him into a clone of you? You’re nothing but a monster.”
My grandfather’s eyes flashed. Without warning, he reached out and slapped me hard across the cheek. “How dare you speak to me like that!”
“Don’t you dare hit my daughter,” Phasmoria shouted, storming over.
With her beside me, I felt brave enough to respond, my cheek stinging. “I’ll speak to you any way I like. My father is—was—one of the kindest men I’ve ever known and I looked up to him. I respected him. And you go and do this? What did you use to threaten him? Because the Curikan I know and love would never willingly turn his back on his beliefs.”
“Raven, stop, please—little bird.” For a moment, the father I remember shone through the cool demeanor, and then the light in his eyes faded and his face hardened again. “Raven, respect your grandfather. Apologize.”
I turned back to my mother. “What’s wrong with him?” I pleaded. I couldn’t bear to see my father acting like this.
Phasmoria motioned to Kipa. “Watch her for me. Dougal, Curikan—we need to talk. Now.” She turned to the Banra-Sheagh. “I demand a recess.”
The Queen paused, looking like she was about to say no, but then my mother glowered at her and the Banra-Sheagh let out a sigh. “Very well. Be quick about it.”