Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

G uilt. Once I get past the shock, guilt washes over me.

What do others feel when they see their parents after a long time apart? Love, probably. Connection. Familiarity. Excitement.

For me, it's just a black hole of guilt. All the letters I should have written her but didn't. All the times I didn't miss her. The relief that she was finally far away and I no longer had to look after her.

She walks toward me, her bony arms outstretched, and I can't avoid noticing the slight stumble in her step, that unfocused stare. It's six in the morning, and she's either drunk or high. Maybe both.

She pulls me into a hug, all jagged angles. The familiar odor of cigarettes and alcohol envelopes her. She's wearing an expensive suit that I haven't seen her wear in years, with a silky cream shirt beneath it. But now, the clothes hang off her skeletal frame.

"Oh, Nia," she shouts. "I've missed you so much, my dear girl."

It sounds so caring, so motherly. But I instantly notice the way she glances backward to make sure Tarquin hears her. With Mom, every place is a theater, and there's always an audience to impress. She's probably already clocked by Tarquin's accent and clothes that he comes from money. She knows the role to play for him—the loving mother.

And again, I feel a stab of guilt as those thoughts flit through my mind. Why can't I just believe that she truly meant what she said? Sure, she has her own warped survival skills, but she really does love me. She must .

"I missed you too, Mom," I say automatically.

"Did you? Last time you wrote me was over a month ago." She laughs as she says it, as if she's just teasing. But I know she felt abandoned.

I stare at her, unable to make sense of her appearance in this place. "What…what are you doing here?"

Her eyes widen, and she touches my arm. "Well, this lovely gentleman, Sir Tarquin, said I was in danger because of the European war with the Fey. He said that because you work here, the Fey might want to abduct me. For leverage. He paid for me to come all the way to Camelot. I had my own suite on the ship. Honey, I didn't know you had anything to do with this Fey war."

I glance at Tarquin. "Because my role here is supposed to be secret."

He's looking down at his nails. "Ah, well, yes, the thing is…most of us were raised here in Camelot, so our family is safe. For outsiders such as yourself, who knows what could happen? I was, of course, only trying to help."

I hold my mom by the elbows. "You were never in danger. There was no way they could have found you all the way in California."

"In the war, Nia." She shakes her head. "I really never could have imagined. You were always so scared of taking risks. So timid. Everything was always such a big worry for you. Always fretting."

"No, Mom, I had a normal number of worries." I just didn't want her lighting the sofa on fire again, or driving high as a kite and crashing her car into an abandoned Pizza Hut, or?—

She pulls out a cigarette. "Tarquin told me you're the transportation. I realize that being a driver isn't the most glamorous role, but surely you could have told me about it in a letter."

"That's not my title." I can feel my face flushing. I'm torn between wanting to brag about my Avalon Steel and hating myself for even caring what she says in front of Tarquin.

She smiles a little too broadly, glancing back at Tarquin. "Young Sir Tarquin told me your job was to get people where they needed to go."

"Mom…can you give me one second? I want to thank Tarquin for bringing you here, and then I'm all yours."

"Of course. He's a perfect gentleman. You should be very grateful." She says this pointedly, lowering her chin and raising her eyebrows.

It's a long, meaningful look, and I know she thinks he's a catch.

I walk over to Tarquin, fantasizing about smashing my fist into his thin nose. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hiss at him.

His nostrils flare. "Honestly, I thought you'd be happy." He waves at Mom and smiles. "All the outsiders have been bringing their families into Camelot for safety, but you somehow neglected to bring your own mother."

"She was halfway across the world. She's not in any danger, or at least she wasn't until you brought her here. You know that."

"Oh, Dame Nia," he says. Still smiling, he leans forward and whispers, "I'm going to enjoy introducing your train wreck of a mother to everyone in Camelot. I want everyone to see exactly why someone of your rotten pedigree does not belong here at all. That's the thing we always seem to ignore, isn't it, when we pretend we're so accepting of the demi-Fey? Because the fact is, your mother shagged one of those monsters, didn't she? You're not just half corrupt. You're entirely corrupted. The child of a beast and a slag, that's the breeding of your kind. And we're all fine with it now, aren't we, here in these accepting new times?"

After days of sleeplessness and lack of food, and then the conversation with Wrythe, I'm about to lose my temper. I want to bash his pasty face in. But of course, that's what he wants—some way to prove that I can't control my beastly Fey impulses.

He flutters his fingers at my mother with a fake smile. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Melisende."

"Oh, call me Brandy," my mom laughs lightly. "Mrs. Melisende is my mother."

Trembling with rage, I watch him walk away, then let out a long breath and turn to face Mom. "Where are you staying?" I manage to say with a tight smile.

"Mr. Pendragon found me a cute place a few minutes from here." She blinks. "It's a bit small, to be honest, but he assured me it's only temporary."

"Okay. Um…did you have any breakfast?"

"I don't eat breakfast, Nia. Have you already forgotten? I know it's been a long time, but I didn't think you'd forget everything about me so soon."

"I didn't forget you, Mom." Of course she doesn't eat breakfasts. Why waste the calories on food when you can simply use them to drink?

I return to her and put my arm around her shoulder. "Let me walk you back to your place, then. It's a bit cold for you to be outside right now."

"I was hoping you'd show me around."

I clear my throat. "Maybe later. I have a job to do."

"You need to drive someone?"

I grit my teeth. Naturally, Mom can't know what I really do. "Not exactly. Something else."

As we walk, she loops her arm through mine. "Nia, if you want to land a nice man like Tarquin, you really need to dress nicer. There's dirt all over that cloak. When did you start wearing cloaks? It's a bit strange, I think. And it covers up your figure. You want a clean, sleek line without pockets."

"Land a nice man…" I'm so annoyed, I can hardly form clear thoughts at this point. "Mom, Tarquin's not…there's no way in hell?—"

"Oh, honey." She pats my hand. "I know you think you're not good enough. But he obviously cares about you. Do you really think he'd go through all the trouble of getting me here if he weren't interested in you romantically? Now you just have to lure him in. He introduced me to his cousin Ginevra, and she's beautiful, you know. She looks like I did when I was your age. She might be able to tell you where to shop."

"Oh, gods," I mutter. Ginevra hates me as much as Tarquin does. Possibly even more.

Everything about this is a nightmare. Being with my mother suddenly peels away the layers of confidence and worth I've found here. Underneath, I'm still the girl who would never be good enough. "Let's not talk about clothes right now. What about you? How was your trip?"

"Long. But it was nice to have the suite." She smooths her shirt. "You know, I was in this area about twenty-five years ago. Not Camelot, but Cornwall. Tintagel, I think. Lovely place. Great fried scallops."

A shiver dances up my nape. "Was it twenty-seven years ago, perhaps?"

She frowns at me. "How did you know that?"

I let out a long sigh. "Just a lucky guess." I'm twenty-six. I was conceived when my mom was in Cornwall.

"You could have sent for me, you know. You live in a castle now? You left me in that roach-infested apartment so you can live in a castle? They were trying to evict me when Sir Tarquin sent for me."

"Sorry, Mom."

"You're my only child." She sighs deeply. "I've always said that the best thing I ever did, my proudest achievement, was raising you. But I guess parenting doesn't guarantee a child's loyalty. Well…fine. This is where I'm staying."

She waves at a two-story white stucco building with dark wood beams that crisscross the front. A sign hangs from a steep, gabled roof: Branwen's Inn .

It looks nice enough. Leaded-glass windows overlook flowerpots, and the smell of coffee and baked bread wafts through the air. I was afraid that Tarquin would place her in the worst location in town. But that's not what he's planning. He wants her nearby and accessible so that he can introduce her to all his friends and acquaintances. To prove that all demi-Fey come from a twisted, dysfunctional background, and that none of us should be here.

But I'm not worried about anything Tarquin's shitty friends might say. I'm worried for my mother's safety—and my sanity.

"You know." Her voice trembles, and she tucks my hair behind my ear. "You don't even look happy to see me."

I smile at her. "Oh, Mom, of course I'm happy to see you."

At least my training as a spy has improved my ability to lie.