“I would think so,” she said. “At a young age, Atlantians are nearly mortal, but you… You are different. The deity bloodline is obviously the strongest in you, and it protected you.”

“I…”

“What?” She sent me a quick glance when I didn’t continue.

“It’s just that I spent a lot of my life wondering how I survived that night, why I was…Chosen to be the Maiden. And now that I know why, I have more questions because I was told so many lies,” I told her. “It’s just a lot to process.”

“But you appear to be doing just that.”

“Because I have no other choice. It’s not like I can deny this. It sickens me to think of what the Blood Crown may have done to create me.” It also scared me to think of why they had done all of this. But that was something I couldn’t focus on now. “Not only to who might have been my mother, but also to Malec. I know he wasn’t a good man, but he was still a person,” I said. “And yet, I feel…detached from it. I feel sorrow and sympathy for them, but they are strangers, and it doesn’t change who I am. No matter what Alastir or the Unseen believe. I am not the sum of the blood that courses through my veins.”

“No,” she said after a few moments. “I do not think you are.”

“Really?” I blurted out in surprise.

Another small smile appeared on her lips. “I remember the deities, Penellaphe. While many could be prone to all manner of misdeeds, not all of them were that way. The others? If they had gone to sleep like the gods, who’s to say what would’ve become of the deities? We’ll never know. But Malec…he wasn’t a bad man, Penellaphe.”

Even though I had just basically said that Malec was nothing more than a stranger to me, part of me filled with curiosity and the need to learn more about the man who was my father. That had to be natural. “He wasn’t?” I asked finally.

Her hair shone a blue-black in the sunlight as she shook her head. “He wasn’t a bad ruler. For a long time, he was fair and just. And he could be very generous and kind. He was never abusive toward me or intentionally cruel.”

“He was unfaithful. Repeatedly,” I said, and immediately wished I hadn’t voiced what I was thinking. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“No need to apologize,” she said with a low laugh. “He was unfaithful and, yes, repeatedly. The man had two heads, and I’m sure you can guess which one he used most.”

It took me a moment to realize what she meant, and then my eyes widened.

“But he wasn’t like that when we first met. It was only toward the end that I started to see this…stirring inside him. This great unrest that I came to believe, even before what he’d done with his mistress, was because he was becoming something else. I…I don’t know what happened, what changed him so that he was no longer satisfied with me and the life we were trying to build. Why the generosity and kindness that had once been second nature to him faded. But I know it was no fault of mine, and I have long since stopped wondering and caring about why he sought completion and purpose in the arms of others. What I am trying to say is that your father wasn’t a monster, Penellaphe. He was a deity—the most powerful one there was. But he was still a man who became lost.”