“There’s no Fairy King at all,” she said. Speaking the words aloud terrified her. They felt like walls closing in, crumbling on top of her. “I thought Angharad was some ancient story made new, and Myrddin was some otherworldly genius, magic like the rest of the Sleepers. But he was just some lecherous old man, and Angharad was just some shrewd attempt by his publisher to make money. There’s no magic in it at all. Or at least there isn’t anymore, because I’ve stopped believing in it. Now it’s just another lie.” And what of all the times she had paged through Angharad, trying to discover its
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