by Sofia Daniel
My jaw dropped, and a huff of air escaped my throat. “If you believe all that, why haven’t you told anyone?”
“I’m waiting for your master to show his hand.”
“There is no—”
A gear turned in my mind. Actually, there was a master. The dead faerie. The dead, dark faerie who had likely returned to our realm after Lady Gala and her cohort had opened a portal to the Otherworld and offered them Helen’s magic in exchange for this fated mates bullshit.
“You’ve thought of something.” Prince August grabbed my arm, jerking me forward. “What?”
My mouth clicked shut. There was no way I could tell him about the dark faerie’s dying curse. He would have me killed for sure.
“Let go.” I tried yanking my arm out of his grip, but he held on too tight. “I’m not working for any dark master.”
“You were just about to confess,” he snarled.
“Just about to confess that you’re making a lot of false assumptions to protect a bunch of girls who stole Helen’s magic and threw her into the Dark Fae Prison.” My knee shot out to knee him in the crown jewels.
His hips jerked back, and anger flashed across his eyes like a lightning storm. “How dare you—”
“Are you going to blame me for Helen’s imprisonment, too?” I shoved him hard on the chest, but all that did was give me a nice grope of his hard pecs.
My nostrils flared. It was time for a bit of reverse psychology I’d once seen practiced on a DVD of Super Nanny. “If you wanted an excuse to get a blow job, just ask. It’s how I managed to suck off your brothers.”
Prince August snatched his hand away with such force that I stumbled back several steps. The savage roar of a kelpie filled my ears, adding to the tense situation, and the sun hid behind a cloud that seemed to have come from nowhere.
His golden skin turned purple. “You are a disgusting, loathsome creature.” His words were slow and deliberate, as though he’d practiced them in front of the mirror. “And you should know I have protected myself from dark spells. If you ensnare my brothers with your dark arts, I will rescue them and have you personally executed.”
“Go to Dubnos!”
I turned on my heel and ran across the courtyard to the remedial building and didn’t stop until I’d flung the door open and stepped into its cool, stone entrance hall.
“Shit.” I stared down at my hands, which wouldn’t stop shaking. “Fuck!”
Prince August was right. I might not have a dark master, but someone evil was responsible for my situation. What if his intentions had been more than to curse me to suffer? What if it was like Prince August had said and the dead faerie wanted me to infiltrate the throne and ruin the monarchy from the inside?
I ran a shaky hand down my face. What the hell should I do now? The day after the curse, I told those two officers everything, and they had dismissed it as fake memories and called Gladiolus. If Prince August spoke to them… Leaning against the cool, stone wall, I squeezed my eyes shut and gulped down lungfuls of air.
The door opened, and I lurched forward, my movements bolstered by panic. “Who’s that?”
“Only us.” Flora stepped in with a bunch of other students from the remedial class. “Breakfast is over.”
“Right.” I followed them into the classroom, where the tables still stood in the U-shape around the teacher’s desk and took the seat next to Helen’s empty chair.
“Why are you sitting there?” Flora placed her hands on her hips. “She isn’t coming back.”
I shook my head, too shaken to form a reply. The other students piled into the room, chatting loudly about the king and queen’s speeches. I got the impression that they didn’t often visit the academy, and their presence here for the trial was a huge deal.
Flora huffed and walked around the tables to take her regular seat.
No one made eye contact with me, but a few of the girls shot vague, pitying smiles. I really couldn’t blame them. After seeing how I’d been sentenced to the Dark Fae Prison, they probably thought my days here were numbered.
Mr. Whittaker was the last to enter the room. He rubbed his hands together and plastered a bright smile across his face. “That was great of the king and queen to address us, wasn’t it, class?”
Everyone murmured enthusiastic replies, but I slumped further in my seat.
“Right, then.” Mr. Whittaker turned to my side of the classroom, met my sullen gaze, and his smile froze. “Shall we exercise our magical cores?”
Flora stuck her hand up. “Why don’t we help Unity with the next round? You did say that we should all do what we can to assist, or have you given up on her already?”
Mr. Whittaker raised both palms. “Of course, not. Do we have any volunteers?” He rubbed his hands together. “Anyone good with a needle and thread or have access to fine fabrics or beauty supplies?”
The rest of the class turned their attention to my side of the room, making me stiffen in my seat. Nobody raised a hand or gave me an acknowledging nod.
Shame writhed through my belly like a mass of worms. An unspoken part of me thought that these wings would mean no longer being a United Nations charity case, but here I was, begging for help by proxy. It would have been alright if people leaped up to volunteer, but everyone seemed so reluctant.
“What’s wrong with everyone? Where’s your remedial class spirit?” asked Mr. Whittaker.
“It’s the Fated,” said a boy with hair as green as the forest. “There’s a rumor going around that anyone helping Unity will get the same as Helen.” He turned to me, cheeks blooming pink. “No offense, but it’s not worth the risk.”
“None taken.” I gave him an acknowledging nod. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get into trouble because of me.”
Flora stood from across the classroom and walked around the tables. “I’m not scared of them. If Unity wins, she’s going to rule one of the Courts with a mate well disposed to half-bloods. That’s got to be good for us all.”
Warmth spread through my chest, melting away the last vestiges of annoyance toward my abrupt friend.
“Well done, Florensis!” The teacher beamed.
Flora stood. “We might as well get started. It’s not like Unity’s going to learn anything useful in this class.”
Mr. Whittaker’s smile faded, making my chest tighten with sympathy. Deep down, he must have known that most of the students in this class wouldn’t make any progress in unlocking their powers without the intervention of dark magic.
“Thanks.” I pulled myself out of my seat and headed for the door.
The class remained silent, presumably watching us leave. I wasn’t sure about what Flora had said about my ruling a Court making things better for the other half-bloods, but what did I know about faerie politics?
I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway with Flora on my heels. As soon as it clicked shut, I turned to my dark-haired friend. “Do you have any ideas for how I can win the next round?”
Her gaze swept down my body. “Queen Titania likes long, slinky dresses that match her hair color, doesn’t she?”
“Both times I saw the queen, she wore silvery dresses.”
“We’re going to get you a gold dress that shimmers the same color as your wings.”
I rubbed my damp palms on my skirt. “Where?”
“The fabric district in the Mound.”
“Do you have money beads?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Do you?”
“No.”
Flora’s shoulders slumped. “That makes things difficult. Difficult, but not impossible.”
“Let’s go upstairs.” I turned toward the archway that led to the wooden staircase. “Maybe things will be better after a cup of tea and a slice of toast.”
Nobody sat in the remedial common room, but the widescreen television showed a scene from a war where an older version of the guy from the mermaid movie shot a machine gun at enemy soldiers.
I snatched my gaze from the
depressing sight. If I had my DVD collections, I would play America’s Top Model or Extreme Makeover. Right now, I needed a shed-load of inspiration.
We walked past the arrangement of sofas toward the kitchenette at the other end of the room. Someone had left a currant loaf which filled the space with the scent of freshly baked bread, cinnamon, and nutmeg.
My mouth watered. “Whose is that?”
“Mr. Whittaker likes to bake whenever he’s feeling down,” said Flora. “He pretends the pixies leave it out for us, but everyone knows it’s him.”
“Oh.” I remembered something Gladiolus had told me about the remedial teacher. “Did he ever find the identity of his real parents?”
Flora shook her head and pulled open a drawer, which contained an array of knives. “Cast-offs never do. That’s the whole point of putting false memories in their head. So they’re too addled to work out the truth and claim their inheritance.”
“Right.” I opened the cupboard, pulled down two mugs, and picked up the kettle. It was already full and hot, so I reached for the tin of tea.
“Sorry, that sounded offensive, didn’t it?” After selecting one with a serrated blade, Flora cut two generous slices. “You woke up with a whole life of fake memories, too.”
“They’re real,” I whispered.
Flora shot me a pitying smile. “Yes, I’ve heard they’re very realistic.”
I blew out a breath. Nothing could be gained from insisting that I was a human girl cursed with wings except perhaps alerting the vengeful goddess who controlled the wards.
“How do you think I can get the fabric with no money?” I asked.
“You’ve heard of barter, right?” Flora reached into the cool box and extracted a block of butter in a crystal dish.
“Sure.” Elijah kept me well supplied with money beads, but I hardly needed to use them as we had so many DVDs to swap for whatever we needed. “But I don’t have anything of value.”
Her grin turned manic. “Yes, you do!”
My two encounters with Coltrane, the horny centaur, rolled to the front of my mind. “If you’re suggesting tug-a-lug or anything like that—”
“Ew, no!” Flora wrinkled her nose. “Where did you learn such a nasty word?”
I tapped the side of my head. “False memories of human depravity?”
After I’d made the tea and Flora had slathered the thick slices of fruit bread with butter, we walked over to the sofas, where the TV was now showing the credits. We ate in silence, and Flora let me have half her bread.
“What do I have to barter, then?”
“Future, unspecified favors.” She slurped from her mug.
“I don’t get it.”
“Look at it this way.” She placed her mug on a low table, giving me her full attention. “Last night, Prince Rory was putting in a strong case to take you for his mate.”
“Until he was silenced,” I muttered.
“Well, I think you have a better chance than Lady Gala. Everyone knows he can’t stand her.”
“True.” I washed down the remnants of my fruit bread with a mouthful of Earl Grey. “But how can I leverage that into a dress when there are so many forces working against me?”
“Only the people who were present last night know Queen Titania hates your guts.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“If we walk around the fabric district, telling them you’re the fifth Fated and have already caught Prince Rory’s eye, some gullible sap will take a risk and give you fabric in exchange for an unspecified favor.”
Never bargain with faeries. The warning flashed over and over in my mind. Everyone knew this—Mom before she succumbed to wasting sickness, Dad before he disappeared, Mrs. Yates, the magazine lady. Even Elijah had told me this once.
I gulped down another mouthful of warm tea. “That’s too risky. What if the person wants my firstborn?”
Her brows drew together. “Are you that certain you’ll mate with Prince Rory?”
I snatched my gaze away. There was a fairytale about a gnarled creature who helped a girl spin straw to gold, and he wanted her firstborn. Total bullshit because on the Isle of Fae, there was no such thing as a human king, and baby-eating faeries didn’t make bargains, they imprisoned humans and forced them to breed food. Thank goodness they were locked away in Dubnos. A shiver ran down my spine. But they were with poor Helen.
“Unity, have I lost you?”
Flora’s sharp voice lifted the fog from my mind. “Right. It all depends on if I can stay alive.”
“Don’t tell them that in the fabric district.” She stacked our plates, gathered the nearly full mugs atop them, and stood.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s time to visit the Mound.” She headed toward the kitchenette. “We’re going shopping.”
Chapter 5
My mouth fell open, and I stared at Flora’s back. Excited tremors shook my insides, making me feel like something was about to erupt.
Deep breaths heaved in and out of my lungs in an attempt to make sense of my predicament. I was in the middle of a death tournament to become the mate of one of four princes, two of whom hated my guts and conspired with their fated mates to have me thrown into the Dark Fae Prison. On top of that, I’d survived at least three assassination attempts, and been seduced by a sleaze bag paid by the Fated.
I’d also lost my sister to dark faeries and had a dear friend banished into the fae equivalent of hell.
By anyone’s calculations, I was in the deepest shit of my life.
So, why did this feel like the start of a makeover scene from over a dozen teen movies?
Flora grinned. “When we’ve bought the fabric, I’ll take you to the beauty district to get your hair styled.”
“Yes.” The word came out as a squeak because all the excitement of getting prettified was crushing my lungs.
I gave myself a mental slap. We still hadn’t resolved the matter of payment for all these goods and services. Unspecified favors sounded like a whole heap of trouble. I’d just have to avoid those who asked too much, just as I did in the markets of Doolish.
Flora dumped the dishes in the sink, rushed back to my side, and gave the space between my wings a hearty slap. “Ready?”
“Ready!”
We galloped down the stairs, leaving behind my guilt and trepidation. I could wallow in morbid thoughts and fret about people I wasn’t yet in a position to help, or I could focus on winning this trial or at least not coming last.
Our footsteps echoed against the remedial building’s stone walls, and across the entrance hall, but the sound was muffled by the pounding of my pulse. Flora had gotten me riled up, and I was ready to fight.
She flung the door open and froze.
It took a lot of skidding not to bump into her back. “What’s wrong?”
Flora stepped aside to reveal Lady Aster standing with her hands on her hips, flanked by Ladies Salix and Gazania. A crowd of full-blooded faeries stood behind them, girls, mostly, but I caught sight of some younger boys who had probably snuck along to watch me get pummeled.
Mistress Ellyllon stood at the far end of the courtyard between what appeared to be two other teachers, as they wore similar robes.
I raised my chin. “What do you want?”
“A truce,” said Lady Aster.
Flora and I exchanged shocked glances. I turned back to the trio. “Is this some kind of trick?”
Lady Aster flipped a lock of crimson hair over her shoulder. “Hardly. Unlike half-bloods, we at the higher echelons of the court don’t lie.”
I leaned my hand on the doorframe, ready to bolt. “Can’t lie or choose not to lie?”
She waved away my question with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “The answer is immaterial. Do you accept the truce, or would you like to continue hostilities?”
“Say yes,” Flora whispered under her breath. “For fuck’s sake, accept the truce.”
My jaw clenched. This had to be some ki
nd of trick. Maybe it was a glamor, and the fated weren’t really standing in the courtyard. I could be making a deal with a dark creature who would sling me over its shoulder and imprison me in its lair. I fumbled into my blazer pocket for one of the salt sachets and tore it open with my fingers.
“What are the terms?” I asked, stalling for time.
Lady Aster placed her hands on her hips. “Prince August is working with the Duke of Medietas to investigate Helenium’s claims. At some point, the king’s guard will question you.”
“So?” I pulled my hand out of my pocket and coughed.
“Are you alright?” asked Lady Gazania.
More salt crystals than I had anticipated fell onto my tongue, making me wince. “Fine!”
The dark-skinned faerie tilted her head. “You don’t look—”
“She said she was fine,” snapped Lady Aster.
Saliva flooded my mouth, my cheeks hollowed, and my lips puckered like I’d sucked the sourest of lemons. Tears flooded my eyes. This was dire.
“What do you say?” said Lady Aster, impatience lacing her voice. “Truce or war?”
I blinked the tears out of my eyes. When my vision cleared, it was to find Lady Aster standing alone with her two friends. I blinked again, wondering whether this was some kind of trick. Why would they make me think all these people had come out to witness our truce?
Keeping the suspicion out of my voice, I said, “Why do you want a truce with me?”
Lady Salix clutched her hands to her chest. “Last night, we discovered several things about our former friend.”
I tilted my head to the side. “For example?”
The green-haired faerie clapped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes glistened with tears. “What she did to poor Helenium of Medietas was disgusting. Gala’s ambition knows no bounds.”
She shook her head, leaving another accusation unsaid. That Lady Gala was so desperate to become a fated mate that she would not only steal Helen’s magic but murder her own mother as a distraction from being accused.
My eyes narrowed. I didn’t need the nose of a centaur to smell bullshit, and these three stank.
My gaze bounced to Lady Gazania, who hunched her shoulders, looking like she wanted to be anywhere else but here. “Then why did you send Helen to the Dark Fae Prison?”