by Sofia Daniel
My brows drew together. “Why do you need it for so long?”
“It’ll take a good few days for me to get to a DVD player.” She raised a shoulder. “Unless you’ll let me use yours.”
Sicily picked up the magazines. “I’ll bring down two DVDs.”
After shaking hands on the agreement, my sister and I continued toward the town square. A pang of hunger shot through my belly, and I gave it a gentle rub. On a normal day, we would be waking to a thick slice of honey bread with dandelion coffee. It didn’t have the same kick as the imported stuff, which was ludicrously expensive.
“Want a slice of avocado toast?” I asked.
She drew her hand up to her necklace. “I’ve run out of beads.”
I pulled up the sleeve of my jacket, exposing a full bracelet of money beads. “My treat.”
She frowned. “Where did you get those?” Before I could reply, she tightened her lips. “Elijah, right?”
“Why did you say his name like that?” I asked.
Sicily sniffed. “He’s a faerie, isn’t he?”
Irritation tightened my skin. There was more to my sister’s statement than a dislike of the fae. Sicily often hinted that I was lowering myself by letting Elijah take care of us.
“You know he’s a half-blood,” I murmured.
“Same difference.”
I stopped by Mr. Raze’s table, which sold honey-coated almonds. “You liked him well enough last week when he brought us chocolate,” I said, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Now, you’re comparing him to the princes who swiped your apples?”
Mr. Raze stopped arranging his wares and gaped. Of course, he’d want to listen. I’d just implied that two or more members of the royal families had stolen a human’s fruit. Talk like that was enough to get a girl cursed with a cow’s tongue or with lips that wouldn’t stop chattering the truth. We might no longer be their cowering slaves, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t get punished.
Sicily was about to say something, but I held up my hand and continued walking. We weren’t having this argument. Not in the middle of the street where any Tom, Dick, or Hyacinthus could ingratiate themselves with the higher-ups with news about us badmouthing faeries.
I crossed the street, narrowly missing the horns of a drake the size of an elephant. “Watch it!”
The drake threw its head back and roared, releasing a burst of flames that scorched the side of a stone building. My heart jumped into the back of my throat. Dragons weren’t real, but drakes were their closest equivalent. Twelve-feet-tall reptiles with armored scales and horns everywhere, they lived deep within the seventh level of the Mound and supposedly hated the light. Only the most powerful faeries were brave enough to break the beasts.
The rider, a male faerie with hair the russet shade of a maple leaf in autumn, pulled on its reins, turned around, and stared down at me through eyes as green as the forest. Magic crackled in the air, hitting my skin like the static from a TV screen.
“Oh shit,” I whispered under my breath. This guy had to be a royal fae or something close.
Sicily gasped. “That’s Prince Rory.”
What were the chances that we would see three of the four princes in a single morning? Romantics, like Mrs. Yates, might have said it was fate, but I would describe this encounter as bad luck.
Prince Rory tilted his head to the side as though puzzling something out. I swallowed hard, waiting to see if he would take offense at my words.
“You there!” A ridiculously beautiful platinum-haired girl slid down from the drake.
She placed both hands on her hips and sashayed toward us, wearing a white blouse that hugged her perfect figure with the wine-and-violet tartan tie of the Royal Fae Academy. The matching skirt skimmed impossibly long legs, ending in heeled shoes that clacked against the cobblestones like the beat of a war drum.
I blinked, trying to make sense of the approaching faerie. Despite the impending danger, I couldn’t help marvel at how she out-dazzled every single girl on America’s Top Model.
“Do you know who you’re shouting at?” Her haughty English accent set my teeth on edge.
I clenched my jaw. Shit! Why had I allowed myself to get annoyed in public?
Sicily stepped between us, both palms raised. “My sister didn’t mean any harm.”
Casting my sister a withering glance, the faerie strode past and fixed me with blue eyes as pale and as cold as frost. “You didn’t answer my question.”
My gaze flicked to Prince Rory, who now stood by the beast, patting the scales on its flank. From the tightness in his jaw, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but standing on the roadside watching his companion act like a twat.
I caught his eye, and he glanced away, his lips quirking into a smile. The faerie girl flared her nostrils and huffed. “Are you deaf? Do you need a larger pair of ears?”
Dread tightened my stomach. The magic protecting humans from faerie mischief didn’t work if the human had caused the faerie offense.
Sicily cleared her throat. “Please, My Lady, if there’s anything—”
“One more word from you, and it will be your last,” she snarled, her eyes narrowed on me.
Fuck. I couldn’t let my sister get hurt. People left the stalls to watch the spectacle. Ogres, trolls, centaurs, and satyrs mingled with humans to form a crowd of curious onlookers. I guess every species on the Isle of Fae could smell the trouble in the air. Hopefully, I could say something humble enough to satisfy her, and we could go home.
Bobbing into a curtsey, I said, “My Lady, I apologize for causing offense when I shouted at the drake.”
Her lip curled. “You ought to know your place. If it wasn’t for the light fae, humans would still warm our beds and pull plows.”
Anger surged through my veins, hot and dark. She acted like they’d given us a ticket to the Big Brother house. Humans still disappeared all the time, and according to rumors, they did worse than serve fairies as whores and slaves.
This bimbo probably thought King Oberon had defeated Queen Maeve without the help of the United Nations and that the containers they sent every day were a feat of fae superiority. I itched to throw the truth in her arrogant face, but that would give her grounds to turn me into an ass.
Staring at my feet, I said, “I beg your pardon, My Lady.”
“It’s not me who needs the apology,” she snapped.
I raised my head and met the bored gaze of her gorgeous, red-haired companion. “Your Highness—”
“Not him,” she snapped. “The drake.”
I ground my teeth and turned to the snarling reptile, who glared at me through malevolent, amber eyes. “Sorry for—”
“No.” Her voice hit me like a club.
Fear and anger mingled through my gut, making me want to spit. “My Lady?”
The faerie’s cruel lips twisted into a smile that made my blood run cold. At that moment, I saw her for what she was—a wicked, immoral creature whose beauty did nothing to cover her blackened heart.
“Did you know that drakes blow fire from two orifices?” she asked.
My heart thudded so hard that it rattled my ribcage. I couldn’t answer as the membranes of my throat stuck together. Instead of voicing my answer, I shook my head.
Her grin widened. “When drakes leave their natural habitats, we have to seal their anuses, so they don’t spew out molten shit.”
I glanced at Sicily, whose face had turned the color of diluted milk, and then to the prince. He tilted his head up to the sky and huffed. It was one of those exasperated expressions men wore when they thought a woman was making too much of a fuss of something trivial.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” When I turned to meet her cold eyes, she continued. “When you startled poor Tarragon, the flames he would have belched from his ass backfired.”
“I’m sorry for—”
“Wait!” She raised her hand.
The breeze swirled and cooled and coalesc
ed toward her outstretched palm until it formed a lump of ice. Smirking like a lunatic, she directed her other hand to the ice. Despite the sudden cold, sweat trickled down my forehead. A lot of high fae could draw moisture from the air, but only those aligned to the Winter Court could freeze it.
When her ice became apple-sized, she said, “Rub this on his anus.”
I didn’t need magic to know how this scenario would end. After levitating me to the drake’s behind, she would cancel the enchantment sealing its anus, releasing a spray of molten shit. From the snickers of the non-humans in the crowd, they were already thinking the same.
This was dire. Get cursed or suffer second-degree burns.
Sicily gave her head a minute shake. The magic protecting humans from fae malevolence ensured that no magical punishment would be disproportionate to the offense. Besides, even if the faerie turned me into a rat, the spell would eventually wear off.
But there was nothing magical about getting burned.
I sucked in a deep breath and readied myself to get cursed. “My Lady, I must refuse—”
“Gala,” drawled the prince.
A breath caught in the back of my throat. Gala. Short for Galanthus Nivalis, the youngest daughter of the Duke of Nevermore. That was the name of one of the Fated. Four beautiful faerie maidens destined by magic to marry the four sons of the king and queen. This twisted creature would be the High Lady of the Autumn Court.
I pitied everyone she would one day rule.
“Hold on!” she snapped.
The prince folded his arms. “If we miss out on those iPads because you wasted time on a human—”
“Oh!” She spun on her heel and hurried toward the drake. “See what she made me do?”
Prince Rory held her by the waist, and they both levitated to the creature’s saddle. I held my breath, waiting for her to twist around and throw a curse.
With a happy roar, the drake galloped down the road. Every ounce of tension left my body in an outward breath so fast, I bent forward and had to brace my hands on my knees.
The crowd drew closer, presumably to hear what I would say about my encounter with Prince Rory’s fated mate.
Sicily placed her hand on my back. “Are you al—”
“Let’s go home.”
I pushed the door open to our two-roomed stone dwelling with woolen walls, rushed to the corner sink, and turned on the tap. Spring water spluttered out, and I splashed the cool liquid on my face.
The door slammed shut, and a hand rubbed my back. “Unity, you’re in trouble!”
“Sorry, Sis.” I gulped a mouthful of water. “If I had diffused the situation earlier—”
“What will Lady Gala of Nevermore do when she realizes the box of iPads only contains apples? She’s the type who will need a scapegoat to work out her anger.”
I groaned and turned off the tap. “Shit.”
Sicily paced up and down the front room. It had been our bedroom while Mom and Dad lived here, but with Elijah’s help, we refashioned it into a comfortable living area large enough to accommodate eight paying customers to watch our DVDs.
“You have to leave Doolish,” she said.
“What?” I grabbed a cloth and dabbed my face.
“And disguise yourself.”
“Wait.” I rushed over to my sister. “You’re panicking. It isn’t so bad.”
“You’ve attracted the attention of one of the Fated.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “These things are vicious and have long memories. If you don’t do something, she’ll torment you until you die of old age.”
I shook my head, even though the beginnings of hysteria burned the back of my throat. Sicily was right. Lady Gala had been itching to curse someone and only left so she wouldn’t lose out on an iPad. I could picture that twisted creature somehow blaming me for not getting a computer and finding creative ways to make the next few decades of my life miserable. Some fae could be that petty.
Sicily balled her fists and flung herself onto the daybed. “None of the people living in the human world have to put up with this crap.” She punched a cushion, loosening its stuffing. “The United bloody Nations could find us somewhere else to live, but they keep us here and make things worse by making everyone wish to live their perfect lives.”
I lowered myself into the seat next to my sister. She was talking about the television sets, DVDs, and magazines delivered in those crates. The old humans said that having alternative forms of entertainment distracted the fae from tormenting us, but it also showed us what we were missing.
“But those women on the reality shows are miserable,” I said without feeling an ounce of conviction. “They can wear what they want, eat what they want, and go anywhere, but they’re always fighting.”
Sicily swiped away fresh tears with the back of her hands. “It would be different with us. If we lived in America, we’d be grateful for our lives.”
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “Although I’d prefer to live in a cabin with the Four Lumberjacks of Switzerland.”
“Wouldn’t they tire you out?” she wiped the last of her tears.
“No way.” I shook my head. “I’d want them and all three of the Hemsworth brothers. One for each day of the week.”
Sicily placed her hand over her mouth to hide a giggle. “You’re so bad!”
My heart lightened at the sight of her smile. The chances of us ever leaving the Isle of Fae were nil, but I hoped that the box really did contain iPads. If Lady Gala was distracted by the shiny, new technology, she wouldn’t come hunting to finish what she had started.
I glanced at the timer on our DVD player. It was off. Probably because the solar panel had disconnected itself from the battery again. Later, when Elijah arrived, I would ask him to fix the electricity and update me on the situation with the curse-happy Lady Gala of Nevermore.
Chapter 3
Neither of us dared to venture outside in case Lady Gala decided to return with the drake. Instead, we spent the morning wrangling with the batteries of our solar power system. It took us a couple of hours to do what Elijah could achieve in ten seconds, but we got the electricity running again.
After a late breakfast, we blotted out the morning’s events with highlights of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. It made for hypnotic watching. Here on Fae Island, humans aged faster than they did in the outside world, or at least that’s how we looked compared to the people on the DVDs. Very few people had cosmetics or Extreme Makeovers.
I leaned forward in my seat and let out a wistful sigh at the rich bitches on the television. Our grandmothers were virtually indistinguishable from hags, except a hag had magic and could outrun a horse when sufficiently angered.
In this episode, one of the women held a dinner party fit for faerie royalty with gold-patterned plates and gilded crystalware. When they brought out the food, my mouth watered. It wasn’t like we were hungry here, as the fae allowed humans to work on their lands and keep a fraction of what they produced. The UN also brought in food from the outside world, but we couldn’t put ingredients together to create spectacular and varied dishes.
One of the housewives fed a lapdog from a gold-rimmed glass. Sicily huffed. “Even the dogs eat better on the outside.”
The camera switched to the stony face of the woman who owned the glass. “Uh-oh. I think another fight’s going to break out.”
Sicily leaned forward. “This’ll be good.”
Someone knocked on the door.
Panic exploded across my chest, and both our heads snapped up. What if it was Prince Rory and Lady Gala, here for round two of my punishment? I placed my hand on the armrest and pushed myself up.
Sicily grabbed my arm and hissed, “Don’t answer that.”
“But she can break the door down,” I whispered back.
“If that’s her, she won’t be able to enter without an invitation.”
I gulped. Sicily was right. The magic that King Oberon set up to protect humans from faerie mischief meant th
at the fae couldn’t barge into our dwellings. It didn’t stop them from tricking or bargaining with a human to kick down the door and drag us out.
“Get in the bedroom,” she whispered. “I’ll see who’s there.”
I grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction of the other door. “Let’s both hide.”
“No.” Sicily stood and walked across the room. “I have to know what we’re up against.” She reached our front door and paused.
Nausea writhed in my belly, a physical manifestation of my cowardice. I desperately wanted to face Lady Gala. To tell her she was no better than us, just lucky to have been born a fae and then to have become fated to marry one of the princes. But not even the lower fae spoke out against the royals. Everyone around here was so quick to take offense, and grudges could last generations.
Instead of facing my enemy, I scurried to the other room, shut the door, and placed my ear against the wood.
The muffled sound of knocking from outside continued, and sweat poured down my brow. Sicily wouldn’t say something foolish, would she? Even though she had been impeccably polite to Lady Gala, that encounter had upset her even more than it had upset me.
I heard the slide of one iron bolt and then another. Then the front door creaked open, reminding me that it needed oiling. My throat dried.
“Where’s Unity?” asked a familiar voice. “What happened this morning?”
“Elijah!” Relief turned Sicily’s voice breathy.
He rushed into the room. “I just heard Unity defied one of the Fated in the middle of Doolish!”
The front door slammed shut. I opened the bedroom door and poked my head out. “What are they all saying?”
Elijah stood in the middle of the living room, an imposing figure in his white overalls and his transparent, dragonfly wings fluttering behind his back. Despite my troubles, a jolt of attraction shot through my heart. Elijah’s father was a full-blooded faerie, which accounted for the wings, cerulean-blue eyes, and copper-colored hair. His mother was a human, which gave him a similar rugged handsomeness to the Lumberjacks of Switzerland.
“What the bloody hell happened, Uni?” He spread his arms in a wide WTF shrug.