Ferrous (Fae's Folly Book 1)

by Valerie Mars

  And it’s badass.

  “Have we even had an evil queen?”

  She bites her lower lip in thought. “Queen Marigold was close, but she was Spring through and through and preferred gauzy gowns hand-painted with butterflies. It made quite the juxtaposition.”

  I hoist up the dress. “It looks warm. I’m trying it on.”

  Ferra eyeballs the spiky purple quartz. “I’m gonna help you with this one.”

  I’d rather not, but I see no way around it. My biceps are already struggling to hold the weight of the dress.

  She stands on the bed she seems to love brutalizing and waves me over. “Give it to me here and I’ll hold it above so you can wiggle underneath.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” I hand her the dress and slip out of the borrowed one. You served me well, lily scented wrap dress. She has it raised by the time I’m ready, and with her help I’m able to find my way through. The lack of struggle in her arms doesn’t escape my notice.

  “I’d let you be my dark queen in a heartbeat, Mallybrook,” she says while repositioning the epaulets. Then she points to the mirror, and I rush to have a look-see.

  “I just need a pewter crown with amethyst blades on it or something.” It’s like wearing a blanket with sleeves, except not in a dorky infomercial way. This mobile blanket’s fit for royalty, baby. It’s another outfit I know Clara would die to see, and it makes my heart hurt a little that she’s missing out again.

  Come to think of it, I wonder if she’s missing me. Here I am playing dress-up in Faerie when in the real world I disappeared about a week ago. Forget my Separatist cover story, what about my cover story for when I reappear and tell Clara it’s okay to take my face off the milk cartons? How do I explain that to my friends and coworkers? Are my parents already aware?

  Ferra senses the mood shift, and moves in to bolster what she perceives to be feelings of inadequacy.

  “Hey, did anyone ever tell you what gives amethyst its pleasant purple color?”

  “Probably not.”

  “It’s iron. The irradiation of it from nuclear decay in the surrounding rocks, actually. This dress wouldn’t be the same without a little iron, no?”

  “Are you trying to compare me to the glow of nuclear waste on its deathbed?” That earns me a flick on the forehead. “Oww!”

  “Don’t act obtuse, you aren’t convincing anyone.” She comes around to stand in front of me. “Apparently you need to hear this, so I’ll say it: Beautiful things rise from the presence of iron, yourself included.”

  Thanks for coming to my TED talk screams in my mind, but I don’t think that’s common knowledge for Techies. The side of me repulsed by vulnerability wants to gag at the saccharine pep talk, but the girl who’s gone through the looking glass edges a win. I’m fortunate to have her kindness so early in my stay.

  “I do look pretty badass,” I admit.

  Her arms cross as she examines my form. “But I do have one improvement we can squeeze in before leaving.”

  “You’re not about to pull a gamma ray out of your pocket, are you?”

  “Just your hair off your collarbones. Let me braid back the front and we’ll be on our way.”

  Her taste hasn’t failed me yet, so I agree, and we giggle about how weird it is seeing men in tunics and breeches after growing up around t-shirts and bellbottom jeans. I don’t tell her that men haven’t worn bell-bottoms in well over thirty years.

  19

  Mallory

  It’s difficult to pull off the evil queen look when you’re death gripping your new friend’s hand like it’s the last tether keeping you from being dragged to the netherworld. I pray the length of my stately wool dress can mask the quivering in my legs as I’m assaulted by vertigo at the top of the arena. We stand behind the highest row of seats, paralyzed by my fear of catching a toe and rag-dolling it all the way to the ground floor. Ferra guided me over here by hand after realizing what I was experiencing, no questions asked.

  “I guess Meadowbrook is a relatively flat homeland, huh?” She rubs my back with her other hand, which is half soothing and half worrying given that if she loses her balance, she’ll probably drag me down with her.

  “I’ve never been good with heights,” I huff.

  “Would you like to try sitting farther down? It might ease your fear during the ceremony itself.”

  The thought of walking down the steps makes me want to throw up, but I know she’s right. If I stay up here, I’ll experience waves of panic throughout the event as I stare upon the layers of body and stone below.

  “It likely will, yeah.” I search the crowd for a shaggy dishwater blond. Over three quarters of the Spring seating is full, but he isn’t there. “Ferra, do you know a Spring by the name Crescenzo or Enzo?”

  She frowns into the distance before shaking her head. “Never heard of them, but there are many people here. Is it someone from your settlement?”

  “Oh, no. I don’t expect to meet anyone here from home. I met him on our staircase today.”

  Her nose scrunches in revulsion. “He wasn’t hanging out there, was he?”

  “I mean, sort of. He’s a musician. I ran into him right before our landing as he was singing. I guess it’s good acoustics—anyway, I figured if he wasn’t a Separatist he’d be at the bottom, but that proved false. He seems like a nice enough guy.”

  Her eyebrows tell me she doubts that. “Uh-huh. Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up. In the meantime, want to meet the other Spring Separatists?”

  No, I don’t. But that’s the whole point of me being here, isn’t it?

  I feign enthusiasm. “Yes! It’s about time I do, eh? As long as you let me take it slow getting down there.”

  She nods. “Take a break when you need one, but keep in mind we only have like fifteen minutes.” She points out a cluster of ant-sized fae seated about ten rows from the bottom. “That’s our target.”

  I groan. It’s a long way to go. I withdraw my sweaty hand from hers, wiping it on my gown. “Gross. I’m sorry. Alright, let’s go.”

  It’s slow progress at first, but my confidence rises after the first few rows when I notice I’m still alive. Unfortunately, I’m still slow enough to disrupt the flow of non-acrophobic traffic. Several pairs of feet sound from behind, so I pull over to the side. Ferra falls in at the row above me.

  Three different high-pitched giggles ring out from the group, rendering them a gaggle in my mind. Two females draped in diaphanous gowns lead, linked arm in arm. They look back often, checking that they haven’t separated or wandered too far. A few males trail behind, their tunics equally impractical in the chilled evening air. More stream by, and Ferra’s lips send me into shivers as she speaks close to my ear.

  “Larkin’s harem. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  I whirl back to face her. “Wait, even the guys?”

  She leans in, voice so soft I wonder if my glamoured ears actually came with fae hearing. “You’ll understand when you see him.”

  I turn to watch the procession full-on, earning a hiss from Ferra at my impropriety. But I don’t much care. Wasn’t the entire purpose of tonight to get people to notice me, anyway? Poor impressions are still impressions.

  Another female passes our row before stopping to look back. “Larkin, how far are we going?” I follow her line of sight until I find the smooth voice answering her query. Ferra wasn’t playing around when she said I’d know when I see him. Even if he wasn’t speaking, I’d have known.

  He’s a lithe, blond Spring like the one Bash chose from the stained glass, but set on ultra mode. Lush hair frames his silhouette like a golden halo, the gentle waves cascading to his ribs reminiscent of the palest daffodils. His high cheekbones give way to dimples set low on the widest part of his diamond-shaped jaw, which is clean-shaven. He wears a long doublet with elongated shoulders, simple but effective in the way its pale blue and green tones complement his hair. I’m not a religious girl, but if this man told me right now that
he’s an angel from Heaven sent by the gods above, I’d sign up for Sunday school.

  To say he is aesthetically pleasing would be mincing words. All the fae I’ve seen are aesthetically pleasing. This is a whole different breed of gorgeous. Despite possessing unearthly beauty in their own right, the fae around him strike a comparison that makes his beauty all the more ethereal. Charming though they are, I cannot hope to find a single fae in this arena who isn’t woefully immeasurable against his likeness.

  I feel like an insect waiting to be squished by his superior feet, of which I’m sure are also stunning. Pulling away from his glory, I perform a drool check. A few unknowns walk through, and then he’s arrived. In an instant that lasts a lifetime, he engages me with pale green eyes and flashes his dimples. Then he’s gone, and the five fae traveling behind him survey me with suspicion.

  Ferra is also curious. “Have you met him before?” My cheeks burn.

  “If I have, there must be memory loss, because I’d remember a face like that,” I whistle.

  “Larkin Voss,” she says close to my ear again. “They call him the Prince of Spring, but that’s just for his looks and popularity. He comes from a common family.”

  “Is there a male nicknamed Prince for each season, or is that just a Spring thing?”

  “Maybe just Spring.” She shrugs. I can name a nominee for Autumn, though. “You good to go?”

  “Yep. Let’s roll—er, let’s just walk. Safely.”

  We make it down uninterrupted this time, and Ferra introduces me to a slew of Spring Separatists gathered in the stands. We sit on the edge of their group, which I’m thankful for given everything going on in the amphitheater. I’ll get to know them in smaller chunks later, but right now I just want to take in the sights. My seat falls on the border of Spring and Summer, and I find my mind wandering as Ferra falls into hushed conversation with the male beside her.

  I know I ought to listen, but my heart says to search for the teasing male I haven’t seen since—wait, it’s only been since yesterday? It feels longer. I guess Bash was my metaphorical anchor, after all.

  Boisterous, unapologetic laughter barges into my thoughts, coming from a couple rows above us in the Summer section. It could be any of the less inhibited Summer folk laughing, but I’d like to think I recognize this booming guffaw. Is Bash always this easy to locate?

  I crane my neck back and see a pack of meatheads gathered around two males. One is a hulking, brown-haired viking of a figure, while the other is unmistakably Sebastian Ankerstrand. They kneel in the stands, elbows propped onto the bench as they arm wrestle. Every single member of their group looks like they’ve come straight from the gym, their tunics soaked and hair tousled from sweat. A few Summer fae dressed normally from above and below cheer them on, making me wish again that I had joined Summer. They look fun.

  I guess it’s good that there will be one Summer for every quad, then. Everyone deserves a dose of Summer in their life.

  One of the numerous muscled males ends up blocking my view, but the victor is clear when Bash emerges from the crowd, standing on the bench with raised fists. He throws his head back and cheers before tilting his head back down. When his eyes focus, they land on mine. He goes slack-jawed, mouth and eyes widening to proportions comical enough that several of the Summers peer down to see what he’s reacting to.

  This is so not in my wheelhouse. While sticking out was the goal, I wasn’t expecting to get an Ankerstrand assist. Nor the Spring Prince’s attention. Bash quickly comes to his senses, dropping his head into a bow before turning back to his friends. I long to be at his side, where it’s warm and safe and he can do all the socializing for me.

  I shouldn’t cheapen the friend I’ve made in Ferra, though. Absolutely clutch. Especially if you count holding my sweaty hand down into the arena. I fear she’s going to prove far too observant for my convenience, however.

  Distracted from her conversation by the commotion in the Summer seating, she’s currently looking me over the same way she did when Larkin smiled at me minutes ago.

  “Mallybrook, why does it seem like the entire meat section is looking our way?”

  Bash isn’t the type to fib, so I lead with the truth. “Do you know Bash Ankerstrand up there?”

  “The one with copper hair from the Ember Isles, yeah?”

  “He was one of the fae who found me outside Appelton. I think my outfit surprised him, causing everyone to try to see what he was gawking at.”

  “Well, aren’t you a lucky little thing? Found by an Ankerstrand and smiled upon by the Spring Prince. I was found by an ancient farmer after getting tangled in his cow fencing. You could smell the 1600s on him.”

  I chuckle. “At least he must have been easy to say goodbye to.”

  The cherry-blond male next to Ferra—Laith?—chimes in. “Please don’t tell me you’re pining after that lady-killer already.”

  “Bash? He’s just a flirt, isn—”

  Ferra is already shaking her head. “I wouldn’t get attached. He certainly won’t.”

  It puts a sour taste in my mouth to see the two of them dish such a poor opinion of Bash after all he’s done to help me through this week. I don’t want to believe it’s true, but the signs were there along the way. I had best guard my heart around him. Not that it’ll be difficult. I don’t expect our paths to cross often.

  “You guys just want him for your own quads, don’t you?” I tease. It’s better they don’t know the impact of their words.

  “A hot head like him?” Ferra scoffs. “Pass.”

  Laith seems to mull it over. “I could do worse for a bedfellow.” Ferra slaps him on the arm. “What? You know that’s all these quads are going to lead to. The whole thing’s based on mating ceremonies as it is.”

  My brain goes straight back to the porn glass. Celeste said I can quit after a week if this becomes treacherous…does juggling three supernatural dicks count as treacherous?

  It doesn’t for Laith, at least. He and Ferra carry on, and I drift in and out of their conversation as I search the crowd for Kai first, then Ryland once I’ve given up. Maybe he’s been assigned security duties for tonight and is lurking in a shadow somewhere.

  Ryland sits in the second row of Autumn, directly across the arena from Spring. It’s difficult to make out his features, but his hair and dark doublet from earlier are a dead giveaway. A young female sits next to him, the pair absorbed in conversation. Her hair possesses lilac notes, offering a more rosy metallic hue than Ryland’s lavender-tinted silver. Ryland laughs at something she says, a rare expression on his features. Could that be Twyla?

  Suddenly, it gets quiet. The roar of the arena drops exponentially with each passing fraction of a second, and I drop my gaze to the center. The council makes their way to the stage, dressed like they’re about to announce the Quarter Quell. They might as well be. The fact their war comes with the promise of super cool magic powers probably does a lot to garner enthusiasm, though.

  The hush descends into complete silence as Celeste steps to the front of the council. She glances over her shoulder at Ramsey Everhart, who gives a firm nod. “Citizens of Faerie,” she begins. “From the depths of my soul to the stars above, I would like to thank you for answering the call tonight.” Her voice sounds like it’s coming from two feet away, an impressive feat no doubt aided by Ryland’s father. How long is that sustainable, anyway? “You will be the greatest hope of our realm in the months to come.”

  I don’t think a single body moves, the weight of her words blanketing the crowd like a second silence.

  “As many of you have witnessed, a great scourge afflicts our population. It travels from town to town, infecting our people with a ferrous disease; an iron blight. The source of this threat? I inform you with a heavy heart that the council has determined it to be of Techie origin.”

  A few gasps sound in the amphitheater, but most of the attendees appear unsurprised.

  “I lost friends I’ve loved for centuries,” she s
ays, wiping a stray tear. “Fae gone long before their time, stolen by heretics. The council says no more. We invoke Oberon’s Clause and invite you to join us in defending our homeland.”

  A clipped shout reverberates throughout the stands in unison, particularly strong in the Summer section. I don’t catch their words, but surmise it’s the fae equivalent of “Sir, yes sir!” Their voices vibrate throughout my bones, like heavy bass at a concert.

  “We do not ask this lightly of you, the descendants of those who have already sacrificed so much. You will regain what we lost in answering this call, but it comes at the dearest price. Please weigh this in your hearts and depart the citadel tomorrow morning if you find the path before you too arduous. But know that war does not ask for consent before marching onto your doorstep. For those who embrace this heroic undertaking, we honor your courage and look forward to seeing you at the icebreaker tomorrow evening.”

  Celeste bows, the crowd erupting into applause. Ravenna holds out her index finger, nodding to Lazarus Varigarde, who whispers into Celeste’s ear. Her mouth flies open at his words. She presses her hands into a steeple, addressing the stadium with a sheepish wince.

  “My apologies, everyone.” She waits for the applause to dissolve. “It seems I’ve forgotten the most important part. Everyone wants to know what the icebreaker is, right?” A few cheers sound from the Spring section. Hey, party people. “Tomorrow’s event will begin in the castle ballroom at the golden hour. To better facilitate the fraternizing of seasons necessary to form a quad, we’re hosting a glamoured gala! Dress to impress and prepare to socialize for the sake of the realm.”

  Several of the council members wipe a palm across their face, Kai’s father beginning to massage his temples. The crowd just laughs.