Ferrous (Fae's Folly Book 1)

by Valerie Mars

  “Glamoured accessories will be delivered to your residences. We ask that you wear them at the mixer to hide your identity. Rest well, and we’ll see you at the golden hour!” When she bows this time, the council seems more than happy to escort her from the grounds, signaling the end of our assembly. The spectators send them off with a final round of applause, and it sinks in that they’ve thrown me a huge bone for spying if I can only figure out how to use it.

  Problem is, I won’t be the only one wearing a facade. How good is a spy if she can’t determine her sources?

  I exchange a knowing look with Ferra. There’s no way we’re leaving for the mixer without having a look at each other’s glamours first. We vow to do so before saying goodnight, and I climb into bed, both exhausted and exhilarated.

  My last thoughts before drifting off are of sweet Roslyn Underhill and her magic. I really hope it wasn’t just her slaving away on all the party glamours.

  20

  Mallory

  The benefit of naming the girl with shit confidence a spy? No one will ever suspect her. Disadvantage of that same girl? It’s hard to play double agent when your first inclination is to avoid people. Breakfast is looking like it’ll be another gauntlet, but then I spot Ferra. Seated closest to the doors and farthest from the buffet line, she snags me the moment I enter, motioning me over to join her group of four.

  I recognize Laith from last night, but the other two fae are new. A Winter male with midnight blue hair and violet eyes greets me with a wide smile that doesn’t match his gloomy appearance as a female comes up for air from the French toast platter she’s elbow-deep in.

  “Murphy,” she says, waving her fork before taking another bite.

  “And this is Kael,” Ferra says, gesturing to the male. He sets his black coffee down to shake my hand.

  “Ferra said you’ve just arrived?” He turns to the table. “I sure envy you Spring men, Laith.” It’s an unfair compliment coming from someone who looks like a hair model for vegan fashion colors. I mean that in a good way.

  Murphy looks up from her carb-laden smorgasbord, cerulean eyes raking over my face. “A shame, really. She could have easily swung Summer.” I’m starting to wonder if I lost a battle with the Sorting Hat and should have pushed for Summer instead, but then I wouldn’t have Ferra. And let’s be honest, she’s done all the heavy spy work so far.

  Ferra vehemently nods in agreement. “She has the Summer spunk, but I think she’s way too sweet to be warped by your ways.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I mutter while hanging one of my new cloaks over the seat next to Ferra, across from Kael. A few of them dryly chuckle, and I excuse myself to search for ingredients to make a plate competitive with Murphy’s.

  One thing I notice on my way to and from the buffet is that most of the room sits fairly segregated compared to our Separatist table. Shades of blue and black huddle together at one table, with brunettes and coppers at the next. I must pass some of Larkin’s posse at one point, because a group of beautiful fair-headed fae begin to whisper in my wake. I really hope that fae, in their centuries of living in some cases, are past the whole high school thing. I have little desire to start a second war over some idol smiling at me in passing. They can have him. My plate of man meat is overflowing as it is.

  Anyway, the council’s reasoning for making the gala masked is understandable upon surveying this room. A lot of these fae need encouragement to mingle.

  The four Separatists are close to finished by the time I return, Kael and Ferra well into their second cups of coffee. I brought my second with my first round, because why pretend I’ll stop at one? I plop down with my proud mountain of French toast and get to work as Kael continues their discussion.

  “So why throw myself into a war for a realm that considers me of such little value? Any Separatist caught in a quad will become a glorified meat shield, anyway.”

  Murphy flips her peach-tinted hair. “Why not go home, then? Hell, why even join society?”

  He stares up into the rafters while his fingers drum on the edge of the table. “I have my reasons for being here. Let that windowless garret you crawl into every night serve as a reminder of what they really think of you.”

  Ferra chimes in to break the tension. “It’s more romantic if you call it a loft, Kael.”

  “Pretty lies, but lies nonetheless,” he says, grabbing his tray. “I’ll be on the grounds.”

  Laith whistles. The three of them exchange winces at his departure, Murphy leaning in on her elbows. “His village wasn’t as welcoming as others. Don’t let him spoil this for you. Not everyone here is a judgy bastard.” Is she referring to Kael, or to all the other fae?

  I take a long sip of creamy coffee, but still don’t summon anything witty to say. “Tonight will make things interesting then, yeah?”

  “No doubt it will, but it’s creepy to think the council’s going to be watching all our interactions. Do you think they’ll start clearing their throats or something if they notice you interacting with someone whose magic doesn’t suit yours?” Murphy pauses, beckoning us to lean closer. “And why is everyone overlooking the fact we originally used this herbal tea for mating, huh? Anyone else concerned about what that means for a group of warriors?” She waggles her brows in a way that screams of Bash.

  I toss up both my hands. “Hey, I don’t even know what season I am yet…”

  The three of them respond at the same time.

  “Summer!” Murphy.

  “Spring.” Ferra and Laith.

  I sigh. “The magic will decide for us, anyway. Maybe in some fucked up group I’ll be the Winter.” I plaster on an unconvincing smile.

  The girls giggle while Laith shakes his head. “Definitely not Winter.”

  “Nope,” Murphy agrees.

  We’re returning our trays when I feel a tickle on the back of my neck. “Meet me in the study once you leave. Do you remember the way?” I should have recognized the sensation on my neck as Ryland’s wind. I look down slowly, then lift my head, hoping he’ll interpret it as a nod. “See you soon,” he whispers in return.

  I look around the room for a hint that someone witnessed what just happened, but everyone’s behaving as they were. How does this wind thing work? Is there a way someone can intercept a conversation by shuffling into the wrong place at the right time? I’d love to see someone accidentally hear something they weren’t meant to, then look around the room wondering who just told them they’re waiting in a hotel room with edible underpants or something.

  Not that I hope Faerie has edible underwear.

  Or that Ryland would be wind-whispering me such things.

  I appreciate the tickle it always sends down my spine, but having a sinus infection can do that sometimes, too. And just as no one wishes to prolong a sinus infection, I don’t intend to lengthen this meeting.

  “You appear to be making numerous Separatist acquaintances. I’m somewhat surprised by your networking,” Ryland says while folding a leg over his quads. It draws attention to his tight pants, which isn’t fair in the slightest.

  I could take credit for it, but neither of us would be convinced. “I lucked out in meeting Ferra. She’s a social girl and happy to arrange introductions.”

  “And?”

  “And what, Ryland?”

  His eyes narrow. “Have you anything to report?”

  I consider it. “I mean, not really. There’s a Winter guy named Kael who’s pretty unhappy about sacrificing himself for the same population who would call him a ‘sep,’ though.”

  “See if you can learn more from him. It sounds like he’s bitter about not feeling accepted. Use that vulnerability to your advantage.”

  It’s infuriating to me how callous and calculated that sounds, given how little thought he gave before responding. He’s probably already used the same tactics on me. “It sounds like you should have been the spy instead,” I mumble.

  Fae hearing prevails. Not that I expected my mutter
ing to go unanswered. “Not all espionage carries out in the shadows, mortal. Offer something toward a target’s motives, and they’ll tell you everything you want to know in broad daylight. How many embarrassing stories would you relay to me if I said they’d earn you a portal home this evening?”

  “Considering I’d never see you again, as many as it’d take.”

  “Touché, but you see my point. Spying isn’t simply showing up to happen upon a conversation; spying is steering the conversation. That’s our focus today, and I’ve brought in an expert to assist.”

  Cool fingertips shade my eyes from behind, and I jolt in my seat. “Fuck!”

  Ryland dryly chuckles from across the table. “Breathe, Brooks.” I suck wind, willing my pulse to calm. “No, through your nose.”

  “You’re not my real dad and you never will be, Everhart,” I grate out in shaky tones while enacting his suggestion nonetheless. It hits me on the third pass, when my heart has begun to entertain the possibility that it may live another day: pine and eucalyptus. I spring from my seat. “Kai?”

  I spin around and see his shy smile as his hands meet his sides. His glacial eyes put me both on edge and at ease, a feat considering his bashful demeanor. I throw my arms around his waist, digging my face into his chest. “I missed you!”

  “It’s been…a day? You’ve looked like you’re having fun.” He pulls the same lame shit I saw when Bash hugged him, patting me on the back a few times. I guess they don’t teach you how to hug in spooky Shadow school.

  I step back from the one-sided embrace. His cheeks might be pink. “Were you spying on me?”

  Okay, now his cheeks are pink. He runs a hand through his ashy, delectably wavy hair. “I vowed to protect you, did I not?”

  “I don’t remember those exact words, but—wait, how much have you seen?”

  His eyebrows fly up so quickly they could have dragged him to the ceiling. “Are there parts I wasn’t supposed to?”

  “Of course! I mean, maybe. I don’t know. Probably. A girl’s got to know when she has her privacy or not.”

  He snorts. “Just once in the stairwell and in the hall on your way to breakfast. And the amphitheater, if it counts. My father is keeping me busy.”

  “Oh my god, I didn’t even realize that was you on the stairs! I thought I had caught a whiff of Ferra’s toothpaste.”

  “I think she knew,” he winces, “but Shadows are an expected part of citadel life.”

  “If you two are about finished, we have gala nonsense to go over before the lesson,” Ryland interrupts. I give Kai one last smile before returning to my seat. He sits between Ryland and I on the longer edge of the table. We look to the taller man, who retrieves a small box from within his cloak’s inner pocket. “Roslyn fashioned a glamour for tonight that comes with ears,” he says, pushing it across the table.

  “I’m glad she thought of that, because I sure as shit didn’t.”

  “You don’t get to keep this one, but do pretend that they delivered it to your room the same as everyone else. Try it on so Varigarde and I know what you’ll look like tonight.”

  I lift the lid, and inside are a pair of ear climbers that look like sprigs of real lavender. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was actual lavender dipped in resin like everything else I adore here. “Sticking with the flower theme. I like it.” What I don’t like, however, is the way they fall right into Ryland’s family colors. I put one on, but my auburn hair still sits over my shoulder and the citrus smell prevails.

  “You need to wear both for it to work,” Kai says.

  “And remove your ring,” Ryland adds. I take it off and his nostrils flare immediately.

  “Yadda yadda, I smell like iron, I know.”

  He frowns with a smidgen of innocence. “It’s far improved from when you were in possession of the meteorite. Still mortal, though.”

  I move to insert the second earring, everything changing when the post enters my lobe. I’m overwhelmed by lavender as goosebumps erupt over the nape of my neck. I pat the back of my hair, finding it sits in some elaborate up-do. At least I won’t smell like hairspray all night. When I lower my arms, I discover they’re missing freckles. I was kind of hoping for a deep tan I’d never be able to achieve in real life, but I’m even paler than before. “Guys, what colors are my hair and eyes now?” Holy guacamole, my voice even changed a little.

  “You’ve become the brightest of Winter, with—” Kai begins before being shushed by Ryland.

  “Let her find out later. We have learning to do.” He turns to me. “You can take them off now.”

  I push a sigh through my nostrils. “And what about you guys? How will I know who you are at the gala?”

  “You won’t.”

  “Rad. I’m sure nothing bad can come of that.”

  Ryland leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Let’s be truthful, Brooks. Your spy points are all sunk into the social game, and even that isn’t up to snuff. Your best hope of success tonight is to treat everyone as an unknown. Recognizing us will only disrupt the one strength you have, weak as it may be.”

  I look to Kai, who shifts uncomfortably. “We’ll make ourselves known if necessary, and the council will know who you are.”

  “That’s true.” I tear the earrings off, stuffing them into the box before crossing my arms like a petulant child. “Alright, 007,” I say, shifting to face Kai. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  The lesson went well until it didn’t. Ryland let Kai take the reins, which made for a pleasant first half. He pointed out the nervous tells I have, like fidgeting with my hands and tightening my shoulders. He then expanded on that topic, telling me the signs to look for that indicate when someone is lying or evading the truth. We covered the basics of manipulation, such as asking someone about themselves or showing gratitude after receiving a small favor to create trust. All of it was useful, but only if I remember to use it while in action.

  It’s when we expand on manipulation that Ryland inserts himself into the conversation, pointing out a method he believes we overlooked. “Don’t forget your feminine wiles.” Kai squirms in his seat, shooting me a silent apology.

  “Define wiles, Everhart.”

  “It shouldn’t be difficult for a girl belonging to the race which breeds like rabbits to figure out.”

  “Are you sure I even possess the sexual manipulations you speak of? Surely they wouldn’t be effective on the intelligent people of Faerie.”

  “Squandered though they are, you do possess them. It isn’t intellect that sexual charms prey upon, anyway.” He walks over to the window, kneading his brow. “That’s a lovely pair of riding pants you have on this morning.” He can stress the fact they’re meant for riding all he wants, but I don’t give a shit. They’re comfy. “Do you recall what you wore here yesterday?”

  “Of course. It was Ferra’s dress.”

  He turns from the window, pacing to a bookcase. “And do you remember gazing out onto the garden?”

  “Yes. And?”

  He paces back to the window, perching one knee on the bench before looking over his shoulder. “This is how you looked,” he says, popping his booty like he’s about to get low at the club. Kai pretends to choke on vomit, but I can feel my cheeks heating already. Whether that’s because of my current view or the view I apparently treated Ryland to yesterday, I cannot say, but my cheeks are hot hot hot.

  I stare at him in silence, waiting to see what he’ll do if we just leave him hanging in twerk position. I regret this choice when his sneer forms, likely in reaction to the changing colors of my complexion. He pounces off the bench, striding over until his collarbones monopolize my view. Cardamom rain washes over me, bringing with it a calm that betrays my annoyance. Tall bastard.

  His eyes sear into me from above with a predatory gleam, like he’s won a game I didn’t realize we were playing. “No intellect required, am I right?”

  “You tell me,” I retort, crossing my arms in a way that exaggerates the view abov
e the deep v-cut of my sweater.

  Kai claps his hand together. “And thaaaat’s our lesson for today.” He forces us apart and hands me my cloak, but not before I witness something that has me feeling like a champ. Below the cold schooling of Ryland’s face, I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he undeniably gulps.

  It occurs to me as I’m being shoved out the door that my sexual charms have already been hard at work. On Ryland Everhart.

  21

  Bash

  “You’re getting soft, Ankerstrand,” Sage Voss grits out as I narrowly side-step his slash. He has a point. I’ve spent so long sheltered in my workshop that my reflexes have become sluggish—movements once instinctual now buried beneath a sea of thoughts. I’ve never felt so heavy on the sands.

  But oh, how I’ve missed them. Hammering away on a chunk of metal is a brilliant stress relief, but it doesn’t compare to hammering away on an opponent. I’ve felt alive all morning, sinking into that part of myself I’ve kept locked away for so many years.

  The first match has me confident, and after the third I’m downright cocky. My fifth match brings reality with the force of a hammer, however. Or in my case, Sage’s sword. He’s gaining ground, and we both know it. My footwork gets sloppy as fatigue sets in, my breaths growing more labored with each exchange. I’m out of shape.

  It crosses my mind to feel ashamed, but catching a little wind is nothing compared to the public indecencies of my past. Without August and Wren, this war is looking like my one actual shot at redemption. Not with the public, but with myself.

  Sage drives his broadsword upward, and it takes all my remaining grip strength to suffer through the shock waves created by parrying his thrust. It’s humbling to see how far I’ve fallen in proficiency. Even while teaching the children in our village. I toss back a laugh without meaning to, thinking of how silly it is to have touched swords every day of my absence without actually using one with purpose.