To Wear a Fae Crown (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 2)

by Tessonja Odette

  “Exactly,” he says without remorse. “Considering your mother is being held under charges of treason, any conversations we have outside of an official trial are of no use. We are both better off waiting until then to speak more on the matter.”

  Foxglove puts his hand on mine for a moment, a silent request for me to regather my composure. “If the trial isn’t held for two more weeks,” he says, “we should delay all actions regarding the treaty until then.”

  Mayor Coleman shakes his head. “That won’t do. Eisleigh’s council has already given your king ample allowances to secure the treaty, and numerous times he’s failed. This is the last chance we’re giving him.”

  “But this most recent setback is not King Aspen’s making,” Foxglove argues.

  “Isn’t it, though?” The mayor scoffs. “Your king requested Evelyn Fairfield by name after the Holstrom girls were executed. He bypassed our selection of my nieces and received the Fairfield girls in their stead. For all we know, he could have selected them on purpose, knowing their fae heritage. He could have done it to compromise the treaty.”

  Foxglove doesn’t argue. Even though I know the mayor’s theory is wrong, I also know how the humans—and many of the fae too, for that matter—view Aspen. They see him as cruel, volatile, and reckless. They don’t realize everything he does is meant to maintain balance in Faerwyvae.

  But there’s something else tugging at my mind. Something that doesn’t quite add up. “If Eisleigh’s council thinks Aspen is responsible for this newest complication, then why are you giving him a final chance at all? Why not consider it a breaking of the treaty?”

  Foxglove throws me a sharp look, one I ignore as I keep my eyes fixed on the mayor.

  “We don’t want war, Miss Fairfield. Giving King Aspen a final offer to maintain peace is mutually beneficial to both humans and fae. We have every right to withhold this generous proposition, but we are giving him the benefit of the doubt one last time.” He says this with confidence, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty that crosses his face, so subtle I almost miss it.

  My eyes lock on his, seeking what he’s leaving unsaid. I hold his gaze, and it feels like I have his eyes in a cage of my own making, a bird trapped between my fingers. I see it in my mind’s eye; his attention is that bird, and the cage is my will. The longer I hold both, the more pliant the mayor becomes. “There’s something you aren’t telling me,” I say, my words rolling with a calm yet deadly fire. “Tell me why you’re really doing this.”

  The mayor’s face seems to have gone slack, but his eyes are still locked on mine, pupils dilated like enormous black saucers. “King Ustrin demanded our compliance. He’s put us in an exceedingly difficult place.”

  My mouth falls open, and with it goes the image of the bird held within the cage of my hands.

  The mayor blinks several times, cheeks burning crimson. He leans back in his chair, a subtle move, but it’s like he wants to put space between us. Like he’s…scared.

  I’m keenly aware of Foxglove’s stare. I meet it, but I’m not sure what it means. He seems flustered.

  But why? I can’t help but wonder at the strange imagery that flooded my mind moments ago when I met the mayor’s eyes. One word comes to mind. Glamour. I glamoured the mayor.

  Of course I didn’t. All this nonsense is just getting to my head.

  I focus instead on what Mayor Coleman said. That King Ustrin demanded compliance. I ponder the name and try to match a face to it. Then I recall the fae who approached me in the hall after Aspen won back his throne from Cobalt. Orange scales, lipless mouth, slitted nostrils—the King of Fire. I shudder. I don’t know much about the lizard king, but our first encounter left me nothing but unsettled.

  I furrow my brow. “What does King Ustrin have to do with anything?”

  The mayor pins me with a chilling glare. “That is not up for discussion either.”

  “Mayor Coleman,” Foxglove says, his light tone in stark contrast against the tension building in the room, “if the human council is willing to allow King Aspen a final chance to secure the treaty, then I don’t see why another two weeks will matter. He and Evelyn Fairfield have done all but the final step in securing the treaty. If there is even the slightest chance they can finish what they’ve already begun, I think it’s worth waiting for.”

  “No,” the mayor says. “If your king wants to secure the treaty and prevent Maven Fairfield’s execution, then he will accept my nieces as his new Chosen. You will bring them to the Autumn Court tonight. King Aspen will take the eldest as his wife and perform all acts required by the treaty in a single day by the end of one week.”

  “King Aspen has already made Evelyn his mate,” Foxglove argues.

  “That doesn’t make her his wife.”

  “They have performed the Bonding ritual.” He says bonding in a half-whisper, like it pains him to utter the word aloud. Considering his reluctance to tell me about it before the mate ceremony, I assume it isn’t discussed with humans often.

  Mayor Coleman, however, shows no sign of reverence as he says, “If Miss Fairfield never sees King Aspen again, the Bond is of no consequence between them.”

  His words send anger and nausea swirling inside me, a volatile mix that makes my head spin. No consequence. Never see King Aspen again.

  The study door opens, pulling me from my thoughts. My mind sharpens as two figures enter the room. One is the guard who left earlier. The other I recognize as Sheriff Bronson, Sableton’s law enforcer. There’s no doubt he’s here for me.

  “Evelyn Fairfield,” the mayor says, “you are sentenced to imprisonment.”

  7

  Sheriff Bronson takes a step toward me, and the mayor’s two guards follow suit. I stand, knocking my chair over in the process. Foxglove springs to his feet a moment later, blocking my body with his. He holds his palms before him, as if they stand a chance against the swords at the guards’ waists or the sheriff’s revolver—a gun! Such a rare weapon to see in my village, or on the isle at all, for that matter. At least no weapon has been drawn yet.

  “Wait,” Foxglove says. “Until a trial proves otherwise, Evelyn Fairfield is a subject of the Autumn Court. You cannot harm her or hold her captive.”

  “Miss Fairfield is suspected of treason alongside her mother,” Mayor Coleman says through his teeth. “She will be escorted to Sableton’s jail tonight, and tomorrow she and her mother will be transported to the Spire to be held until the trial.”

  “It will be easier if you come willingly.” Sheriff Bronson extends his hand, expression apologetic. I’m sure this is awkward for him. It’s not that we know each other well, but he’s been Sableton’s sheriff since I was a little girl.

  “Besides, wouldn’t you rather be with your mother?” The mayor’s voice is mocking, grating on my ears. But his words meet their mark, taking the fight from me as my mind fills with images of Mother alone in a dark cell.

  “She’s being kept comfortable, as will you,” Bronson says, his tone far more placating than the mayor’s. “That comfort will be extended during your stay, and I’ve been assured it will be maintained at the Spire.”

  The mayor clears his throat. “When we hear word from your sister, she will join you as well.”

  I lay a gentle hand on Foxglove’s shoulder, wordlessly asking him to stand down. “What will happen to us after the trial?”

  “Afterward,” the mayor says, “the three of you will be exiled to mainland Bretton.”

  “Only if your suspicions prove correct,” Foxglove says.

  The mayor nods.

  Exiled to the mainland. At least it isn’t execution.

  There was a time not long ago when I would have given anything to move to the mainland. But that was before the Reaping. Before Faerwyvae. Before Aspen. Now it’s all over. Even if Mother is proven innocent at her trial, it will be too late for me and him. He’ll already be married by then.

  But my mother will live. She’ll live and we’ll be together. It’s a
ll I can focus on if I’m to prevent another emotional breakdown.

  “I’ll go to my imprisonment willingly.” My voice comes out with a tremor. “Foxglove will take the new Chosen to the Autumn Court.”

  “A wise choice,” the mayor says.

  I face Sheriff Bronson as frantic footsteps sound in the hall, followed by a much slower set farther down. The familiar figure that emerges through the threshold catches me off guard.

  “Do not imprison her,” Mr. Meeks says through panting breaths. The aging surgeon doesn’t so much as look at me as he approaches the mayor’s desk. “I will host her until the trial.”

  Mayor Coleman shakes his head. “She must be held behind bars.”

  “She’s just a girl,” Mr. Meeks says. “She cannot be subjected to the indignity of prison.”

  I bristle at being called just a girl, but the sentiment softens my heart. My former mentor, who I apprenticed under for two years, is the one human I respect above all others. And he’s here fighting on my behalf.

  He continues. “Even if proven guilty of having fae blood, the fault will not lie with her but with her mother. I’ve known Miss Fairfield since she was a child, and can attest that she knew of no secret heritage. Do not punish her for her ignorance.”

  The second set of footsteps crosses the threshold, revealing an unfamiliar man. He appears to be in his thirties, wearing cream trousers and a navy-blue jacket and waistcoat. He’s tall with neatly trimmed dark-blond hair, a slim mustache, and pale blue eyes that match his silk cravat.

  Mayor Coleman lets out a grumble of relief. “Councilman Duveau, please speak some sense into Mr. Meeks.”

  Mr. Duveau scans the room, gaze roving from the mayor to Mr. Meeks, then gliding to Foxglove. Finally, it settles on me, although he doesn’t meet my eyes.

  Mr. Meeks faces the newcomer. “Henry, please allow Miss Fairfield this comfort. Let her stay with me while she awaits her mother’s trial. I will escort her to the Spire myself when the time comes.”

  The mayor opens his mouth to argue, but Henry Duveau speaks first. “I don’t see the problem, Mayor Coleman. Miss Fairfield can do what she pleases. She can return to the Autumn Court for all I care, so long as she and her sister attend the trial and submit to their sentence.”

  The mayor looks taken aback, cheeks burning. “If we don’t lock her up now, what is to keep her from going into hiding?”

  “She’ll have ample incentive,” Mr. Duveau says. “More than she has now, in fact.”

  I shudder as he faces me. “What do you mean?”

  When he looks at me, there’s no malice in his expression, no teasing. He’s stoic. Confident. “You and your sister will present yourselves at the Spire by the twenty-fourth of October. If you fail to do so, your mother will be executed and a bounty will be placed on your heads.”

  I’m reeling from his statement, so much that I can’t utter a word.

  He returns to face the mayor. “See? Let her do what she will between now and then. Either way, the threat will be eliminated in the end.”

  What threat? I want to ask, but I still can’t find my words.

  “Fine,” Mayor Coleman says with a sneer. “You heard Councilman Duveau. The choice is yours.”

  I swallow hard. “I already told you my choice. I’ll stay with my mother.”

  Mr. Meeks faces me. “No, Miss Fairfield. Please allow me to spare you such humiliation.”

  “If it’s humiliating for me, it can’t be any better for my mother.”

  “But she wouldn’t want this for you, dear girl,” he argues. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do my best to protect you when she cannot.”

  The tender look in his eyes crushes me. I always knew he was fond of me as his apprentice, but I never expected him to care so deeply. To seek to protect me like the father figure I always wished he were. My eyes move to Mr. Duveau. “My mother will be cared for? She won’t be harmed in prison if I stay with Mr. Meeks?”

  “I’ll even make you a bargain,” he says, “that no harm will come to your mother while she’s imprisoned, so long as you promise to attend her trial. Do you accept this bargain?”

  I’m caught off guard by his choice of words until I realize he thinks he’s making a fae bargain. Because for some crazy reason no one will tell me, he thinks I’m fae. “Yes, I accept.”

  “Where will you choose to await her trial?”

  Before I can respond, Foxglove puts a hand on my shoulder, a weak smile tugging his lips. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “There’s the other option he mentioned. You could return to Autumn with me.”

  Autumn. I could return to Bircharbor, spend two more weeks with Aspen. A distant trill of laughter falls on my ears, muffled through the hall that stands between here and the parlor. I know who it belongs to. Aspen’s new Chosen. His soon-to-be-wife. If I return to Bircharbor, it won’t be to a respite. Being there for two weeks means I’ll have to witness his wedding to Maddie Coleman. The thought alone sends bile rising to my throat.

  “I’ll go with Mr. Meeks,” I say, “if I will be allowed to speak with my mother before she’s taken to the Spire.”

  “No,” the mayor says at the same time as Mr. Meeks says, “Of course.”

  Mr. Duveau rolls his eyes. “Let her see her mother.”

  “You can visit her first thing in the morning,” Mr. Meeks says.

  “Very well.” The mayor leans back in his chair, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Then it’s settled. My nieces are ready for their travels, ambassador.”

  Foxglove’s face goes pale as he nods to the mayor.

  Mr. Duveau turns on his heel, followed by Sheriff Bronson. Mr. Meeks gives me a warm smile, extending his arm to allow me to pass into the hall ahead of him. “I’m so glad I got here in time,” he whispers, walking by my side. “I don’t know what I would have done if I found my dear apprentice had been locked up before I arrived.” Again, his care surprises me. Even after these allegations, he still considers me his dear apprentice. However, the tenseness in his posture isn’t lost on me. He may be doing me a kindness, but he isn’t fully comfortable about it.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I was meeting with Henry—Mr. Duveau, that is—when the mayor’s guard came to inform him of your presence. Thank the stars we got here before Bronson took you away.”

  We enter the parlor, and Maddie and Marie rise to their feet. “Are we leaving now?” Maddie asks with a haughty grin.

  “Yes.” Foxglove’s answer is curt as he comes up behind me. He says nothing more as he brushes past the girls and out the door, not even bothering to help them with their things.

  Maddie gapes after him, then snaps her fingers at a maid. “My bags. Now.”

  A whimper draws my attention to the girl behind Maddie—her sister, Marie. The girl is a few inches shorter than Maddie, her hair a mousy brown, her dress far more modest and subdued than her companion. She was always the more studious of the two, kind where her sister is sharp. Practical, save for a naive sense of dreaminess about her. I’ve never seen her so flustered. Marie’s voice comes out small. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Grow up,” Maddie mutters. “You know this is your duty.”

  “But I...I’m not ready.” Her eyes fill with tears.

  “We’ve been ready for this all day. All our lives, if we’re being honest. You always knew this would be a possibility.”

  “I’m not ready to get married.”

  Maddie shrugs. “Perhaps a marriage won’t be required of you. I’ll gladly fulfill my duty for the both of us.” There’s more mocking than warmth in her tone.

  I find myself frozen as Marie’s eyes lock on mine, silently pleading. I don’t know what she expects me to do. I’ve never been close to the younger girl, not even when our older sisters were friends. She’s three years younger…

  A shiver crawls up my spine. That’s when I remember Marie Coleman is only fifteen years old. My stomach churns. No wonder the girl is terrifie
d.

  She may be old enough for the Reaping, but the terms of the treaty were crafted a thousand years ago. Since then, girls rarely get married that young in Eisleigh. Despite my personal pains, an ache of sympathy tugs at my heart.

  But there’s nothing I can do. In this—in this entire situation—I’m powerless.

  I tear my gaze away from the girl and rush out the door.

  Outside, Mr. Duveau enters a sleek black coach pulled by two enormous brown Clydesdales. My stomach sinks as Mr. Meeks guides me toward the door held open by the councilman’s driver. “Mr. Duveau can take us to my house on his way back to his hotel. I figure you’d prefer that over riding with Sheriff Bronson.”

  My eyes flash toward the prison wagon parked behind Mr. Duveau. The enclosed end of the wagon is designed for transporting prisoners, not casual passengers. Yet, my stomach lurches when I consider sitting in a carriage with the brusque councilman.

  “Evelyn!” Lorelei’s voice has me whirling to face her as she jogs toward me. I almost forgot I left her waiting in the carriage. Her eyes are wide as she approaches me, sparing a hesitant glance at my human companion. Mr. Meeks takes a step away, giving us some privacy, and she lowers her voice to a whisper. “What happened?”

  I don’t have the energy to explain. I’ve hardly processed it myself. “It...it went the way we feared it would. There’s no swaying the council. Aspen will take the new Chosen and I...I will await my mother’s trial.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Two weeks from now. After that...” Exile at worst. But what happens at best? If we can prove the council is wrong about my heritage, where do we go from there? Will we be able to return to our old lives, with Mother running her apothecary, and me acting as apprentice to Mr. Meeks, and Amelie...

  My blood goes cold. For the first time, I consider a chilling possibility. What if Amelie doesn’t come? What if Cobalt receives the summons for her to attend the trial but keeps the information to himself? What if he tells her about it but won’t let her leave? What if...what if Amelie refuses to come?