Dark Faerie (Alfheim Academy

by S. T. Bende

  “Here.” I tossed Viggo a towel from the table beside the lawn. “Sorry I was so rough on you. Actually, I’m not sorry. I really wanted a break from cleaning duty.”

  “Obviously.” Viggo wiped the mud from his face. “So, what happened out there? Did I do something to upset you or what?”

  “It’s not you.” I traded my dirt-covered towel for a fresh one and used it to wring mud from the end of my braid. “It’s my grandmother. And Narrik. And, well, everything.”

  “Explain.” Viggo grabbed a clean towel and dabbed at a cut on his leg.

  “You, me, and our friends . . . we did everything we were supposed to.” I sat on the grass and shifted into a hamstring stretch. “We found the missing crystal and restored it to the Alfheim Tree, but the realm’s still filled with darkness—there’s a lot of pain left over from the cruelty Narrik’s spread over the years. We convinced Constance to make me the co-regent, but the Kongelig still control the cabinet and the senate, so we can’t actually push any of our changes through. And, in spite of everything we’ve worked for, Alfheim’s still dying.”

  “How so?” Viggo dropped onto the grass beside me.

  “I found out today the meadow elves have been trying to get someone from the capital to meet with them for months. Their ecosystem’s collapsing—residual effects from that fire Narrik set in Meina. And that was one of his smaller acts of destruction. Frigga only knows what the rest of the realm is facing in the aftermath of his tyranny. But I don’t have time to think about that, much less fix it, because I have to behave with decorum while the monster who caused this whole mess in the first place runs my cabinet. I’ve got to memorize an insane number of facts about Vanaheim’s royal family in a day, then play nice with everyone who expects me to be just as bad at running things as my grandmother was. Oh, and I have two more finals to not fail.”

  Frustration colored my vision, and I flopped backward on the grass and blinked at the clouds.

  “Wow.” Viggo wrapped his hand around mine. “That is one lousy week.”

  “You’re telling me,” I muttered.

  “Hey, I get that you’re frustrated.” He slung his towel around his neck and lay on his back beside me. “It’s been a lot to take in, month after month.”

  Preach.

  “But you’re not in this alone. You and I are a team, Glitre. After tomorrow’s exams and the state dinner, and we’ll figure it out. I promise.”

  “The realm shouldn’t be this broken,” I whispered. “Not after all of this time.”

  “It shouldn’t.” Viggo reached over to cup my chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “We’ll get to the bottom of this—fix whatever’s wrong with Alfheim. Together.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  “Right after we get through this week.”

  Gulp

  “So?” Ondyr’s cheerful tenor echoed across the field. “Who won?”

  “Aura.” Viggo squeezed my hand. He shot me a wink before sitting. “Barely.”

  “Hugely,” I corrected as I let him pull me up after him.

  “I’m not surprised.” Zara grabbed a towel and came to join us. “Aura’s more fluid in the air than Viggo. If he released earlier in his free-spin, he could catch her off-balance and—”

  “Hey!” I frowned. “Don’t help him!”

  “I’m helping both of you. You deserve a better opponent. It’ll give you a greater chance of survival if . . .”

  Zara didn’t have to finish. If Alfheim was attacked again. If the missing Opprør never returned. If the Kongelig kept stonewalling our proposals, and we had to forcibly enact peace. There were so many ifs dangling out there. And the scariest of all . . .

  What if things never get better?

  “Hey.” Ondyr reached over to cuff me on the arm. “No long faces. This exam’s over. Now we just have to not fail History of Alfheim and it’s hello, summer vacation.”

  “That one’s half of our final grade.” I exhaled. “No pressure.”

  “None at all.” Ondyr shuddered. “One more night of chaos . . .”

  “For you guys.” I turned to Viggo. “I forgot. The seamstress needs to see you about your outfit for the state dinner. She’ll swing by your place after she’s done with me tonight.”

  “Aw, Viggo.” Ondyr beamed. “You get a gown, too?”

  Viggo rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Something like that.”

  Zara wrapped her arms around her knees. “Try not to stress, you guys. This week will be over soon enough, and then everything will go back to normal.”

  My fingers tightened around Viggo’s, and I bit on my bottom lip.

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  Chapter 3

  “AURA? THANK GODS YOU’RE home. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get her to leave and, well . . . get in here.”

  Dinner had been a subdued affair, and Elin and I had just returned from the dining hall. Now we exchanged worried looks as we pushed through the door of our suite.

  “Finna?” I asked cautiously. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Finna’s voice carried the too-high edge of someone experiencing . . . was that guilt?

  “Who couldn’t you get to leave?” Elin called. “Do we need to call for security, or—”

  “Oh, my gods.” My hand flew to my mouth as I rounded the corner. My roommate stood atop a small box, swathed from head to toe in layers of filmy, plum-colored tulle. Her hair was twisted in an ornate crown of braids, and she wore a gown that nipped in at her waist before fluttering delicately downward and flaring at her calves. She twirled experimentally as we entered, her mocha skin pinked with either excitement or embarrassment.

  Maybe both?

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “But Vendya said she had an extra dress that might fit me for the Solstice Dance. I guess she made a few for you for your state dinner, but decided this one wasn’t right for your complexion. And when she saw our waists were similar in size . . .”

  Beside me, Elin’s shoulders trembled with barely contained laughter.

  “Don’t apologize.” I raised my hand. “It’s perfect.”

  “It looks beautiful on her.” Vendya clapped her hands together. The royal seamstress was a tall, thin woman who carried herself with the grace I now recognized as a job requirement for those employed by my grandmother. “Much lovelier than it would have been on Princess Aura.”

  “Hey,” Elin objected.

  But I shook my head. “No, it’s true. I could never pull off that shade. Or that cut. It’s definitely made for you.”

  “Thanks.” Finna flushed.

  “Sorry. I should have warned you about Vendya coming over. Actually, sorry to you, Vendya—I kind of forgot.”

  Vendya placed her hands on her hips. “You forgot you had an appointment with the most sought-after seamstress in the realm?”

  “In all fairness, it’s been kind of a day.”

  Vendya’s frown let me know my excuse carried no weight. “Since you were late, I found your escort and took his measurements.”

  “Viggo’s getting an outfit too?” Elin asked.

  “Some kind of a suit for the dinner, I think. Right?” I turned to Vendya.

  “Some kind of suit? Do you know anything about fashion? He will be wearing an ensemble perfectly tailored to complement yours. Obviously.”

  “Uh, right.” I bit the inside of my cheek. Yikes.

  “Are you sure it’s okay for me to wear this?” Finna piped up. “I know you made it for Aura, and I don’t want to upset Queen Cons—”

  “It is yours.” Vendya folded her hands together and bowed deeply.

  Finna shot me a curious look before mimicking the gesture. “Well, okay then. Thank you.” She lifted her skirt and stepped towards the bathroom. “It’s a lot nicer than the one I picked out.”

  “I should hope so.” Vendya huffed.

  “It’s gorgeous. Truly one of a kind.” I meant it. But I also wanted to unruffle Vendya’s feathers. “So
. . . what do you need me to do?”

  “You.” Vendya pointed at Elin. “What size are you?”

  “Excuse me?” My friend arched her brows.

  “Never mind.” Vendya waggled her finger. “You are the Musa, ja?”

  “Um, ja.” Elin shrugged. “Why?”

  “I have another design. Now I realize that pattern will be too busy for the crown princess. But it might work for you. Go. Try on the pink garment bag.”

  “Oh, I’m not really a pink kind of gi—”

  “Try it on!” Vendya snapped.

  “Okay! Sorry!” Elin scooped up the bag and scurried into the bathroom. Finna followed her in with wide eyes.

  “She’s scary,” my friend muttered.

  “No skit,” Elin mumbled back.

  “I can hear you!” Vendya shouted. Then she turned to me with a serene smile. “Now, Aura. Tell me a bit about yourself.”

  “I, uh . . .” I eyed the five remaining garment bags on my bed. “I’m not that into dresses. Or formalities. Or fancy dinners, so I’ll take whichever one of those is the most comfortable . . . and if it could have pockets, that’d be great.”

  Vendya’s eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t it have pockets?”

  Exactly.

  Vendya walked a slow circle around me, holding her hands as if she was framing a film shot. After an eternity, she stepped closer, pinching my braid between two fingers and squinting at the strands. I held my breath as she leaned into my face and stared at my eyes. Either she was working out my coloring, or she was trying to scare the skit out of me.

  Maybe she was doing both.

  “The ivory,” she finally declared.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The ivory ballgown. In chiffon. That is the one for you.”

  Oh, gods. She’d said ballgown.

  “Is there maybe one that’s more of a, I don’t know, more fitted cut than a—”

  “Try it on!” Vendya barked.

  Double yikes.

  “Which bag is it?”

  “Stand on the box,” Vendya ordered. “Take off those horrid school clothes. When will they allow me to design more flattering ensembles for our future leaders?”

  “If by flattering you mean not khaki and pleats, I’m all over it. Just tell me who I have to talk to.”

  “Why are you still not undressed?” Vendya lifted one of the garment bags from my bed and placed it on top of the others. I slipped out of my blazer and skirt while she unzipped the bag and withdrew a creamy chiffon confection far fancier than anything I’d ever seen. Its fitted bodice dipped to a low V at the waist, then pooled into a voluminous skirt that looked like it contained a solid hundred yards of fabric. Delicate yellow and blue flowers were embroidered along the skirt, with a matching strand atop the dress’s sweetheart neckline. A light layer of mesh made up the sleeves and top of the bodice, affording the illusion of straplessness, while maintaining what I had no doubt was the queen’s rigorous standard of modesty. It was beautiful. Regal.

  And totally not me.

  “Arms up,” Vendya ordered. I raised my arms and allowed her to slide the dress over my head. Once it was on, it really wasn’t that uncomfortable. Its inside had the softness of my favorite pair of workout pants. What was this thing lined with?

  “On the box,” Vendya demanded.

  I grasped the skirt of the dress, and climbed onto the little pedestal. Vendya fluffed the skirt around my legs before moving to the back to close the fabric-covered buttons I’d spotted when she’d pulled it from the bag. Since our mirror was behind me, and I didn’t dare mess with Vendya’s process, I slid my fingers along my waist until I located the dress’s pockets. I slipped my hands inside, and was pleasantly surprised to discover they were deep—and lined with the same material as whatever was on the underside of the dress. Even the boning in the bodice wasn’t overly confining. It really was remarkably comfy.

  You know, for a ballgown.

  “Perfekt,” Vendya praised. “And now, for the final piece.”

  She crossed to the garment bag and opened a zippered pouch at the top. She withdrew a tiara that glittered with blue and yellow jewels set into the shape of flowers—flowers that perfectly matched the embroidery on my dress.

  “Whoa.” I exhaled. “That’s really cool.”

  “Put it on.” She handed me the tiara, and I slipped it onto my head.

  “How does it look?” I asked.

  “Crooked.”

  “Well, I’ve never put one of these things on before, so—”

  “Come.” Vendya motioned for me to bend. She adjusted the tiara, and when I stood she apprised me with a self-satisfied smirk. “Ja. This is the dress. It will do.”

  “Can I look?” I asked.

  Vendya twirled her fingers in a circle, which I took as permission. With a deep breath, I turned atop the box, studied the stranger staring at me from the mirror, and gasped.

  “No. Freaking. Way.” Elin’s hushed whisper echoed my thoughts.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Finna squealed.

  “Seriously.” Elin moved to stand beside me. My gaze shifted from my muted ivory gown to the barely pink one she wore. It also had a floral pattern, but instead of pastel blue and yellow, her flowers were a geometric tapestry of silver and fuchsia. It was modern and artsy, and so very Elin. Maybe Vendya had planned it for her all along.

  My gaze returned to the clouds of fabric surrounding my hips. “This is for a dinner? It looks like a wedding dress.”

  Elin’s lips curved. “Something you’re not telling us?”

  “Shut up!” I slugged her in the arm. “You look amazing, by the way.”

  “I do.” Elin shrugged. “Guess I was off about the pink.”

  “I am never wrong,” Vendya declared.

  She definitely worked with my grandmother.

  “It’s a beautiful dress, Aura,” Finna said. She’d changed into leggings and a tank top that hit mid-thigh—typical off-duty wear for her. “But it’s so . . . fancy.”

  “It is for a state dinner.” Vendya arched one perfectly groomed brow. “One must always appear at one’s best.”

  “But it’s cream,” I pointed out. “And I’m not the most, uh, graceful eater.”

  “I am certain you will manage.” Vendya crossed to her bag, withdrew a pin-covered pad, and strapped it to her wrist. When she returned to my side, she waved my friends away and began pinning my hem to what she must have decided was its ideal length. The process took about fifteen minutes, during which Elin twirled experimentally in her pink ensemble, and Finna filled me in on her and Jande’s Elementär exam. When she was done, Vendya helped me step out of the dress, and Elin and I swapped spots.

  “This is way better than anything I could have found for the Solstice Dance,” Elin said.

  “I should hope so,” the seamstress huffed.

  “It’s going to be amazing,” Elin gushed. “We’ve got all the decorations prepared. We just have to get into the great hall the morning of and set them up.”

  “You’ve been working every night this week.” Finna patted the spot next to her on her bed, and once I’d slipped into my own tank top and leggings, I climbed after her. “You must be exhausted.”

  “Who isn’t?” Elin shrugged. “Finals here are way more intense than they were back on Midgard.”

  “Thank gods they’re nearly over.” I flopped onto one of Finna’s downy pillows. “After tomorrow, we’re home free.”

  “You mean after your wedding dress dinner?” Elin pinned me with a wicked smile. “You sure there isn’t something you’re not telling us?”

  “Stop it!” I considered chucking a pillow at her, but I feared Vendya’s wrath far more than I wanted to extract vengeance on my friend.

  “But seriously.” Elin leaned forward. “If that’s what you wear to a dinner, what do people wear to get married around here?”

  “Stand still,” Vendya barked.

  Elin quickly straightened.

  “
Crown Princess, your gown for the Solstice Dance is in the mint-colored bag.” Vendya gestured to the bed. “But you need not try it on. Now that I have your current measurements, I will tailor it to those specifications.”

  “Um, thanks,” I said. Did I not get to look at it first? Not that I especially cared, but—

  “Perfekt! You are finished.” Vendya placed a final pin in Elin’s dress, and stepped away with a wave. “Now take it off.”

  “Aw.” Elin eyed her gown with longing.

  “I will return it altered tomorrow, along with Princess Aura’s pieces.” Vendya released the buttons on the backside of the gown and pointed for Elin to step down. “Off.”

  “Fine.” Elin sighed. “Never thought I’d be this into something this pink.”

  “You and me both.” I bit back my grin. “Thanks, Vendya. Do I call you when I have an event that I need an outfit for, or . . . How does this work, exactly?”

  Vendya took the dress from Elin and zipped it into its garment bag. “Eunice apprises me of their majesty’s schedules months in advance. I am already preparing your gown for the Fall state dinner with Nidavellir, and I have early sketches drawn for next year’s coronation gown.”

  “What?” I coughed. “No thanks. I opted out of the whole coronation deal. When I’m eighteen, I’m supposed to just sign some paperwork or something and it’s official.”

  Vendya pursed her lips in a near perfect copy of my grandmother’s disappointment face. “That is not how things work. One does not discard thousands of years of tradition.”

  “One does if one’s predecessor is a despot,” I muttered.

  “That’s next year’s problem,” Finna chimed in. “And you may feel differently by then.”