“Mine sent me as well, although I doubt the Holstroms need it. Visitors have been coming all day.” She returns to face the yard. “And yet, they still haven’t managed to clean this unsightly mess. How are we supposed to make it to the front door without soiling our dresses?” Her eyes trail from the gore to my trousers, prompting a smirk. “Or should I say, dress?”
I glare at her. “They’re probably too busy grieving their daughters to clean right now.”
She turns her nose to the air, her blond curls at the sides of her head bobbing with the movement. “They deserve it. Their daughters committed treason, after all.”
My mouth falls open, and I imagine punching Maddie Coleman in her perfect pink nose. “How can you say such a thing? You really think the Holstroms deserved the execution of their daughters? And for their entire farm to be destroyed?”
She rolls her eyes. “King Aspen gifted the Holstroms with enchanted farm animals, a blessing that would have led to riches for generations to come. And what does he get in return? Two treasonous girls.”
“First off, the farm animals weren’t enchanted, they were simply well-bred. Second, Theresa and Maryanne couldn’t have done anything to deserve execution. You know that, right?”
She shrugs. “Perhaps the Holstroms wanted the war to return. Uncle says some residents of Eisleigh are in favor of another war to win the Fair Isle from the fae.”
I’m surprised by this. Could some of our villagers actually want another war? Could the Holstroms be among those who do? I shake the idea from my head. There’s no way the Holstroms would put their daughters’ lives in danger in favor of war. Both the fae and the humans nearly perished during the last one a thousand years ago. The treaty was the only reason the bloodshed was able to end.
“I was supposed to be next in line, you know,” Maddie says, eyes narrowed at me. “Marie and I were supposed to be chosen next if the Holstrom girls didn’t work out. I was to marry King Aspen, and Marie was to marry Prince Cobalt. But you were chosen instead.”
It takes me a moment to register what she’s implying. “Wait…you wanted to be chosen for the Reaping? To be married off to a fae?”
“A fae king.”
“A fae king with horns.”
Maddie rolls her eyes. “He’s called the Stag King. It’s more likely he has antlers.”
I flourish my free hand. “Wow, what a difference that makes.”
“It does make a difference. And for someone who’s always telling everyone how clever and sensible she is, you should get your facts straight before spouting off about them.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. Since when does Maddie Coleman get the upper hand in an argument with me? “When did you become such a diehard fae lover? Last time I saw you in the presence of a fae, you ran screaming. You probably wet your knickers too.”
“That was a goblin, not a king,” she says. “Besides, I’d take horns, antlers, or fangs if it makes me a queen, not to mention the wealth and riches my family would be blessed with.”
My eyes bulge with the restraint it takes to keep from laughing in her face. “Well, it turns out when the Great Mother was handing out working brains, she passed you over entirely. Regardless, I have the perfect solution for us both. If you want so badly to marry the Stag King, by all means, take my place.”
Her mouth falls open, cheeks burning crimson as she processes my insult. Then with a scowl, she snaps her mouth shut and averts her gaze. “I can’t.”
“Why not? Your uncle is the mayor. He’s in charge, isn’t he?”
“My uncle is in charge of Sableton, but he has no control over the fae.”
“What does that have to do with anything? The names have already been selected. If you were chosen as backup, then why are Amelie and I involved at all?”
Her lips press into a tight line, as if it pains her to say the next words. “You were chosen by the fae. It was a choice that overrode all previous selections.”
My mind goes blank. “Why? Amelie and I have done nothing to attract the attention of the fae.”
“You weren’t selected as a pair, stupid,” Maddie says. “You were selected. Personally. Your sister is only involved because of you.”
I’m too shocked; I can’t even bristle at her insult this time. “I was…selected?”
“The fae ambassador requested you by name. First name.”
By name. My entire body goes cold.
Chapter Six
I can do nothing but gape, words stripped from my lips as I make sense of Maddie’s statement. I was chosen by name. Me. That can mean only one thing. I’m being punished.
I think back to my visit at the faewall and the cloaked fae ambassador. He’s the only reason the fae would know me by first name and the only fae with motive to punish me. Images of my blade hovering in front of his face, ready to strike, flood my memory. But he attacked me first! Or was it my sharp tongue that sparked his ire?
It could have been anything, honestly. I frowned too much, spoke too much, spoke too little. Offended him with a misinterpreted gesture, said the wrong word in the wrong tone. Who knows what makes the fae react in anger? Why did they execute the Holstrom girls? Why did they slaughter their animals? Why did they trick Hank Osterman into sticking his hand in a bear trap?
There’s no purpose trying to figure it out. The fae are unpredictable. Dangerous. And I’m about to be the bride of one.
The fight is leached from my bones. I can’t even feel my rage anymore. Only hollowness remains.
I shove my mother’s jar on top of Maddie’s basket without a word, then turn away from the farm. Maddie calls after me, but I don’t answer; I can’t even make out what she’s saying through the sound of blood rushing through my ears.
This is all my fault.
* * *
The dark of night has fully settled in by the time I make it back to Ettings Street. My eyes are unfocused as I wander the sidewalk toward the apothecary, only narrowing when I notice a hulking shape in front of the shop. A carriage.
I stop, mind reeling as I process what time it might be. Surely it isn’t midnight yet! But the carriage parked in front of my home is undoubtedly fae. I can’t make out the color in the dark, but vines of gold twine up the edges, glinting in the moonlight. The horses at the front of the carriage are thin, dark, unearthly creatures.
With a shudder, I run to the door of the shop and dart inside. I find Mother in the parlor. Her hands are on her hips as she scowls at a figure standing in the middle of the room. He’s stout and barely taller than Mother, with neatly trimmed brown hair, pointed ears decorated with gold jewelry, and brown slanted eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. His jacket is pristine lines of burgundy and bronze with elaborate golden clasps shaped like leaves down the front. It’s the fae I saw in the village earlier.
Mother whirls toward me with a sigh. She returns to face the fae, irritation tensing her posture. “I told you she’d be back,” she snaps.
The ambassador shrugs. “You must understand my suspicion.”
“No, I must not,” Mother argues. “The girls aren’t to be taken until midnight. They still have three hours until then.”
“I am simply here to assure they comply. Don’t mind me. I won’t be a bother.”
“No, you won’t be,” Mother says, “since you’ll be waiting in your carriage.”
The ambassador looks shocked, his hand moving to his chest as if she suggested he wait in a gutter. I’m equally surprised. Mother has never spoken about the fae with anything but reverence and curiosity, or at the worst of times, with amused frustration. It shows how hopeless our situation really is.
When the ambassador makes no move to leave, she takes a step toward him. “There’s nothing in the treaty that states you are allowed in my house while my children pack for their imprisonment. Now go. They’ll be out the door at midnight.”
He sniffs, then turns on his heel.
I listen for the sound of the front door opening and shutting, then let
out a heavy breath. “Three hours until midnight?”
Mother nods, her expression unreadable. She looks angry and hopeless all at once, but there’s something else there I can’t place. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” she whispers, then brushes past me out of the parlor.
I consider following her but don’t. I’m not ready to face her after the hurtful things I said earlier. Especially since I know whatever I say to her next will be the last she’ll hear from me again.
My throat feels tight as I make my way up the stairs toward my room. As I reach the top landing, I hear whimpering coming from the door straight ahead. Amelie’s room. I tiptoe forward and peek through the crack between the door and the frame. Amelie is in the middle of her floor, surrounded by her favorite dresses. An overstuffed bag lies at her feet, more dresses spilling from it. I’m about to enter her room when I stop myself. How can I try to comfort her when I know I’m to blame? Does she already know? Does Mother know?
Tears spring to my eyes at the sight of my sister, but I force myself to leave, quietly crossing the hall to my bedroom. Once inside, I sit at the edge of my bed. Part of me wants to cry, to fall into a fit of sobs on my floor like Amelie. The other part of me won’t let me cry, knowing I must be strong for the both of us.
My eyes rove my room, taking in everything I’m leaving behind. I expect to feel nostalgic, but I don’t; I was already planning on leaving here anyway. My room isn’t full of trinkets and luxuries like Amelie’s is. My wardrobe isn’t brimming with gowns and beaded slippers. The thing I treasure most of all lies on my dressing table—the invitation to university.
Longing tugs at my heart. My mind races to think of some way out of this. Any way out of this. I imagine sneaking out the back door, leaving before the ambassador returns to escort us to the carriage. How far could I get by midnight if I left now? I could take the money I’ve saved for university, use it to take me south where I can catch a ship to the mainland.
Excitement sparks within me, a smile nearly pulling at my lips. Then it all comes crashing down. I think of Amelie. What would happen to her if I ran away? Would they still take her? Punish her with a fate worse than being a fae’s bride? No, I can’t leave her, especially when I’m to blame for this mess. Could I convince her to come with me?
My sensible side takes over, and I know running away is neither logical nor possible. A marriage must take place for the treaty to be upheld. Our village has already lost two girls to the Reaping without securing the pact. What will happen if we break the treaty too? The council could select another set of Chosen. The fae could request another girl to be punished.
Or it could start a war. A war that brought near-annihilation a thousand years ago. A war I’d be responsible for.
I close my eyes, shutting the door to all my thoughts of escaping this. My dream of moving to the mainland is over. I won’t be going to university nor will I become a great surgeon. I won’t be anything but a bride. If the fae let me live that long.
Anger returns to me in a rush, making my hands clench into fists. I stand and stride over to my wardrobe, flinging the doors open with more force than necessary. From the bottom of the wardrobe, I extricate a bag. Beneath it lies a wooden case. I take that too and bring both to my bed. I open the case, revealing an array of tools—bone saw, tourniquet, scalpel, trephine, forceps, tenaculum, knives. My surgery kit, a gift from Mr. Meeks on my eighteenth birthday. A gift I never got to use.
Most significantly, the tools are carbon steel—an alloy I know contains iron. Whether an iron alloy has any effect on the fae, I don’t know. But I’m willing to find out.
I close the box and place it at the bottom of the bag. Then I return to my wardrobe and pull out my cloak. From my dressing table, I retrieve my nightdress, an extra pair of trousers and a blouse, as well as my belt and dagger. I stuff the clothing in my bag and secure the belt around my waist. The dagger at my hip and the blades inside my bag have cooled some of my rage. I feel safe now. In control.
I may have to marry a monster. I may never get to leave Faerwyvae again. But I won’t go down without a fight. The treaty may force me to marry, but as far as I know, it says nothing about letting a fae touch me or letting one come anywhere near me. In fact, I doubt it says anything about my husband needing to be alive for the treaty to remain valid.
I’ll go to Faerwyvae. I’ll do my part. I’ll sacrifice myself for the safety of Eisleigh. But if any of the fae try to hurt me or my sister, I’ll be ready. My future husband can try all he likes to touch me, but he’ll find no luck with an iron blade between us.
I grin, but it’s short lived as my thoughts return to Amelie. There will be times when my blade will only be able to protect one of us, times when we’ll have to leave each other’s sides. How will I keep her safe?
The door creaks open behind me, and I turn to find Mother in the doorway. We lock eyes, staring wordlessly, until she joins me at my bed. She places a stoppered jar on top of the clothing in my bag. “Tincture of iron, St. John’s Wart, and daisy. Take half a dropperful daily.”
She wants me to ingest…an iron supplement?
Everyone in Eisleigh knows iron is our greatest defense against the fae, something humans discovered during the war. Most people think it’s magic that makes iron so harmful to the fae, but Mr. Meeks explains they have a severe allergy to the metal, preventing their blood from clotting and their wounds from healing. He says their olfactory system is highly attuned to it, allowing them to avoid it through scent. I think of the slaughtered animals at the Holstrom farm, of Hank Osterman’s mangled arm. While I’m not sure having adequate levels of iron in my blood will keep me from getting killed by a fae, at least I’ll less likely get eaten by one.
My mouth falls open, realizing Mother has never seemed more brilliant than she does now. Before I can thank her, she takes my hand and presses a pouch into my palm. “Salt all your food. Even a pinch will counteract any harmful magic. Turn your clothes inside out. And wear this at all times.” She takes a long strand of odd-looking red beads and places them around my neck.
I run my fingers along the necklace. Dried rowan berries. I remember what Mr. Meeks said about them, how they help preserve proper brain function through skin contact. Mother has been selling them in her shop for years, something I’d always scoffed at before hearing Mr. Meeks’ explanation today. For once, her craft has aligned with logic.
Yesterday’s magic is today’s science, Mr. Meeks likes to say.
Perhaps my mother deserves more credit. She may be giving people false hope with her silly magic, but only rarely do her treatments cause real harm. I’ll never believe in her craft, but sometimes her treatments are rooted in science. She just doesn’t know it.
More than that, she deserves credit for being my mother. For loving me with all my sharp words and harsh edges, hardly ever giving me more than a word of reproach when I cross the line. If she can love me with all my flaws, I can love her with all of hers. And I do. So much, I feel like my heart is being torn in two.
“Ma.” The word comes out in a sob as I wrap my arms around her neck and breathe in her scent. Her arms go around me, and she rubs my back like I’m a child again. For a while, I let myself be a child, let Mother comfort me and stroke my hair. I take it all in—every word, every whisper, every angle of her face and shade of red in her hair—and lock it into my memory.
That’s the only place I’ll ever see her again.
Chapter Seven
Three hours later, Amelie and I sit in the carriage across from the bespectacled fae ambassador, riding through the night toward the fae lands.
My eyes feel raw and red, my throat like sandpaper each time I swallow. At least my tears have dried. I refuse to show weakness in front of the fae male across from me.
Amelie, on the other hand, continues to whimper and cry. Her cheeks are red and coated in a sheen of fresh tears. We sit close, her arm entwined with mine, my wrist held in her vise-like grip. Her free hand tugs at the seam of her in
side-out dress, then fiddles with the strand of rowan berries she wears. I can only imagine her distress at being forced to be dressed so unfashionably, regardless of circumstance.
Once Amelie falls asleep, head on my shoulder, the carriage goes silent. I force myself to stay awake as the hours pass, constantly checking on the presence of my dagger hidden beneath my cloak. The ambassador doesn’t utter a word as he alternates between staring out the window of the carriage and leaning back for a nap.
It isn’t until sunlight is beating my eyelids that I realize I’ve fallen asleep. I jerk upright, my hand flying to my dagger. Still there. The movement has woken Amelie, who lifts her head from my shoulder and sniffles. Her hand returns to squeezing my wrist.
Now that the sun has risen, warm light beams inside the carriage, drawing my curiosity. I lean forward just enough to see out the window. There I find sunlight diffused through a canopy of leaves in reds and golds and coppery brown, blinking like stars as they sway on the wind. The trees are birch and oak and others I can’t identify. September may be beautiful in Sableton, but this is beyond any fall landscape I’ve ever seen. My breath catches in my throat, but I suppress my wonder, forcing my gaze away from the window as I settle back into my seat.
“We’ve entered Autumn, as you can tell,” the ambassador says. He has a lazy, high-pitched way of speaking. It reminds me of the few nobles I’ve met, or snobs like Maddie Coleman.
His words puzzle me, and my intellectual needs override my desire to remain aloof. “When you say we’ve entered autumn, what exactly do you mean?”
“The Autumn Court, obviously,” he says. “Your new home.”
It never occurred to me to care to learn about King Aspen or the court he rules, but it does explain the unearthly beauty of our surroundings. Yet, his words, your new home, have left a sour taste in my mouth that no intellectual stimulus can erase.
His eyes move from me to Amelie. “There’s no reason to be scared, you know. Honestly, it’s silly the way you cower like that.”
To Carve a Fae Heart (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 1) Page 4