To Carve a Fae Heart (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 1)

by Tessonja Odette

  The smell of salt is stronger now, and I hear a rhythmic crashing. Curiosity draws me forward, and I look over the rail. Vertigo seizes me as the world seems to fall away, plummeting down into a black expanse below. I grab the rail, steadying myself, and blink a few times to clear my vision. Once stabilized, I see the palace is built at the edge of a sea cliff. The ocean sends waves lapping up and down the shore. As my eyes adjust to the moonlit dark, I notice something else about the shore. Dark holes pock the ground, like chasms. Some of the water reaches them, disappearing into their depths before the water recedes and gathers into another wave.

  “King Herne built Bircharbor Palace at the edge of the sea,” Foxglove explains, “to be near his wife, Queen Melusine.”

  “The Queen of the Sea Court,” I say, remembering his story from earlier. “Didn’t you say the king died in the war?”

  “He did.” His tone is mournful. “King Aspen could take up residence elsewhere in Autumn, especially considering Queen Melusine rarely visits land much these days. Yet he remains here. It is a lovely palace.”

  I lean over the rail again, watching the waves crash upon the shore. “What are those holes in the ground?”

  “Ah, you’ll have to look again when it’s day. The beach gives way to coral and those are coral caves. Queen Melusine constructed them. Some think they lead to her underwater palace, but it’s nothing more than a menace of a maze, if you ask me. Anyone who’s ever tried to map the caves drowns by high tide. Even the sea fae who’ve tried never succeeded. Only Queen Melusine seems to know how to navigate them, and she prefers to keep her secrets to herself.”

  “The lesson being, don’t go swimming,” Lorelei says.

  “Very true,” Foxglove says with a grave nod. “Better avoided altogether. At low tide, you’ll fall into a cave before you make it out to deep enough water for a swim. Even then, you’ll find yourself trapped on the other side of the caves and get dashed into the coral. At high tide, you’re lucky if the current doesn’t suck you into the caves or worse.”

  “Or, again, dash you into the coral,” Lorelei adds.

  “Lesson understood,” I mutter.

  “I don’t like swimming,” Amelie says, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the dark ocean.

  “Neither do I,” Foxglove says. “The salt dries out my hair, and I can’t get it looking right for days. I prefer to lie down for a seaside tan in the Summer Court, where the waves are less obnoxious.”

  A smile twitches at the corners of my lips. Despite my best efforts, Foxglove is growing on me.

  “Are these our new guests?” A new voice rings out behind us, male, and dare I say…joyful?

  The four of us whirl around to face the newcomer. Foxglove and Lorelei fall into easy bows while Amelie and I sink into clumsy curtsies half a minute too late. I wait until Foxglove and Lorelei rise before I do the same. Amelie’s pinkie winds its way around my own.

  Foxglove takes a step forward. “May I present to you Amelie and Evelyn Fairfield.”

  The fae male grins, taking confident steps toward us. His face is somehow both boyish and ancient at once, with dimpled cheeks, high cheekbones, and glittering blue eyes. His hair is straight and a deep shade of blue so dark it’s almost black, loose strands falling over his forehead and brushing the tips of his pointed ears. He wears blue-black trousers and a jacket with an indigo waistcoat patterned with gold stitching and a blue cravat.

  He bows, then looks from me to Amelie. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Prince Cobalt.”

  I can’t take my eyes off him, much less speak. In all my terrified imaginings, I never thought a fae could look so regal, so kind, so…attractive. And he’s—oh for the love of iron, he’s Prince Cobalt. My husband-to-be. I can’t tell if the thought terrifies me or excites me. Shame reigns supreme when I consider it could be the latter. I remind myself he’s fae and recall everything I’ve heard about Faerwyvae. I can’t afford to be flustered by a pair of blue eyes.

  I open my mouth to relay a greeting, but Amelie beats me to it. “It’s a pleasure.” Her tone is formal, which I’m grateful for. By the look in her eyes, I can tell she’s as enchanted as I am by his appearance. Still, she’s keeping her composure, which means she has her head on her shoulders. Good.

  A dark shadow looms behind the prince. Cobalt turns, bowing his head.

  Again, Foxglove and Lorelei sink into bows. This time Amelie and I are quicker to catch on. When we rise from our curtsies, the Autumn King’s eyes are on me.

  I know he’s the Autumn King, because never have I seen the season so perfectly embodied in a living being. Not only does he have an elaborate rack of dark brown antlers, but he wears bronze satin from head to toe. The jacket and trousers are a deeper shade of russet, but the waistcoat is closer to the red-bronze of fall treetops and is patterned in gold-stitched maple leaves. He has the same slim build as Cobalt but towers a head taller than the younger fae, not including the height of his antlers. Like his brother, the king has blue-black hair, but his is longer, curling at the nape of his neck. Aspen’s eyes, however, are brown. Unlike Cobalt’s, they don’t glitter when he smiles, they narrow, and his smile is more smug than warm.

  His gaze burns into me. “Evelyn,” he says.

  I hate how he says my name with such informality. Such scorn. I hate how the corner of his mouth turns up when he says it, like my name is a joke coming from his lips. Most of all, I hate the chill that runs down my spine when I hear it, sparking something familiar.

  A dangerous echo.

  I’ve heard that voice before. Seen that smirk.

  In fact, I’ve told him my name.

  Chapter Eleven

  I don’t know how King Aspen could be the same fae I met at the wall, but I know it’s him. Even with antlers and fashionable clothing, there’s no mistaking his expression, his voice. He’s the fae whose ire I’ve sparked. He brought me here.

  Rage ignites within me, so hot it feels like it will boil over. I want to shout at him, to demand an explanation for why he sought fit to punish me. I almost do, when I remember I never confessed my guilt to my sister. She has no idea I even met a fae at the wall, much less drew enough attention to get us into this mess. I grit my teeth and meet his gaze with a glare.

  “Pardon, Your Majesty, but this one is your bride-to-be, not she,” Foxglove says, misreading the exchange between me and the king. He pushes my sister forward a step. “This is Amelie Fairfield, the eldest daughter of Maven Fairfield of Sableton Village.”

  King Aspen shifts his gaze to her, and Amelie forces an uncertain smile. His smirk disappears, and something crosses his face, but I can’t read his expression. He almost seems taken aback. With a grunt of either acceptance or displeasure, he turns around. “Let’s eat.”

  “You heard him,” Foxglove whispers, waving for us to follow the king to the table.

  As I move to obey, Prince Cobalt offers me a gentle smile and falls into step at my side. “That leaves you and me,” he says. “To marry, I mean.”

  I don’t say anything in reply.

  As we reach the dining table, Cobalt steps in front of me and pulls out a chair. I hesitate before accepting the seat. He leans forward and pushes the chair in as I sit, bringing his face next to mine. He pauses with his lips by my ear and whispers, “I’m sorry for what happened to the girls before you, but I hope you can forgive me for saying…I like you better.”

  I’m surprised by this and turn toward him in time to see a blush creep up his cheeks. He catches my eyes and flashes me a smile, then makes his way to the seat at the end opposite his brother.

  When I face forward, I meet Amelie’s frown across the table. She turns her scowl to King Aspen, then loudly drags the chair away from the table. She sits, then pulls the chair forward in a few exaggerated scoots until she’s nestled close to the table. The king pays her no heed, his eyes fixed firmly on his dinner plate.

  “You can sit,” he barks. I realize then that Foxglove and Lorelei had retreated
to the edges of the room. “Both of you.”

  The two jump forward like timid pups eager to obey their master, then take seats at the table. Foxglove sits next to me, while Lorelei sits next to Amelie. I try not to meet Lorelei’s eyes across the table.

  Several figures enter the dining room—servants, from the look of their stoic expressions and reserved bearing. Most resemble the average, youthful human in stature and physical features, save the telltale ethereal beauty and pointed ears. Some, however, have additional attributes like upturned snout-like noses, whiskers, and even the odd tail. A few smaller fae are present with leathery skin and aged, wrinkled faces, limbs that appear more tree branch than arm or leg. Regardless of appearance, all are dressed in resplendent silks in russets, golds, reds, and browns.

  One of the youthful fae, a male, approaches me and fills my goblet with a deep red liquid. Another, female as far as I can tell, with long, white whiskers framing a pink button nose, stands on my opposite side, heaping portions of food onto my plate from the many dishes on the table. The first servant moves on once my glass is full, but the second is still adding more food to my plate.

  I manage to find my voice. “That’s enough, thank you.”

  The fae steps away, and I look across the table at my sister. She wears an odd expression, somewhere between suspicion and longing, as she studies the items on her plate. With a lick of her lips, she reaches for a pastry.

  I scoot forward and aim a kick at her shin. She scowls as my foot meets its mark, then meets my eyes with a questioning glare. I lift the bag of salt from my waist, widening my eyes in silent warning. Salt your food.

  She gives me a nod of understanding, then retrieves her pouch. We each sprinkle our plates with a dusting of the pink crystals.

  “What is this?” asks a dry, mocking voice. My eyes flash to the head of the table where King Aspen sits. His eyes rove from Amelie to me.

  I’m at a loss for words as I seek an explanation that won’t get me killed. Thankfully, Foxglove lifts his hand. “I believe it’s a human folk remedy,” he says. “They believe salt wards against evil.”

  “Salt.” The king lets out a bark of cold laughter. His eyes lock on me. “You know we already use salt when cooking, right? And the salt sprays in from the ocean daily. If salt could do fae harm, we’d already be dead.”

  I’m still too furious to trust myself to speak. All I’d do is argue anyway. Besides, we don’t salt our food to harm the fae, we do it to protect our digestive tracts. Instead of saying any of this, I deepen my glare, eyes still locked on the king, then dump another heaping pinch of salt on my plate.

  He leans back in his chair with a dismissive snort.

  “I think it’s smart.” Prince Cobalt’s voice comes from the other side of the table, his gentle tone in contrast to his brother’s. He smiles at Aspen, but his eyes are glowing with mischief beneath a raised brow. “They aren’t the only ones with precautions in mind.”

  I look back at Aspen and realize a small tree-like fae is perched at his side, fork in mouth. The fae then reaches for Aspen’s goblet and takes a sip. The king holds Cobalt’s gaze for a few moments while the servant takes another bite of food from Aspen’s plate.

  Foxglove leans in close to me and whispers, “The king always has his food and drink tested before he eats.”

  The odd exchange makes much more sense now, but the tension between the two royals remains intact.

  “You’re right, brother,” Aspen says in his cold, drawling voice. “One can’t be too careful.” The servant takes one more bite, then offers a bow. Aspen waves him away, then picks up his fork. “Eat.”

  Everyone except Amelie and I rush for their forks, but we follow suit shortly after. I push the food around my plate, trying to investigate what I’ve been served. It appears entirely recognizable, from the fillet of fish to the roasted potatoes and apple tart. The aromas are familiar as well, making my mouth water. I know I should eat. I want to eat. If only my stomach would agree. It’s been in knots ever since I laid eyes on King Aspen, felt that anger rise inside me. How can I eat now?

  I look at Amelie, who has already taken several bites from her plate. She meets my eyes, grinning while she chews. I force a grin, then with equal effort, bring a bite of food to my lips.

  * * *

  After a mostly silent dinner, King Aspen and Prince Cobalt leave the dining room with curt farewells, and Foxglove and Lorelei guide us back to our room. Again, I try to memorize all the twists and turns, try to orient myself between the dining room and our bedroom. As far as I can tell, our bedroom is two floors down from where we ate.

  Foxglove leaves us at our door, but Lorelei lingers in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame. “Do you need me to stay?”

  “That’s not necessary,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. I’m still not sure how to act around her after our argument.

  She pushes off the door frame and lets out a yawn. “Fine. I’ll be sleeping next door. Call if you need anything.” With that, she closes the door and leaves me and Amelie alone.

  Amelie rushes to the bed and flops belly down into the middle of it. It bounces, then sinks a little beneath her. “I’m so tired.” Her face is pressed into a pillow, making her voice come out muffled.

  I feel the same, in mind and body. Like Amelie, I want nothing more than to sink into the luxurious bed. But the pressure of the dagger belt around my thigh is too irritating to ignore. I grab my nightdress from my bag and take it behind the dressing screen. Once changed, I meet Amelie at the bed, slipping my sheathed dagger behind one of the pillows.

  She lifts her face, blinking up at me. “Do you think the wardrobe has special nightdresses?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “I’m sure it does.” Amelie scrambles out of bed and rushes to the wardrobe, while I turn down the covers and crawl beneath them.

  After a time, Amelie twirls across the floor, a sheer, silky nightdress rustling around her ankles. She crawls into bed next to me. “This place has the best clothes.”

  “At least the fae realm has one thing going for it.”

  “It’s really not as awful as I thought,” she says. “I was certain I’d be fearing for my life by now. You know, monsters and goblins and harpies and such. But so far, no one has tried to so much as nibble me.”

  “That’s because we haven’t been left alone with our mates yet.”

  She’s silent for a while, and I’m worried I’ve scared her. Then she scoots closer. “I don’t like mine, Evie. He’s so dour.”

  “No kidding.”

  “You clearly don’t like him, either. I saw the way you glared at him. I was starting to think I’d missed something.”

  My muscles tense. Should I tell her? I’m not sure why I’m so afraid to confess my meeting with King Aspen at the wall. It’s not like my good-natured sister would blame me forever. Besides, she’s already adapting so well. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to talk about it. It feels…shameful. I don’t even want to remember the way he said my name today, as if he has any right—

  “Yours isn’t so bad, though.” Her voice shatters my thoughts. “He’s a gentleman, at least. Perhaps you could come to like him.”

  “Perhaps I could wake up with horse hooves.”

  She giggles. “Do you think they throw balls in the palace?”

  “Balls, human heads. Only time will tell.”

  “Really, Evie, you’re so strange sometimes.”

  I don’t reply. Instead, I close my eyes and try to breathe away the tension coursing through me. After a while, I hear Amelie’s even breathing. Of course she falls asleep first. Of course she feels safe in this place of beautiful luxury. Of course I’m the only one aware of our fragile mortality in a place like this.

  I toss and turn for what feels like hours, unable to relax, much less sleep. Finally, I give up. I grab a lightweight cloak from the wardrobe, wrap it around my shoulders, then slip out the bedroom door, leaving Amelie sleeping peacefully alone.


  Chapter Twelve

  I make my way back through the palace halls, trying to see if I can find my way to the dining room. Not for any particular desire to return there; it’s more to lock down my sense of direction in the palace. If I can at least navigate between two places inside the palace, I’ll feel like I’m in control of something again, no matter how small.

  The halls are eerily quiet and eerily as dark, the orbs of light hovering above their sconces now diminished to a subtle glow. No one crosses my path, which I’m grateful for, despite getting lost numerous times. I eventually find myself in front of a familiar staircase and climb. When I reach the top, the dark, empty dining room opens before me.

  My chest swells with pride. But now what? Do I just go back to my bedroom, see if I can reach it faster than I reached this place?

  The sound of crashing waves calls to me, its rhythm softer than it had been earlier. And there’s something else. Voices. Or music.

  I tiptoe across the floor to the open expanse, placing my hands on the rail like I did before. The ocean is black beneath the moon, small waves gently rolling into the base of the cliff beneath the palace. Gone are the black chasms of the coral caves, as the tide has come in and hidden them beneath its watery depths. It chills me how much the shoreline can change in a matter of hours.

  Music falls on my ears again, and I search the night for the source. There are large rocks near the cliff at the end of the shore, and I’m almost positive I see figures perched on top of them. Are they singing? There’s a feminine trill in the air, both beautiful and terrifying.

  Nearer movement draws my attention away from the rocks and back to the shore. There I see the forms of what appear to be women, skin white and glistening beneath the moon. Their bodies are naked, sinuous with their slow movements as they circle each other on the beach, laughing as the waves roll around their ankles. The way they move has me entranced, filling me with calm.