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

by Tessonja Odette

  “I came out here to cool my rage, then decided to wait for you. We need to speak in private.”

  I nod, and he takes my hand. We move quickly down the hall until he pulls me into a room and closes the door. The room is small, curtains drawn shut, revealing mostly shadows and a few sparse furnishings.

  “It’s an unused parlor,” Cobalt explains. “Used to be my mother’s. Don’t sit on anything. It hasn’t been dusted in years.”

  I make no move to contradict his request, and we remain by the door. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  He takes my hands in his. When he meets my eyes, his expression falls. “I’m so sorry about all of this. I can’t imagine how you must feel right now.”

  After my confrontation with Aspen, I only feel numb. “I don’t think I’ve had enough time to process it all. I don’t know how to feel or what to do.”

  “I still can’t believe he’d do this. I know exactly why he’s doing it too. He can’t stand the idea of looking weak next to me, of the advantage it would give me if I were the one to secure the treaty with a marriage instead of him.” He gives my hands a squeeze, expression pained. “He can’t take you from me.”

  “Apparently, he can do whatever he wants.” My voice is cold, bitter.

  His hands move to my shoulders, bringing me closer to him. I can feel the coolness of his palms through the fabric of my dress. He lowers his voice. “Not if we act first.”

  “What do you mean? What could we possibly do?”

  “We could leave together,” he says, tone pitched with a blossoming excitement. “Perform the mate ceremony, then get married in secret. Our marriage would keep the treaty intact.”

  “But your brother,” I argue. “He would never let us live after such a betrayal.”

  “We could fight him. We’d find no shortage of allies who would stand against him. I already told you how the council feels. They don’t want him on the throne if he keeps acting this way.”

  For a moment, I let the fantasy take hold, let the idea weave images through my mind. I imagine me and Cobalt running away together, imagine us rising against Aspen, watching the council pull the throne out from beneath him. I think of a court ruled by Cobalt, gentle, kind, and fair. I think of the peace his steadfast nature would bring his people and mine. It’s a beautiful fantasy, but I know it’s just that. A fantasy. Cobalt may be able to gather allies, but is that enough to beat Aspen without getting himself killed in the process? And what about me? There’s no fight left in my bones. Not after what happened to Amelie. Not after the hateful words spoken between me and Aspen.

  “No,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. Slowly, I reach my hands to cover his, then pull them away from my shoulders. I give his hands a gentle squeeze, enjoying the coolness of his fingers, before I release them and take a step back. “I can’t put you in danger.”

  “I don’t care about the danger. I care about protecting you.”

  I offer him a sad smile, then pat the dagger at my thigh. “I’m not vulnerable.”

  “But I care about you.”

  My throat tightens. “If we care about each other at all, the best thing we can do is protect each other from Aspen’s wrath. You may not care about the risk, but I do. I won’t be able to live with myself if Aspen tries to hurt you. In fact,” I take another step away from him until my back is against the door, “this is the last time we can meet like this. I won’t do anything that rouses Aspen’s suspicion against you. You saw what he nearly did to the servants.”

  He looks down at his feet, shoulders slumped. When he lifts his head, his expression sends shards of glass into my heart. “This is really what you want?”

  I nod, then reach behind me for the handle.

  “My feelings won’t change.” His voice breaks on the last word. “I’ll do what I can to protect you, even if you become his wife.”

  “Thank you,” I say, then open the door. I’m about to step into the hall when Cobalt stops me with a word.

  “Wait.”

  Our eyes lock, and he closes the distance between us, hands framing my face. His lips find mine and press them into a firm kiss. It happens so fast, I can hardly comprehend it, much less enjoy it. I’m too stunned to move. If I were Amelie, I’d put my arms around his waist, pull him close to me, part my lips to allow the kiss to deepen.

  But I’m not Amelie.

  Thoughts of my sister drain me of all potential passion, making my shoulders go rigid. Cobalt must be able to tell, because he gently pulls away. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just had to do that once.”

  “I—I’m glad you did.” It might be the last kiss I’ll ever have, I think to myself.

  “Also…there’s something you should know. It’s about the mate ceremony.”

  The worry in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. “What is it?”

  “Aspen still plans to go through with the mate ceremony as previously scheduled, which will be in four days’ time. Afterward, you’ll be expected to participate in a fae ritual. You must refuse.”

  I remember what Foxglove had said about the mysterious ritual before we got sidetracked by talk of mating. It occurs to me I’ve yet to get a clear answer on what it involves. I furrow my brow. “Why?”

  “Because it would mean giving my brother your true name.”

  My true name. That’s what the fae sacred ritual is all about? My blood goes cold.

  I’ve seen what a regular glamour nearly did to Amelie, but that’s nothing compared to what a fae can do when he’s been told he has your true name. Mr. Meeks says the hormone the fae release during prolonged eye contact is an unintentional function of their biology. Yet it’s hypothesized that fae custom is the only thing preventing them from secreting the hormone purposefully and in greater quantity. The true name itself has no meaning. There’s no secret name to utter, no chant to perform. It is but a statement that you are on a level of deepest intimacy, which to the fae, means they can do whatever they wish to you.

  If Aspen had my true name, I’d be under his control with no free will of my own. My stomach churns at the thought.

  “Promise me you won’t do it.”

  “Trust me, I’ll do whatever I can to avoid it.” Even if it means my death, I don’t add. Before he can say anything else to make me linger, I open the door and step into the hall. As I return to my room, all I can think about is Cobalt’s crushed expression when I turned him down. I had no other choice. We’d never be able to survive Aspen’s wrath.

  I have to protect him. Protect Eisleigh.

  I have to marry a monster.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I count the days until the mate ceremony with numb awareness, stumbling in a daze, going through the motions. It feels like wading through mud, each day a struggle to get through. Most of the time, I try to turn off my emotions, following logic instead. Eat. Breathe. Do as I’m told.

  Four.

  I tolerate dress fittings with Lorelei, give half-hearted answers to Foxglove’s questions about requested foods for the celebratory feast that follows the ceremony. He takes me through the steps of some strange dance I’m supposed to perform with the king. I learn it, memorize it, but I feel like I’m hardly there.

  Three.

  Foxglove says something about ribbons and masks. I nod, but the ribbons remind me too much of Amelie. She always loved pretty ribbons. I turn away from him to stare out the window for a while. That night I dream about seawater filling my lungs, of my sister calling my name as waves drag her into the coral caves.

  Two.

  When I wake, I force my pain to subside, put on my mask of calm. Try not to think of Amelie. More dress fittings. More masks and ribbons. Another round of practice for the dance.

  One.

  When the day arrives, I stand before my mirror, staring at the stranger in front of me. She wears my face, lips covered in a deep burgundy rouge, cheeks powdered a rosy blush. A russet-gold dusts my eyelids and lines my lower lashes, along with
some rich browns and yellows. The makeup distracts from the dark circles I know lie beneath, and helps cover the ghostly pallor I’ve adopted as of late.

  My eyes rove over my dress, a flowing gown of pale blue spider silk dotted with white pearls. The skirt is layered with a sheer fabric stitched with silk leaves in the same pale blue and flutters with every move I make. The colors on my face and dress bring to mind autumn leaves falling through a clear midday sky. To someone else, this would be a dream dress. To me, it’s a nightmare.

  It reminds me too much of a wedding gown.

  Even though I know the mate ceremony isn’t an actual wedding, it still makes my stomach churn. The way Foxglove explained it, the mate ceremony is a way for Aspen and me to present ourselves as a couple—mates. The first step in securing the alliance. The final step is our wedding ceremony. That will occur in just over two weeks.

  I shudder.

  “You look beautiful,” Foxglove says, fixing a loose strand of auburn hair into place.

  “He’s right,” Lorelei says. “There’s no doubt you’re the Queen of the Autumn Court.”

  Her words send a chill down my spine. Queen. I still haven’t gotten used to the idea that I’m going to be a queen after we’re married.

  “Now for the final touches.” Foxglove reaches for an elaborate mask from my dressing table and steps behind me to secure it over my eyes. It only covers the top portion of my face above my nose, but the embellishments adorning the top make the mask appear much larger than it is, creating a halo of robin feathers and golden leaves overhead. The mask itself is made of bronze, carved with elegant swirling patterns and decorated with pearls.

  Next, Foxglove grabs a handful of long ribbons, motioning for me to raise my arms. He explained the ribbon part of the ceremony to me, but I’d only been half listening. Something about a ribbon representing each element, and how we’ll have to untie them from each other. Foxglove ties the first—a red ribbon—around my hips, then a yellow one around my waist, a green one around my chest, and a blue one around my head and the mask. The bow of the final ribbon hangs slightly into my line of vision as it dangles from my brow.

  “There,” Foxglove says, admiring his work. He looks pleased, but I feel like a gaudy present as I look at my reflection.

  “It’s time,” says a voice from the other side of my room. I find Cobalt hovering in my doorway. He wears a simple blue mask, lips pressed into a tight line. A pang of sadness tugs at my heart as I meet his gaze, but I quickly release it. I can’t let myself consider regrets. No what-ifs. “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “I suppose so,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. I’m determined neither to fake joy nor reveal distress. I shall be calm. Composed.

  Cobalt enters my room and meets me at the mirror. “I’ll walk you,” he says, extending his arm.

  I hesitate, wondering if it’s smart to walk with him. Then again, if Aspen didn’t come to take me himself, perhaps he doesn’t care. Without a second thought, I place my hand at his elbow and we leave my room. The halls are quiet and nearly empty, with most servants and guards congregating higher in the palace near the topmost balcony where the ceremony will take place.

  Foxglove and Lorelei follow behind me and Cobalt as we make our way through the halls and up the stairs. We pass the landing that leads to the formal dining room, then climb another set of stairs even higher. Too soon, the sound of voices falls upon my ears. We come to the bottom of a final staircase that ends in bright sky overhead.

  “I’ll leave you here,” Cobalt says, then leans in closer. With a shiver, I think he might steal a kiss, but his words whisper in my ear, “You remember what I told you? About the fae ritual?”

  How could I forget? “Yes.”

  “You won’t do it, right?”

  I raise a brow. “Do I look crazy to you?”

  “Well, you are about to become my brother’s mate.”

  “Fair enough.”

  A shadow falls overhead, bringing my attention to the top of the stairs. I find a silhouette stark against the clear blue sky, a tall, lean frame with antlers. Even with Aspen’s features obscured in shadow, I know he’s glowering. But is it at me or his brother?

  Cobalt all but leaps away from me, then proceeds up the stairs. As he reaches the top stair next to his brother, the two face each other. I can feel the tension between them until Cobalt turns ahead and continues out of sight.

  Aspen faces me and extends his hand, like darkness itself beckoning me to join him.

  “Go on,” Foxglove says with a gentle touch on my shoulder.

  With trembling steps, I make my way up the stairs, trying my best to keep my head held high. I’m momentarily blinded as I cross the threshold from the dim staircase to the open air of the balcony above. When my eyes adjust, I take in the wide platform opening before me. Its floor is of smooth citrine and the perimeter is lined with a golden rail. Two throne-like chairs perch on a raised dais at the far end, with a bronze silk rug leading to them from where I stand. On each side of this rug are nearly a dozen unfamiliar fae. Since the balcony is set at the pinnacle of one of the palace’s highest towers, nothing but open sky surrounds us, giving way to views of distant hills colored in all shades of red, gold, and brown. The sound of crashing waves and crying gulls echo from far below.

  It’s the first time I’ve been here, and I must admit it’s beautiful. For a moment, it’s enough to make me forget the fae male before me.

  All it takes is a breath for the moment to shatter. I can feel Aspen’s eyes burning into me, hand still outstretched. My eyes flash toward him, taking in his elegant bronze suit beneath a red and gold cape lined with leaves and raven feathers. A crown of gold shaped like maple leaves and dotted with rubies sits between his twining antlers, slightly obscured behind the feathers of his mask. His mask matches mine, and the same four ribbons are tied around his body. Part of me wants to laugh at how comical the ribbons look in contrast to his regal bearing and elegant state of dress. But this is no time for laughter.

  I swallow hard, then accept his hand, allowing him to steady me as I take the final stair to stand at his side. “You look beautiful.” His words are so quiet, I have to question whether I heard him right.

  “Meaningless flattery,” I mutter through my teeth.

  He lets out a low grumble and leads me forward. I try to remember what Foxglove told me during our preparations. First, walk to the other end of the balcony, hand-in-hand with the king.

  We take a step, and the sound of harp begins to float in the air. Our next step prompts the beat of a low drum. I seek out the source of the music, finding a fae at the bottom of the dais, strumming an enormous harp. The fae has a feminine, human-like upper body and a long, fish-like tail. She must be a siren. Next to her sits a stout, heavyset fae with leathery skin and long, green hair who beats a wooden drum. The music picks up with every step we take, rumbling beneath my feet as we walk down the aisle between the fae.

  My attention moves to these unfamiliar figures dressed in elaborate gowns and eccentric suits. These must be the ambassadors Foxglove told me about during our preparations. He said an ambassador from each court would be present for the ceremony today. Each fae wears a mask, although none are as embellished as mine and Aspen’s. As we pass, they stare down at me with their piercing eyes. I do my best to keep my gaze trained straight ahead. My composure remains intact until we reach the other end of the balcony and I find a face I recognize. A human face. Sableton’s vicar nods to me as we pass him, looking quite out of place in his somber black robes and unmasked face. I’m surprised by his presence, even though Foxglove did say a human would be here today to bring word of our actions back to Eisleigh’s council. It just never occurred to me it would be someone I know.

  Once we reach the base of the dais and the two thrones, we pause, then again face our audience. The music trails off into silence. My breaths grow shallow as I recall what’s supposed to come next. Every pair of eyes is upon us, and I suddenly
regret not paying more attention to the previous days’ preparations. This ceremony may mean nothing to me, but that doesn’t mean I want to look like an idiot in front of these strangers, not to mention Sableton’s vicar. I blink a few times, clearing the fog from my mind. Aspen still clutches my hand, and I feel my palm growing sweaty in his.

  “Are you ready?” he whispers.

  “No.”

  I can see his smirk from the corner of my eye. Without another word, he lifts our hands, and the music begins again. The beat is deeper, heavier, the harp slow and sensuous. Dread fills me.

  That’s right. It’s time for the stupid dance.

  The fae shift to form a semi-circle around us. Aspen releases my hand and takes a step back. I mirror his steps, recalling all the times I practiced with Foxglove these last few days. We step in again, our hands touching, then break away once more. This time when we come back together, Aspen reaches for the red ribbon around my hips. It’s a struggle not to flinch from his touch as he pulls one end of the bow. “The earth in you is the earth in me,” he says, and the ribbon falls away from me.

  We step away. Return. This time I must do the same with him. “The earth in you is the earth in me,” I mutter, yanking on the ribbon until it comes from around his hips.

  We step to the side, hands touching, then face each other again. He takes hold of the yellow ribbon at my waist. “The fire in you is the fire in me.”

  My turn again. The music pounds in rhythm with my heart, and somehow I manage to keep the beat with my motions. I take his yellow ribbon and echo his words.

  We turn, backs facing each other. Step to the side. Face forward. Aspen takes the blue ribbon from my brow. “The air in you is the air in me.”

  Turn. Step. Turn. Echo. My breaths go heavy as we near the end of the dance. Step forward, step back. To the side, turn. Side. Turn.

  We face each other, and Aspen pulls the green ribbon at my chest. “The water in you is the water in me.”