by AC Washer
“Okay.” I paused. “But could you guys, you know, drop your glamours so I can see what an elf looks like?”
Maeve’s brows shot up.
“I just want to know what I am,” I said defensively.
Maeve hesitated before saying, “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Yep. We fae are stuck in our glamours so long as the throne is empty,” Mickey said.
“Why?”
Maeve sighed. “It’s the queen’s way of ensuring that things don’t get out of hand during the interregnum—the time between queens. Our glamours limit our ability to access our magic—some more than others—but it is for the good of all. Imagine rogue fae going around working magic however they pleased. It’d be chaos,” she said, taking another bite of mash.
“But isn’t that what the fae council is for? To rule the fae in the queen’s absence?”
Mickey grinned as Maeve opened her mouth and shut it again.
“What Maeve didn’t mention is that our glamours are also how the ruling line maintains power. Kill the queen? Trapped in glamour. Refuse to coronate her heir? Trapped in glamour. Most fae would rather die than spend the rest of their existence living like magicless humans.”
“Huh,” I said, glancing down at my soggy cocoa puffs. “Sounds like a nice little dictatorship.”
Mickey chuckled. Maeve glared at him.
“It is what it always has been,” she said.
“Not always,” Mickey replied.
“As far back as memory goes,” Maeve said, acid creeping into her voice.
“That’s nice and all,” I said, cutting in, “but back to my mom making me a changeling. I don’t get that part.”
“Neither did we,” Maeve said. “Changelings are rare for our race since we value our young. We elves are not like the gnomes, who view offspring as a burden.” Maeve took a deep breath, steeling herself before she continued. “But I believe your mother knew of your unfortunate magicless circumstance and hid you away from the fae for your protection.”
“My—my protection? What?”
Maeve patted my hand, her face reflecting pity as she said, “Kella, you have no magic.”
“Okay,” I said, having already gathered as much. Yeah, I could see through fae glamours, but I figured that was because magic acted glitchy around me.
“And with no magic, you would have been defenseless among the fae. Surviving until you were old enough for the investiture would have been impossible given the current set of political circumstances. I believe your mother saw being a changeling as the best way to ensure you lived until the investiture.”
“Wait, what? Why would the investiture—” As soon as I latched onto a question, another one jumped up and shove itself forward.
I shook my head, trying to make room for one fully-developed thought.
“Who is my mom?”
“Your mother’s name was Ashlyn.”
“Was?” I said even as my brain tripped over the name. Ashlyn. That was the person that made Mickey vow to get me to complete the investiture. Maeve glanced at Mickey before looking back at me.
“I’m sorry, Kella, but your mother died some time ago.”
Dead. Of course she was dead. I couldn’t turn into an elf and magically have living elf parents, now could I? “What happened?” I said, my tone flat.
Maeve shook her head. “We’re not sure.”
“All we know is that she died going on twelve years ago,” Mickey said.
“What about my real dad?” Real dad. Part of me felt relief at saying that. At finding out that the man I hated, the man who never loved me, had never been my father.
“I’m afraid that he is to remain anonymous for now,” Maeve said.
The words stabbed me like a knife.
“He—”
“He doesn’t think it’s the right time for a family reunion,” Mickey said, shooting Maeve a warning look. “He wants you to adjust first.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Mickey said, slicing an apple on his plate. “He thinks his reappearance might cause too much turmoil and wants to wait until after the investiture. And that is what Maeve and I need to talk to you about—the part you are to play in the investiture.”
I took a deep breath. I wanted to scream, to pin him down and make him answer all my questions about my father and why he wasn’t here right now talking to me, but from the set of Mickey’s jaw, I knew all I’d get was a truckload of nothing.
“Fine,” I said, trying not to sound too bitter. “But how do you know my mom’s dead?”
Maeve and Mickey shared a meaningful glance—one that had me grinding my teeth together.
“Because,” Mickey said, his eyes boring into mine, “we all became trapped in our glamours.”
“Huh? But you said that only happens when the queen dies.”
Maeve and Mickey stared at me, waiting for the dots to connect.
“No way.”
“Your mother was the last fae queen,” Mickey said softly.
“And you are her heir,” Maeve added.
I whipped my head back in shock and said the first thing that popped into my mind. “But I can’t be. I have no magic!”
Maeve nodded. “That complicates things, but your lack of magic should only be temporary. The council believes the investiture will still grant you your ancestral powers.”
“Wait, why are you so sure I don’t have magic? Maybe I’m a late bloomer or something.” Maybe that’s all this glitchiness was—my powers beginning to manifest.
Maeve shook her head. “You don’t heal. All fae heal quickly, but you heal slower than even a human. And the ointment Mickey gave you for your nose—”
“The numbing cream?”
“It doesn’t numb. It guides a fae’s personal magic to heal her body faster than normal. Even though your magic hadn’t broken yet, it should have worked on you like any other young fae. Since it didn’t, the only explanation is that you had no magic for it to guide.”
“Okay. But as soon as I do this investiture thing, I’ll have all the magic I want—that sound about right?”
“All the magic you want?” Mickey asked, his brows raised.
I shrugged. “To heal Caleb.”
“You still want to… But he’s not your real brother—” Maeve snapped her mouth shut as soon as she saw my expression.
Caleb sucked in a breath. “Yes, you would have the power to heal your brother.”
I nodded. “But this investiture thing—it makes me queen?”
“It does,” Mickey said.
“Can a queen do whatever she wants?”
Maeve cleared her throat. “Not whatever she wants. There are certain expectations—”
Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yes, expectations, but nothing that actually binds her. So yes, the queen has done whatever she’s wanted.”
Maeves expression soured, but she didn’t disagree.
Perfect. I’d just become the queen, get awesome fae powers, heal Caleb, and then… Well, I’d figure that out later. Maybe Caleb would come live here.
“Alright then,” I said, looking down at my bowl of cereal to hide my grin. “So when does this investiture thing happen?”
“In about two weeks,” Mickey said.
Two weeks, two weeks. Something else was happening in two weeks.
“You’ve known about it all along,” Mickey continued. “We just called it Homecoming instead since we figured a fae raised among humans would go along with that better.”
My jaw dropped.
“And no one thought it would be a good idea to tell me about it before it happened?”
Mickey shrugged, peeling the apple slices.
“We figured at that point, explanations would no longer be necessary,” Maeve said.
“How does that make sense? I’m sure I’d have had a ton of questions after a rigged homecoming queen vote that ended up making me into the queen of a fae kingdom. Lots of questions.”
>
Maeve shrugged. “The knowledge we’re giving you right now would have distilled upon you as a natural part of the investiture.”
“I’d just know?” I asked, disbelief coating my words.
Maeve nodded, releasing my hand as she eyed my bowl. “Kella, please hurry or you’ll be late for school.”
“Late for school? You just told me I’m the next fae queen and that I’ve got no magic so people are gonna walk all over me. Wait…” Something clicked. “O’Faolain. Was he using magic that first day of school?”
“Yes, but I set him straight,” Mickey said with a self-satisfied smirk.
“But why would he try to seem—”
Maeve smiled. “He was attempting to win your favor.”
“By making me act like a lovesick idiot?”
Mickey looked much less amused than Maeve. “He was hoping you’d pick him for consort. The heir gets to pick her consort before she becomes queen—even if her pick manipulated her into thinking she loved him.”
Mortification raced through my veins, flushing my cheeks. “What? I have to choose a consort? That’s…” Words failed me. I stood there with my mouth open. And then, “That’s what everyone at school’s been talking about? Please tell me no one thinks I’d choose O’Faolain.That’s just gross! How old is he, anyway?”
“Age doesn’t matter in this process,” was Maeve’s bland reply.
“Debatable,” murmured Mickey.
Maeve gave him a pointed look. “It’s legal.”
Mickey scowled. “Technically. Most fae her age have learned basic charm defense. He knew she wouldn’t have any training, and he took advantage of that,” he said, his jaw clenching. “And once O’Faolain’s hears that she doesn’t have a trace of magic, I’ll need to glue myself to her side. He wouldn’t think twice about entrancing her.”
My eyes widened in alarm. “You mean he’ll, like, do that soulmatey thing again?”
“Worse,” Mickey said darkly.
Maeve sighed. “Well, then I suppose it’s a good thing that the council deemed it prudent to keep her lack of magic secret.”
“It won’t last,” he said.
Maeve scooped up the last of her white breakfast mash. “Well, it should at least buy another day or two before word gets out.” She shook her head. “We really need to stop the leak on the council.”
Mickey bit out a laugh. “Good luck with that.”
Maeve pursed her lips, opening her mouth to say something more, but I blurted out my question before she had a chance.
“I thought magic didn’t work on me since I have none. Why did his?”
Mickey nodded in acknowledgment. “Healing another person requires quite a bit of power as well as numerous years of study, so most fae won’t do it outright. Instead, they’ll use their magic in a way that acts as a guide for another fae’s magic or they’ll buy a pre-made working—like the cream I tried to use on you. Guiding magic involves less power, but it requires time and precision to work and the recipient needs to be a fae with enough power to act on the magical guidance given.”
I nodded. That made sense.
“Now if a fae isn’t worried about depleting their magic,” Mickey continued, “then they can use a direct magic working on the magical and nonmagical alike. It requires more energy, but less time and finesse. That answer your questions?”
“Not really. What about—”
Mickey cleared his throat, shooting me a warning glance. I rolled my eyes. I remembered our deal—I wasn’t going to ask anything that would make Maeve suspicious. And if Mickey just trusted me a little more, he’d see that.
“Last question,” I said to Maeve. “Why am I living with you two? I get that you’re on the council, and it makes sense that they’d want a council member to be my ‘foster mom’ to, like, protect me and all that, but Mickey? What about him?” I glanced over at him.
Maeve paused for several seconds. I didn’t like it when people paused before they answered. It made me think that they were about to lie. Then again, fae couldn’t lie—but they could certainly mislead.
“The council decided that Mickey’s presence would be helpful to maintain order.” Maeve said finally.
“Maintain order?” I examined my scrawny foster brother. “How?”
Mickey said, “The queen’s council doesn’t represent all the different factions within the Seelie court. The council thinks that me being here will have a calming effect on certain parties.”
“So, you’re like an honorary council member?”
Maeve’s face pinched. “His role is purely advisory,” she said before shifting topics. “Mickey, now that I’ve briefed the council on Kella’s lack of magic, it would be best to ensure you’re around her at all times. We do not wish to leave Kella unprotected for one second after this information gets out.”
Mickey shook his head. “Can’t. There’s something else that requires my attention.”
“It can wait,” Maeve replied. “The investiture is in two weeks and everyone will soon find out that Kella’s magicless. Nothing you need to do supersedes protecting her from those who would take advantage of her handicap.”
“Do you really think you need to tell me that? I’ve already talked to Bridgette—Kella will be fine.”
Maeve’s eyes narrowed.
“Or,” I said, piping up, “I can just solve everyone’s problems and not go to school. No one needs to guard me—or whatever you do with magicless heirs—and I won’t be around a sketchy pedophile. Win-win.”
Maeve’s sharp eyes bore into mine. “First, he is not a pedophile. You are of age—”
“But I’m seventeen and he’s at least in his mid-twenties.”
Mickey snorted. “You’ve got the ‘at least’ part right.”
Maeve shot him a glare before looking back at me. “Second—and this is the more important point—you can’t afford not to go. Yes, by yourself, you’re defenseless, but if the council allows you to shelter here, your subjects will interpret that as weakness. Some fae will even come after you like the vultures they are. You must show them that while you are weak, those who support you are strong and we will triumph.”
There was a fierce gleam in Maeve’s eyes, and I knew beyond any doubt that unless I was dying, I was going to school.
Mickey leaned back in his chair. “Maeve’s right. You’ve got to go. Don’t worry, I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
“Wait, you’re sending me into O’Faolain’s class alone when he might already know I have no magic? What, you want me turn into a slobbering pile of hormones? In public?”
By the look on Maeve’s face, it seemed like she agreed with me one hundred percent. Mickey waved away my concerns. “Bridgette will be there. Just continue to act normally while the council organizes effective countermeasures. You’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be fine,” I echoed. “Sure, I’ll be going into the class of a full-grown elf who wants to brainwash me so he can be my consort and we can make baby heirs, but I’ll be fine.”
Mickey’s eyes widened at the mention of making babies, but he shook his head. “He won’t try anything today. No one but the council—and maybe Seamus’s wife—know yet, since Maeve only informed the council last night.”
My expression must have said it all, because Mickey added, “You’ll be fine. Bridgette’s planning on going to his class with you. And speaking of which…” He looked over to the time on the microwave. “If you don’t leave now, you’ll miss the bus.”
I looked between him and Maeve.
“Go on,” Maeve said.
“Unbelievable,” I said, grabbing my book bag.
Mickey shook a warning finger at me as I stood up, scraping the chair against the floor. “Don’t let O’Faolain get to you.”
“Thanks for that, deserter.”
My hand was on the front door handle when he called down the hall, “Have fun!”
“Right.”
Riding the big yellow bus was annoying, but to
day I found myself appreciating the drawn-out ride. It gave me time to think about Maeve and her council’s “effective countermeasures.” What would they do, hire a gazillion bodyguards so people wouldn’t shooting embarrassing charms at me? I could see it now—me surrounded by twenty griffin bodyguards because I was some magicless freak. Humiliating.
No, there had to be another way. A way that I didn’t come across as the wimpy kid who had to get the adults to protect her against the magical fae bullies. Acting normal was easy enough for Maeve to say—she wasn’t the one that had to sit through Mr. O’Faolain’s class. Now that I understood what he was,and that he’d used magic to “charm” me, I needed to come up with an excellent defensive strategy.
My eyes narrowed as I settled into my game face. What I needed to figure out was how to get through the next couple of days without turning into a slobbering, smitten idiot in front of O’Faolain when he found out he could entrance me—not sure what that entailed or why he didn’t do it earlier, but it sounded really bad.
At least my dad—my fake dad—taught me something about winning fights like this; the best defense was a good offense. Make them think your weakness was your strength.
And the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that I needed to convince them I would make their lives miserable if they did something stupid—like turn me into a love-struck idiot in front of the entire class on my first day of school.
All I needed for this to work was attitude, which wasn’t a problem. Simply visualizing O’Faolain was enough to make my lips curl in disgust.
I jumped off the bus, marched up to the school doors, and shoved them open, almost bowling over Bridgette, who was waiting just inside.
“Kella!” Bridgette yelped, dodging the glass door. “What are you…” She trailed off as I walked right past her and down the hall toward my homeroom.
“Hey!” I heard her quick steps as she rushed to catch up with me, reaching for my elbow. “Maeve told me what was going on. Don’t worry about O’Faolain’s class. We’ve got someone else in there to keep an eye on things.”
That should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. Not when I had no idea who it was and if I should trust them. It wasn’t like whoever it was had helped out that first day, anyway—that’d been all Mickey.
