Ferrous (Fae's Folly Book 1)

by Valerie Mars

“Oh, alright,” I say as if this is perfectly routine. “Well, goodnight.”

  “Sleep well.” He leaves me to it, and I waste little time getting into bed. My eyes are heavy despite having done nothing but sleep and eat pastries. I’m not typically combative, so I think the battles with Ryland and the general tension of having my entire life disrupted explains the exhaustion.

  It explains it well enough for me to snuggle into the pillow, at least. It must rain often during the nights here, for the lovely smell of cardamom earth saturates the air again. Between the silky sheets and pajamas, I’m decently comfortable for a recent human transplant to the fae world. I inhale deeply, wishing I could take this moment back to my shitty apartment with me. Or at least the comfortable Victorian swimsuit pajamas.

  For all the comfort, however, sleep’s embrace doesn’t arrive. I find myself staring at the item on the armchair, reluctant to extinguish the lantern. This evening was all about scent and making sure we layer many different ones onto me for our journey. After the Spring shoes and solace that is Bash’s smoky sandalwood, I’m immensely curious to know what scent awaits me in the box.

  Most societies frown on sniffing someone’s clothes, but it’s mine now, right? And I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until I’ve answered the question repeating over and over in my mind: What does Ryland Everhart, non-literal Prince of Autumn smell like?

  I ease my legs onto the floor, trying very hard to avoid making a sound. It feels like it takes all night, but I make it to the chair. I’m probably a weirdo for being so surreptitious about it, but whatever. It’s sweater-sniffing time.

  I pick up the box and remove the lid, but all I can smell is the saturation of rain in the air. So I raise that sucker up to my nose for a closer whiff. I sniff and immediately know, but sniff again to make myself believe as comprehension flutters throughout my abdomen like dozens of butterflies. Or slugs. Yeah, let’s go with slugs.

  I project my voice to whoever. “Hey, was it raining last night, too?”

  “It hasn’t rained here in a week,” Bash’s sleepy voice replies.

  Motherfucker. I close the box and trudge back to bed, not caring whether they hear me. The cloying scent of cardamom hangs in the air like a fog, so I throw open the window before begrudgingly climbing into bed. I rearrange the bottom pillow to sit on top, but it does no good. It’s all around me.

  This was Prince Ryland’s bed.

  9

  Mallory

  “Is that a wad of socks in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Bash stands with his hands on his hips, hair still mussed from sleep.

  “You guys say that, too?” My bulging cloak pocket honest to goodness has a wad of socks in it, though. Ryland brought a satchel filled with herbs this morning, which we placed the necklace and ring inside. We then threw the satchel into a dirty sock donated by each male, and those socks into another, and so on until it became a layered monstrosity of smells.

  “Of course! We’re vain little things, and most of us can’t glamour like your storybooks tell ya.” So he’s read some human literature.

  “I’m realizing they read me the wrong stories,” I sigh.

  “You’re in for it now,” Kai says while mounting his horse. I wrapped his hand again this morning. It’s coming along at a supernatural rate, but it’s still impressive to see him grip his stallion’s mane and haul himself up without flinching. The horse is shadow incarnate, dressed in all black without a single patch of cheer. He’s well-groomed and seems to know it, for he paid me no attention until Kai shoved a carrot in my hand and introduced him as Berenger.

  “Berenger is the name my father chose. I think he’s more of a ‘Barry,’” he gushed while rubbing his muzzle. Barry basked in Kai’s attention willingly, but side-eyed the heck out of the carrot I was holding. When he did take it, he was as gentle as I’d expect a companion of Kai’s to be. I giggled as his nose steamed the air around my hand.

  But I can’t ride with Barry and Kai. Heck, I can’t even ride, which is especially why I can’t be a nuisance to the iron daredevil still nursing his wound. Instead, they’re placing me in Bash’s custody on his massive draft horse dappled in gray and shock-white features. The pale mane, socks, and muzzle make me think of waves cresting on volcanic rock. The name Bash gave to this majestic force of a creature? “Pebbles.” Freaking Pebbles.

  Bash and Pebbles are an intimidating structure to approach. I glance back at Ryland, who already sits on his deep red mare, with legs and a mane that fade into black. I was expecting something more…pastel? This mare looks ready for the apocalypse, but there sits Ryland Everhart with his long silver hair perched high above his head, clean as ever. He sneers down at me, his message clear: You won’t be riding with me.

  At least Bash will shield my body from the wind.

  His smokiness clings to my cloak, but now and then a punch of fresh cardamom greets my nose. Kai’s scent must be subtle, for it hasn’t stood out from the crowd of roses and grass, cardamom rain, and Bash. I’m curious, but sniffing a pair of used pants crosses my threshold for weirdo territory. Especially when they probably know I huffed Ryland’s sweater last night.

  And I can think of more fun ways to discover Kai’s signature smell. Ways that’ll coax out his adorable blush again.

  “He’s used to carrying me plus some cargo, so I guarantee it’ll be a smooth ride,” Bash says, giving Pebbles an affectionate neck rub. Man, I could use a neck rub. Am I jealous of a horse right now?

  Bash flashes me a dazzling smile of encouragement. I’m glad I witnessed him carry Kai the first night, because there’s no way I’m getting up there without his help. These horses are larger in the same way the trees are larger. Does fae corn grow thirty feet tall, too? And do pumpkins come with rental agreements?

  “Can I say hi before getting on?”

  “We would prefer it! Stand here,” he says, pointing to Pebbles’ side, past his chest. His hand rises to the top of Pebbles’ neck, where he scratches vigorously. It strikes me as rough, but Pebbles leans into it, letting out little snorts of delight. “Give him a scratch closer to his ears.”

  I search Pebbles’ eyes for mistrust, but they’re half-glazed to horse heaven. I give him a chance to pull away as I approach, but his neck lurches for my hand. I drag my nails over the roots of his mane, and he presses into me, like, Girl, is that all you got? Digging in a little deeper seems to hit the spot, because he stops pressing and just enjoys the ride.

  “That’s it. You’ve got him now,” Bash says, lifting my hand from Pebbles. “I’ve found it’s better to keep them wanting more.” And Pebbles does, stretching for my hand as Bash ushers me to the barrel, whereupon waits a minimal saddle. “Out front or behind?”

  I’m woefully unprepared in either case. I consider Bash’s wide body and whether I can even latch my arms around him with any confidence. His strength should be trusted over mine. “Front, I think.”

  “Good choice.” He cups his hands together, hovering them a few feet off the ground. “Step on and I’ll give you a boost.” I know I’ve seen him lift Kai like a sack of potatoes, but I don’t relish the thought of throwing all my bodyweight into someone’s literal hands.

  “Ahh…is there a step stool or something nearby?” I flounder.

  “Listen, here. I am no weak human boy, Mallory Meadowbrook. You will step onto my hands, grip Pebbles’ mane, and we’ll get you up there faster than the wind can deliver Ryland’s insults.”

  A nervous giggle escapes me. “I’m just trying to avoid having more hands to wrap.”

  “Don’t you worry about me. Hop on,” he says, widening his stance.

  At least my boots smell like roses. I step on while grabbing a fistful of Pebbles’ white mane in my left hand, throwing my right wherever I can find purchase. Bash’s hands are unwavering, but my core strength isn’t. I weeble and wobble as my legs shake, but Bash gets me up and over. My hands tingle with major vertigo as I assess my new height, so I lean forward and t
ake the stability Pebbles’ neck offers.

  “Hold tight,” Bash warns while handing me the reins. Pebbles shifts his weight in preparation, causing my heart to flutter. Bash vaults onboard and smoky heat falls in as he reaches around me for the reins. I feel like an absolute child in the shelter of his reach, but the reassurance it offers is welcome. I don’t think I’ll be smelling anything else as long as this bonfire of a man sits behind me, but I’m sick of catching myself enjoying Ryland’s stupid cardamom, anyway.

  Honestly, he’s going to ruin the scent for me.

  I feel Bash look to Kai and then Ryland, whose ponytail highlights his especially long ears. Where Bash’s are merely tipped and Kai’s slightly elongated, Ryland’s ears extend even farther. Does he hear better, or do big ears denote a big ego in the land of fae?

  Gonna go with the second.

  He speaks to his mare, giving her neck a few pats. “Let’s go, Brigit.” With that, he leads the way while Pebbles and Barry fall in side by side at an easy walking pace. My breath hitches as we get going, but our pace is slow enough that we aren’t being jostled around much.

  The streets are still awakening at this hour, but smoke trickles from several chimneys as a male tends to a flowerbed up ahead. Bash lowers his mouth to my ear, voice low. “Make sure ya keep that hood tightly fastened.” Even through wool, the vibration of his voice sends tingles down my neck and spine. I can’t help it. It’s science.

  The white-haired male hails our approach. Ryland returns the greeting, his voice laced with unfamiliar warmth. Yes, every good politician has a career voice.

  “More for the capital, I take it?” the man calls out.

  “Yes, sir. Are you remaining here?”

  “Indeed, I am. My ancestry’s firmly Underfae, and I haven’t any need to be adventuring off with quads at this age,” he says. “Best of luck to you all!”

  We say our farewells as we plod by, his nose wrinkling as we pass. He pauses a moment before shaking his head and returning to his garden. These fae are like bloodhounds.

  When we’re further away, I can’t stand to keep it in anymore. “I have questions,” I announce.

  “You don’t want to know how old he is,” Kai replies.

  “Is he older or younger than Lady Willow?”

  “Bash, you told her Willow’s age?”

  “It was her first night. She’d been through the wringer. She asked; I answered.”

  “Actually, forget the age,” I interject. “What’s an Underfae?” Ryland’s head swivels back so quickly he looks like a demonic snowy owl.

  Kai threads his fingers through his hair. “Let’s wait until we’re out of town for that one.”

  “Sure,” I grumble.

  “He’s older than Lady Willow, to answer your first question, Mal,” Bash says in hushed tones.

  I take in a deep breath, hold, and release. “I have an easier question while we’re still in town.”

  “Mm?” Bash hums.

  “You said Pebbles is used to your weight, plus some cargo. What kind of cargo?”

  “Ah. Well, I forge blades and I take them to the markets.”

  “You’re a blacksmith?”

  “We say ‘smithy.’”

  “The ‘black’ in blacksmith refers to iron, if I recall correctly,” Kai explains.

  I imagine Bash hammering over an anvil, his corded arm swinging over and over…maybe we’ve lost something by industrializing. “What led you to become a smithy?”

  Both of them chuckle. Bash gathers the reins into his left hand, freeing his right. “I’m good for a lot more than warming blankets,” he says, turning his arm outward until his palm faces me. “Watching?”

  I nod. He cups his hand, and within it a lick of flame materializes, flickering in the breeze. It grows from dark orange to yellow, then brilliant white. I gasp as the heat warms my cheeks. The flame is turning blue when a gust of wind barrels from straight ahead and kills it. Bash groans.

  “Stay vigilant,” Ryland barks.

  “Such a fun suck, this one.” What are we to discuss, the weather?

  “The council’s pet,” Bash agrees.

  “You two realize he’s already on edge through the mistake of Mallory being here, don’t you? It’s best we conserve our strength should we require it down the road.”

  “You don’t think the Techies woul—” Bash stops, rubbing at his ears. “Fine, just cut it out with the wind tricks, will ya?” He grumbles under his breath, and all I catch is something about shoving an arrow somewhere. Looking at the quiver hanging on Ryland’s back, I can’t help but to snicker.

  As we continue in silence, my list of questions only seems to grow. I alternate between watching Ryland’s ears twitch every so often and taking in the scenery. We’re nearing the edge of town, the space between buildings widening. The horses’ hooves crunch over dead leaves, the scent of decay mixing with the smoke at my back. It makes me want s’mores or a pumpkin spice latte or at least football. Do fae have football?

  Ryland holds a hand out to his side, signaling to Kai and Bash, whose postures change immediately. Bash speaks over my head. “Support your back, love, we’re going to speed up a bit. Don’t grip with your knees. Let your hips do the work.”

  Haha, that sounds dirty. I do my best to imitate their postures, but I know I’m going to regret watching Kai work out over performing my own workouts the past few months.

  Ahead, Brigit shifts into a trot. As do we. My butt wastes no time catching air off the saddle, and Bash’s arms are the only thing keeping me from full-on catapulting. My heart gallops in my chest, even if the horse is moving comparably slow.

  Bash slows Pebbles back down to a walk. “Take the reins a moment and lift your elbows,” he says. We exchange the rope and I extend my elbows to the side like I’m about to do the chicken dance. Ryland and Kai have halted ahead and are looking back at us. Ryland’s blood pressure must be off the charts.

  Bash’s arms lock in around my rib cage as he takes the reins again, resting his hands on the tops of my thighs. This would be pretty saucy if he wasn’t acting as a living seat belt for me.

  “Elbows down,” he commands with a hint of amusement. But my arms hang unnaturally with Bash’s sizable arms underneath and can’t really reach where I was holding before. I stretch and reach, but we both see it’s hopeless.

  “Oh, for the love of Ophelia,” Bash mutters. “Rest your arms on mine and find somewhere on me to grip.” I’m momentarily entertained by the latter part of his directions but sober up when Ryland’s eyes sear into me like a brand from afar. I give Bash the weight of my arms and wrap my hands around his wrists. I don’t quite make it all the way around, but it terrifies me less than the thought of riding behind him does.

  “Alright, let’s try this again.”

  Kai holds up a finger before walking his horse to us. “Imagine you’re pedaling backwards on a bicycle. Every time Pebbles’ front left shoulder steps forward, I want your right hip lifting to compensate.”

  Bash nods from behind. “Windmills. Letting your hips tighten and flex with the movements will go a long way.”

  I flash Kai a smile in appreciation. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

  He winces. “Oh, most certainly. But using your hips will make it infinitely better.”

  I mime my hips through a few sets of backward pedaling motions, to which Kai gives me the thumbs up before nodding to Bash.

  “I won’t let you fall, but remember your core,” Bash says, giving Pebbles a squeeze. “I’ve got ya.”

  With that, we’re off again. The buildings and farms slip into rear view until it’s just us and the towering trees. Bash gently nudges me whenever my posture slips, but I’ve kind of found the rhythm by the time we turn onto a wider road. I can’t imagine what a canter or gallop would feel like, though.

  Questions continue to brew and ferment within my mind. I drive myself crazy trying to make a list of them so I won’t forget to ask when we finally take a
break. But does it really matter? Will they allow me to retain these memories upon returning home, anyway? More likely than not, they’ll whip out the fae version of a neuralyzer and tell me it was really all a dream.

  I adjust my hood before returning to the warmth of Bash’s wrists, inhaling deeply. Of all the questions, one thing is certain. Bonfires will never be the same for me if fae don’t have neuralyzers.

  10

  Mallory

  We ride most of the day, pausing only to relieve ourselves or to rest the horses. Bash keeps me warm and upright, but it doesn’t keep me from all but falling off the horse as we make camp. I think I’m bruised in places I’ve never been bruised before. We stop just before a small town, where Kai is currently shopping for supplies. The horses graze contentedly under the canopy of the sky-scraping tree that the guys chose for shelter. My stomach’s growling, the butter cookies from breakfast long gone. The only sounds otherwise are the babbling brook to our west, and force meeting force as Bash splits wood. Ryland went to fetch dinner, leaving me to figure out how to add something of value to the camp in spite of my chafed legs and sore ass. So far it’s amounting to a pile of twigs, which I’m not even sure we need given Bash’s skills…but I’m trying.

  The inviting glow of town is just barely visible through the thick forest. I was looking forward to another pillowy bed after the beating my body took today, but it makes sense given how alert the three males have been. They’re on edge, and it has something to do with the Techies Bash mentioned.

  I deposit my meager offering of kindling beside Bash’s wood pile and take a moment to watch him work. He’s amassed a considerable amount with his hatchet, yet he’s dry of any sweat. Go figure, given that blacksmiths—er, smithies—swing hammers for a living. He finishes splitting the chunk he’s working on, then analyzes the pile.

  “That should do us for the night.” His eyes remind me of a tiger’s as they fall on the small heap of branches and twigs I gathered.