Ferrous (Fae's Folly Book 1)

by Valerie Mars

  She blinks her dark eyes at me daftly. “You’re practically alien, you know. Yes, there are ones with water gifts, silly. Just about anything related to nature manifests in power.”

  I know she answered my safety question, but all I can think of now is what the fae might know about extraterrestrial aliens. I could take this information back home and sell it to the History channel. That’ll cover a few months of rent at worst, right? I’ll ask Bash and Kai later on.

  Ferra leans in close. “I don’t know how they’re expecting us to eat with our scents so strong,” she says, gesturing to the long tables decorated with magnificent boulder-like gems that belong in a museum. If it weren’t for the centerpieces, I’d say we could have held this thing in the chow hall.

  But she makes a good point. Everyone’s scents are more pronounced than usual, and the congested hallway transit had me feeling like a salmon swimming up a thickly perfumed stream as we rubbed against long trains and tulle voluminous enough to hide half my daycare kids. I noticed more lavender and my beloved coffee, but everything after that blended together into a glamoured smog, as if a temperature inversion had delivered it.

  “I’m wondering the same, myself,” I say, wrinkling my nose for effect. If it’s strong to human me, I don’t want to imagine what everyone else is experiencing. Gross.

  “Look,” she says, pointing to the far right corner of the ballroom. “I think we’re meant to gather over there.” I follow her finger to the back wall where a banner with “lavender” written on it hangs high above the crowd. I check the back left corner, and sure enough, there’s a banner for coffee. Checking the other corners reveals the missing scents: grass and banana. It almost seems like a practical joke of sorts, because the four don’t belong together in a room of warm bodies. Why not operate under a harmonious theme of scents that match, like a bouquet or fruit punch? The room as it stands smells like the candle aisle at a dollar store.

  Ferra tugs my arm again and we make for our banner. I assume we’re all Spring, but you wouldn’t know by our colorful appearances. Everyone’s milling toward the back corner, and although I can’t see what’s going on, there appear to be fae returning with various minerals in their hands.

  Ferra catches the attention of one on his way back. “Hey, what’s with the rocks?”

  “Seat assignment,” he replies. Ah, so we match the centerpieces. I look behind us and find only a handful of lavender fae, marking us as the rear of the line. We wait in anxious silence, Ferra drawing a smooth piece of dark green jade from a bag held by the Spring councilman. What was his name, Leaf? Basil…Herb?

  Ferra lingers, crossing her fingers as I reach in and grab the first thing I touch. It’s smooth like hers, but when I unfurl my fist, we see it’s pitch black. “Tourmaline,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ll see you on the other side, soldier.” She salutes me as we separate for our respective seating.

  Most of the room is already sitting, and I feel like there’s a billion eyes on me as I walk to my table on the opposite end of the hall near the banana corner. Let’s hope this glamour also disguises my blush.

  There are two seats remaining on the far end, one next to a male, the other a female. She already has goo-goo eyes for him, which is hilarious considering his appearance is a lie, but I’m not about to deny her a good time. I sit beside her, hoping to avoid any ire I’d have wrought in sitting next to the male. She points to a basket where everyone’s meant to deposit their stones, and we exchange introductions after I’ve taken care of the tourmaline. They soon return to their flirtation and I turn invisible.

  That’s fine.

  The minutes tick by, but no one fills the seat across from me. The male and female discuss the female’s dress designer. Having little desire or knowledge to add input, I watch the council ascend a dais in the center of the room. Nine dainty teacups sit before each of their seats, showing this gala isn’t merely a mixer. They intend to begin the sorting process tonight. Given the number of participants, it isn’t surprising. It’s going to take a Herculean effort from the nine of them to figure out these quads.

  The crowd hushes when Celeste steps forward and tests her wind mic. “Can everyone hear me?” I imagine Ramsey Everhart’s jaw ticking, like, Of course they can, woman!

  I swear, the room nods in unison.

  “Excellent. Welcome to the glamoured gala! Everything is arranged so there are an equal amount of each season represented at your tables, however due to imbalances you’ll find some tables are incomplete. As usual, there’s an abundance of Spring but not enough Winters to go around,” she says with a featherlight giggle. Ooo, rare Kai. He did say he’s an only child. You’d think Winter folk would have nothing better to do than breed, though. All those long, dark nights. “For this reason, we’ll only focus on creating powerful pairs tonight. That’s one half of a quad, after all.”

  “We’re going to start with appetizers. The council and I will determine which eight pairs at your table present the strongest matches, handing crystals back to those least compatible with their table. Those sixteen members will return their crystal to where they drew them and draw again. During that time, each table will separate into two, making two tables of sixteen for the main course. We ask that each table maintains the seasonal balance, so if one of your new tables has four of your season already, move onto the next table of your matching centerpiece. Your noses will confirm this.”

  Well, theirs will. I’m going to look like a creeper sniffing shoulders unless they take pity on me. Please let me stay at one table the whole night.

  “This process will continue into the dessert and digestif rounds, the tables continuing to divide in half at the conclusion of each course. At the end of the menu, some of you may sit next to someone very suitable, if fate is kind.” She smiles briefly before continuing. “Do not despair if you’re moving tables every course, for this is only the beginning.”

  The council rises behind Celeste, teacups poised for a toast. Skye hands her a cup which she raises, as well. “And with that, bring in the baked brie!”

  23

  Mallory

  The fae are a people who respect cheese, but the two love birds next to me? No respect. They haven’t laid a hand on it. We’re meant to share our appetizers between groups of four, so their neglect paired with the empty seat before me means I get the brie all to myself. I keep an ear to their conversation, but there’s nothing worth reporting.

  I’m loading more gooey goodness onto a Granny Smith apple of all things when a hand descends upon the platter and claims a flax cracker with which to steal my precio—my brie. I narrow my eyes up at the offender and see Skye.

  “I had to get rid of the aftertaste of that tea,” she says, swiping another cracker. “And you seem to have extra.”

  “Trust me, I’ve been doing my best to put a hurting on it. What does the tea taste like?”

  “Licorice or asshole. Whichever you favor least,” she replies before shoving an apple slice into her mouth.

  The male sitting across my neighbor looks like he’s going to faint from hearing a council member speak that way. Definitely not a Summer. The rest of the table looks our way, and Skye holds up a finger as she finishes chewing.

  “Tourmaline?” She snatches the basket. “Let’s do this.” The first thing she does is hand me a rock. “Sorry, kid. You get to switch.” She turns to the pair of lovers, handing one to the male. “Gonna nip this one in the bud.” She continues down the table until she’s given out seventeen rocks. “Make sure the rest of you divide evenly among seasons when we split the tables, yeah?” Then she drops us the peace sign and saunters back to the dais.

  “Do you think the tea is mind-altering?” the female next to me whispers.

  I keep eating.

  Not long after, our appetizers are taken and all of us non-compatibles file in line to grab another rock from the bag. This time my fingers scrape against something chunky, and I pull out a cluster of rainbow ore. I look at the Spr
ing councilman expectantly.

  “Bismuth.”

  Wait, this gorgeous thing is what we make our anti-diarrheal with? Seems a bit unfair. I thank the councilman—I really think his name is Basil—and head to my next location.

  This time I arrive earlier, so I opt for a seat near the center so I can leach off multiple conversations at once. If not for spying, it’ll at least be conducive to passing the time. And I need something other than food to entertain me. I won’t be able to eat s’mores if I inhale every course the way I was shoveling in brie. No one scolds me for adding too many Springs to the table, so I settle down and suffer through introductions.

  The ringleader of our group, a male named Celery—I know, right?—stands and positions himself at the head of the table. “Let’s go around and hear everyone’s gifts, shall we? Bonus points if you can show,” he says while summoning a globe of water in each hand.

  Oh, what a relief. We have a firefighter at our table.

  He looks to his immediate left, prompting the female to stand. “My name is Maggie, and my gift is shape-shifting,” she says. “And for obvious reasons I will refrain from showing off as Celery just did.” It earns her a few dry laughs. She sits, and the male to her left rises.

  He reaches across the table for a chunk of bismuth, cupping it in both hands. When he uncovers it, the rock glows like it’s become a rainbow night light. I’m dying to ask him how long it’ll hold the energy, but it can’t be long if we’re still dining by candlelight.

  The talent show continues down the line, many able to display their powers. It’s a huge learning moment for me, and my mind tugs between enthrallment and abject fear as each person finishes and my turn approaches. When it does, I stand the same as everyone else and wave.

  “Hi, I’m Mallory. I left my Techie village a few days ago, so I’m basically an infant.” A few chuckle, but a few more carry looks of repulsion. “There are many healers in my family, so I’m hoping to see that develop once I’ve detoxed.” I bow my head and take a seat. There’s an awkward pause before the next person jumps in.

  With this crowd, I’ll be overjoyed to receive a chunk of bismuth.

  It’s Ravenna who grants my wish, sweeping in quiet as a mouse to select the eight fae who must relocate. This time I stay long enough to watch her reveal who the power pairs are, directing them on where to sit next. Celery ends up with glowy guy. I head back to the banner once again, feeling like it’s mocking me from its place on the wall.

  This time I recognize what I’ve drawn, because it’s the same lavender jade that lines the Autumn road. I know it’s just a rock, but I immediately resent picking it. I’m going to have purple PTSD by the end of this.

  The tables have separated again, leaving only eight people at each lavender jade location. Thanks to Ravenna’s brevity and my lack of new friends to say goodbye to, I’m in early and escape the nose test yet again. After this it’ll narrow down to quads, so if I’m made to move I’ll need to get weird and do the sniff.

  The jade crew is a lively bunch. We’re into dessert, and judging by the vibe half of us are well into the wine that’s been flowing, too. Someone announces we’re going to play a game and holds up one hand with their fingers splayed. Groans sound out from around the table as everyone replicates the gesture. I belatedly raise my hand.

  “Make them good,” someone hollers at the instigator.

  “I’ve never kissed a Separatist,” he says. Does it even count if they don’t say “Never have I ever”? Still, I’m kind of amazed that a population who can summon and drown fire with their palms still plays a game as simple as this. One female lowers a finger, eliciting gasps from the table.

  She rolls her eyes. “He was eighty years removed, alright? Next!”

  “I’ve never bedded someone over 200 years old,” says a male. The group reacts like he’s an absolute scoundrel lady-killer, some testifying that with age comes experience. He holds out his palms. “Just a personal preference. No offense, Olive,” he directs toward the lady next to him. Haha, rude.

  I have the perfect bait ready to go when my turn hits. “I’ve never held or read a modern book from the human realm.” The female across from me lowers a finger, and everyone roars the same way people do when someone lands a sick burn or beer pong trick. Her cheeks flush, and I realize my glamour hasn’t been protecting me. Worthless.

  She gulps. “I was…curious. Haven’t you ever wanted to do something for the sole reason of it being forbidden?”

  I nod eagerly as the lady-killer guy chimes in. “I’ve never read a human book, but I found a pair of mortal boots in the forest one day as a lad and discovered they were the perfect size.” He laughs. “It wasn’t long before they were itchy, and my feet were so swollen my nan had to cut them off me while wearing mittens.”

  Why the fuck were those boots in the middle of a forest, though?

  The rest of the game is as bawdy as expected, but I’m unable to say I’ve done any of the things they mention. I’d rather them not test my bluff, so I become the only one to maintain all fingers. Basil arrives when we’ve nearly finished, handing us four losers our rocks. Yeah, yeah. I know the drill.

  “See you at the purple corner, sir,” I say to his back. The four of us prepare to leave, and I stretch my hand to the female who admitted to reading human books. “It was lovely meeting you, what was your name again?” It isn’t super spy level sneakiness, but she attacked the wine after her turn and is halfway gone as it is.

  “Poppy Viridian,” she says with a closed-lip smile. “See you!”

  I make my last draw, and shit on a biscuit, it’s another I recognize. Basil opens his mouth to tell me what it is, but I beat him to it. “Rose quartz! Lovely. Thank you, Basil.”

  Crap, what if I’m wrong and that isn’t his name? Is he a Herb after all? Caesar? Now I’m just listing food.

  “Enjoy the digestif thoughtfully, Miss Meadowbrook.” I didn’t realize the entire council knew about my glamour, but they probably don’t have to when they can see magic auras via tea. I imagine fantastic colored smoke outlining the shapes of everyone’s bodies, while mine just has a turd-tinted sign that reads “Boo, you whore.”

  Time to skip toward the rose quartz area, which by now boasts eight tables. A few quads are already full, and it strikes me that I can avoid the sniff by process of elimination. If I hang back and pretend to take in the scenery, all but one table will fill and I’ll be able to seat myself in the final opening. I lean my head back and gaze at the chandeliers. Where does all the wax collect, anyway? And can fire fae create a slower burning flame to conserve candles?

  So much for pretending.

  I’m lost in these little musings when someone gently clasps my arm. My initial thought is of Ferra, which only exposes my heart in hindsight, given Ferra would never grab my arm gently; she’s not one for subtlety. Attached to my arm instead is a female with an aquamarine pixie cut, wearing a mermaid style gown. She grins at me from the same height.

  “Let’s try to sit together!” I’ve experienced very little outside apathy or disgust from other fae tonight, so if she enthusiastically saves me from nose-fucking someone, I’m game to let her lead. I make out her own scent as grass, marking her Autumn.

  I ogle the train of her gown until arriving at the table and waving to the other members as I pull out my chair. Two males; one with long black hair, the other sporting short brown hair and eyes that are dark green. They introduce themselves as Yael and Fenrik respectively, the former stretching his hand across the table to me.

  “Mallory Meadowbrook, nice to meet you.” I exchange handshakes with both guys, facing mermaid girl next. She seizes my hand, her eyes filled with warmth.

  “I knew I recognized that dress!” she gushes.

  “Oh, is this a popular design?”

  “It’s a one of a kind from the House of Zephyr.” That sounds…elite. And here I was wiping my cheese fingers on it. “Ryland said we’re about the same size, but I’m relieved it
fits you so well! I’ve been so excited to meet you. I’m Twyla Everhart.”

  Ryland is going to shit a brick when he finds out I met Twyla without his supervision. I can’t waste this moment.

  “I’ve wanted the same!” I gush in equal measure. “I might die if you don’t tell me something amusing about your brother tonight.”

  She giggles. “It’d be challenging to choose just one.”

  “Then don’t!” I insist.

  Fenrik cuts in, reminding Twyla and me that there are two other people present. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Miss Everhart. Do you come to the citadel often?”

  Dude, did you just recycle the most clichéd pickup line on my girl Twyla?

  She bats the question away with her hand, waving it back and forth as she shakes her head. “Far too many people here for my taste. I prefer the crisp air of Kilthorne.” She turns to me. “The fashion helps, though.”

  I brush my lavender lace cap sleeves and smile. “I can’t disagree with that. You’ve done me well, although I do think the purples are a bit unfair.”

  She raises her brows, as do both males. “I think it suits you, but—”

  “Hold on. What’s your relation again?” Yael asks.

  I’m panicking, because I have no idea how much she knows.

  She looses the tiniest sigh, clasping her hands together while correcting her posture to near princess-level straight. “My brother was one of the first she met after fleeing her Techie settlement near Appelton. After discovering Mallory’s higher heritage, he escorted her here and asked that I help prepare a wardrobe. Now you know what we know.”

  Yael’s lip is already curling and the traces of Fenrik’s smile are all but gone. Is everyone here this prejudiced, or am I just hitting the jackpot today?

  Fenrik speaks. “A Separatist, then? I see.”

  I expect there to be an awkward silence as usual, but a server appears with four shot glasses of whatever the digestif is, placing them before us. We thank her, and Fenrik raises his glass.