by Valerie Mars
She squeals immediately, scrambling over to the largest and pressing a hand to its side. “I don’t think they even get this big in Alaska.”
“They grow pumpkins on that Russian block of ice?”
Incredulity scrunches her features. “Read a book, Ryland. We bought it from Russia like back after the civil war.”
“I had my own realm’s politics to study,” I grumble. “We don’t expect you to know our history, you know.”
She looks back from the pumpkin. “Fair. But we don’t live like six centuries, either.”
“I’ll award you that.”
She circles the pumpkins before crouching beside one. “I wish I had my phone.”
“What could you possibly need a telephone for?”
“Cellphones have cameras in them now. I wish I had my phone so I could take pictures of these.”
“Fortunately, mortals don’t live long enough to truly forget,” I whisper with the wind.
Her hand flies to the back of her neck. “Don’t ruin the moment, Everhart.”
“Sorry. I’m realizing we,” I pause before wind-whispering the rest, “may not be alone. We’re forgetting ourselves in the excitement of these pumpkins, Brooks.”
She slowly nods, striding over and motioning for me to lower my head. My heart stops as she cups a hand around her mouth and positions her lips near my ear. “I’m the worst spy, huh?” Her words send shivers down to my toes and it crosses my mind that this may be payback for my wind-whisper. I ride the wave, willing my face to remain clear.
“Today you were a rank above worst. You were surprisingly helpful. Maybe not for the council, but you helped me. That conversation addressed misgivings of my own.”
Her eyebrows arch in surprise, the meaning of my words outweighing the tickle of them. “You’re not fully on board?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Not yet. We don’t know enough yet.”
She whistles. “Man, I wish we could get people to admit that where I’m from.”
“Maybe it comes with an extra three hundred years.”
“Maybe.” She stares longingly at the amaranth. “I’m going to check out the rest of this before getting ready. Wanna tag along?”
Yes. Wait, no. Damn it. “Someone’s got to babysit you,” I settle.
She rolls her eyes before hustling off to the heavy foxtail amaranth. Her auburn ponytail swings side to side, neatly blending with the Autumn foliage were it not for the pale blue ribbon. She lifts a bowing tendril and sniffs the rust-colored grain heads before locking eyes with me. I can see the wheels turning, that she’s about to heckle me about still being over here, but right as she means to speak she sneezes instead.
I smile, wondering if it’s been a week yet.
30
Mallory
If no one explained to me that I had tripped into another realm, when would I have suspected such? Would it have been the giant trees, orbs of fire and water summoned by hand, or would it be the multiple love interests which finally alerted me to the alternate state of my reality?
Yeah, that last one would have me pinching myself. Hell, I still am. What a morning. There’s only a moment to myself as I rush to the smaller ballroom in the citadel where the next event is being held in five minutes.
Let’s take a short mental inventory of the crazy. Bash is wonderful as ever and accepts my interest in Kai. Kai and I are friends again and sharing hippo facts. And miraculously, Ryland and I didn’t bite each other’s heads off today. Sure, there was tit for tat with the whispering and I almost lost it when he forbade me from seeing Enzo, but I didn’t. Wait. Is Enzo a part of this inventory now, too?
Only a few more latecomers hoof it with me, and I curse myself for luxuriating in the garden. Skye greets stragglers at the third set of doors, so I skip Basil and Ravenna to say hello.
“Ankerstrand seemed like he was looking for you,” she sings with a wink. I thank her and head inside, but don’t get very far due to the wall of bodies congregated on this side of the room. There isn’t anyone I know in my immediate vicinity, so I weave my way farther into the hall. Somewhere in my weaving, I throw back my head in exasperation and find chandeliers crafted from tree branches with lights that aren’t flickering candles. There’s a steady glow ebbing from each light source, just as the bismuth glowed when the guy showed off at the gala. From there, I take in the Autumn leaves of the chandelier directly overhead, but the chandelier to its right is coated in frost. Sure enough, the chandelier left of me is a verdant green. The room must be divided into the four seasons by decor.
I push deeper, hoping to catch a break in the crowd. I piss a few people off, but that isn’t hard to do as a Separatist. When I finally break through, the longer length of the ballroom stretches left and right before me, with clear marks of delineation between each season. Spring sits farthest left, with its plum blossom chandeliers and pastel livery. The rest of the room progresses accordingly until meeting at the far right, where all decorations become the stark white of the citadel. There waits the other council members and their steaming tea cups on a stage lifted from the floor.
I stretch my neck up and down the front line of people, but still don’t spot anyone I know. It’s too crowded. I listen to the surrounding conversations, hoping to earn my title as a spy for the day.
The conversations are juicy, but for all the wrong reasons. If the fae near me are rebelling against anything, it’s against the idea that they’re about to play fire-water-cold for the sake of the realm.
“I came expecting a boot camp, but it’s beginning to feel more like a Summer camp,” a Winter male spits. “No offense,” he adds to the Summer female nearby.
“None taken. This is what happens when you tie a treaty to ancient matchmaking rituals,” she replies with a wry smile. “But if this works, it’ll be written in the books that the heroes of the Yellow War formed their squads through child’s play.”
Is calling it the “Yellow War” a thing now?
Their conversation dissolves into discussing childhood memories, but it isn’t long before the ballroom doors close and the missing council members ascend the stage. Speaker Celeste nods to Ramsey Everhart before speaking.
“Welcome to our second event. Not counting the opening ceremony, of course. I hope you all brought what’s needed to participate today,” she says, wiggling her fingers. Several groans sound out around me. “We’re running a good old fashioned fire-water-cold gauntlet. Anyone reminiscing yet?” The room is silent. “Tough crowd,” she tuts. “Let’s get on with it, then. Everyone will start in Spring on the far end of the room. You are to duel against someone of a different season unless there is no one else. If you win the duel, you move onto Summer. The loser remains in Spring until having won a match. If you win in Summer, you progress to Autumn. If you lose in Summer, you stay there until winning. This continues until you reach the neutral zone where we ask you to wait until assigned a quad.”
A few people in the crowd shout out questions that she answers before continuing.
“After that, get to know each other. Feel free to socialize with other quads after some time, too. As usual, there will be a few leftover Springs and other imbalances. Do your best to win and avoid being one of those without a matching quad. We have a follow-up, but I’ll address that later on. Everyone can move to the starting zone in Spring at this time and we’ll get to drinking our tea.” She brings her hands together at the end of her statement, the single clap sending the room into action.
I ride the current from the Autumn zone down to Spring. It’s packed nut to butt over here. I’m walled in by a bunch of Summer-looking meatheads, surprised not to recognize one as Bash. Oh well. One of them smells like nothing but sea brine and I’m not super not into it. Hurry up, Celeste.
As Celeste begins the countdown, I wonder if there’s any hope at me beating supernatural creatures at a game of instinct and reflex. Enzo probably let me win that night. It’s going to take me stumbling on a day drin
ker to pull a win on this.
“3…2…1…commence!”
I make eye contact with one of the animated meat walls. “Doing it?”
“Let’s go, Spring lass.” We prepare our hands.
“Fire-water-cold!”
His win. He bows and cuts toward the next zone with the winners. When his bulky frame moves, the person beyond it studies me with pale green, unfairly beautiful eyes that round in surprise. I am also surprised—surprised that he would remember me.
Larkin Voss shrugs off a would-be opponent and waves. At me? “Mallory! Hi.” At me.
I wave back, failing to school the confusion in my answering smile. “You’re Spring, right?” And does he seriously know my name?
He nods cheerfully before realizing that means we can’t duel and wishing me good luck. Before I can reply, a Winter female with her fist held before her steps up to me, blocking my view of Larkin. She doesn’t make eye contact, staring at my hands in silence before beginning the match.
It’s a bit unfair, but I use her focus to my advantage and beat my knuckles into my palm as if I’m going to cast my fingers downward into water. She takes the bait, playing cold. Unfortunately for her, my fire wins. I get to move to Summer! Even if some fae have already reached the Winter zone, Kai among them. If only he read girls as well as he reads opponents.
I bow. “Sorry and thank you! Good luck out there.”
She nods, never once making eye contact. These Winter folk need socializing. On my way out, I pass Murphy dueling a female with platinum hair. She spies me once she’s lost. “Mallory, fire-water-cold?”
“I’m going to Summer,” I say, sticking my tongue out. She curses.
An Autumn female engages with me the moment my foot crosses the threshold. I lose. I play twice more before winning and progressing to Autumn. By now, the crowd is thinning. Kai and Ryland have both reached the neutral zone and are already in a quad with two other fae I don’t recognize.
I recognize someone in the Autumn area, however. Griffith just lost a match and is searching for an opponent. I swoop in, hoping his carnal desires are stronger than his disdain for Separatists.
“Duel?” I ask while thrusting my chest outward.
“Sure.”
I bend forward with fake enthusiasm, apologizing to my sweet grandmother in heaven while doing so. Distracted, his play defaults to cold, and I easily secure the win.
“Thanks,” I blow a kiss.
Bash must have lost to Twyla somewhere, for the entire room can hear him cry at his loss. “Not fair, Twyla! You were supposed to be the nice one.”
“Never trust an Everhart,” she cackles as I lose my first duel in the Winter zone. It’s slim pickings now. There are a lot of strawberry blondes milling about; a telltale sign of leftover Springs. I search for a partner with different hair.
Someone taps my shoulder. “Mallory, come duel me.” It’s Twyla, looking gorgeous in a shirt dress that matches her lilac hair. She looks me in the eyes. “I’m going to play fire.”
“But you said never to never trust an Everhart.”
She shrugs. “Ready?”
“Mm.”
“Fire-water-cold!”
I play water for the hell of it, beating the fire she played, true to her word.
“You trusted me!” she gushes with arms outstretched for a hug. Was this a rock-paper-scissors trust fall or something?
“I still think you’re the good one,” I say, coming in for some rainwater nirvana—even if my nose protests the absence of cardamom. “But today was better,” I mumble over her shoulder. Pretty soon it won’t only be bonfires that are ruined for me. “Later, gator!”
I may have cheated and conned my way in, but I’ve made it to the neutral zone. Ramsey Everhart motions me over to a group of three he’s gathered for a quad. “You’re the perfect Spring for this trio,” he coos. His silver eyes tell me all I need to know: this group has Separatists.
The four of us shuffle to an open space and begin introductions. None of them appear to be fresh Separatists, as their hair is glossy and complexions too rich. They look healthy. Jasper introduces himself first as a Summer from the Azure Strait. Not a Separatist. Next is Johanna, an obvious Autumn due to her gunmetal eyes and smoky hair. She doesn’t mention her hometown. Finally there’s Jett, who’s way too entertained by how all their names begin with a J. He looks to me, awaiting another J, and I refrain from pointing out that Johanna’s J is only a J in writing.
“Sorry to break the trend, Jett. My name is Mallory Meadowbrook. I’m a recent Separatist from the region around Appelton.”
“Another Floridian! Johanna, aren’t you from Florida?” Bless Jett and his enthusiasm. He’s revealed Johanna as a Separatist while acknowledging they know each other in one statement. Two birds with one Jett.
She cringes. Hard. Florida doesn’t get a fair shake anywhere. “Eisenbury, but it’s close. Welcome to the realm, Meadowbrook. Have you come into your power yet?”
“I’m very recent.”
“Well, you look good for it. You must be young. I left when I was thirty-two. It took a lot of working out, but I was clean by six months.” Judging by the tone in her lean arms, she never stopped. “You’ll weigh down your quad for now, but if you train every day, you may be detoxed by the time the hot war begins.”
“There’s hope for me yet, if I can get my ass down to the grounds,” I nervously laugh. “Do you think we’re still months away from actual combat?”
Ooo, look at those spy skills.
Speaking of spying, why haven’t I seen Enzo yet? I’m beginning to suspect he isn’t a part of the matching and has been too embarrassed to say so. And poo-poo for that, I say! I’d rather him be honest than leave me hanging at every event. That’s ignoring the fact I’m getting greedy, of course. And that I’m leaving in a few days. And that I’m human.
But there’s no way humans and fae haven’t at least done the dirty. What would a half-fae baby be like, anyway? I imagine little bookworm Aragorn Kai babies that live twice as long as humans and learn twice as many hippo facts. I need to ask him if this has been done before. Surely it has, with Stonehenge and Atlantis and all the other inter-realm mingling they did. Is that why everyone is way more Scandinavian on their DNA results than they expect? Does fae DNA read viking? Hell, were the Vikings actually fae? The questions never end.
I completely miss Johanna’s answer and withdraw the good spy vibes I was feeling for myself. Not exactly an illustrious spy career I’m ruining, but still. I hope I at least acknowledged her through my body language while I was dreaming of Kai babies. Jasper and Johanna are now discussing the pros and cons of crossbows. I’ve missed the bus.
I sneak glances around the room as Johanna lists her favorite arrowhead medium, spotting Bash’s thick frame next to Griffith of all people. A sliver of golden hair peeks out from the other side of Bash, and I have to wonder if him and Larkin ended up a pair again. Their magic must be supremely well-suited for one another.
Ferra must have said something hilarious, for a girl with shoulder-length brown hair is bent over laughing before her. The dense mass of bodies around us prevents me from spotting any other acquaintances, otherwise.
My trio is discussing bow strings when Speaker Celeste’s voice booms throughout the ballroom. Thank. God. Or the stars. Whomever I am to thank here, consider yourself thanked.
“We’ve seen some very interesting matches today. Apologies to the slew of Springs and stray Summers and Autumn, of course. Patterns are emerging, while new matchings surprise. For the second portion of today’s event, we’re inviting select pairs to the stage for closer examination. We want to see how your magic interacts up close. When your name is called, we ask that you come to the stage and show off your abilities. If we could have everyone gather around the stage and take a seat on the floor, we’ll have ourselves a proper show in moments.”
The participants surround the stage, and I’m already feeling warm from how closely everyo
ne’s gathered again. We stay together as a quad, sitting just off center. I pull my knees to my chest. Hooray for wearing pants today.
I don’t recognize anyone from the first four pairs, but I do see some cool shit. There’s an Autumn guy who can wither and kill plants upon touch, which is terrifying to think about in relation to Oberon’s Clause. Right now he can age plants, but what will he be able to do after his ancestral magic awakens?
I’m sitting in a sardine can packed with killers.
Celeste calls the fifth pair to the stage. “Ezekiel Frosthaven and Ferra Whitfield.” I haven’t asked Ferra what her gift is out of respect, so it feels kind of dirty bearing witness to whatever she’s about to do. That doesn’t deter me from straightening my posture to get a better look, though. The male walking beside her has the same dark, curly mop of hair as Zeke. When he steps onto the stage, his profile and slate-colored eyes confirm it’s him. Ezekiel, huh? What an innocent name for a guy who hides behind curtains and eavesdrops.
Ferra searches around the room with wide eyes. “I need an open window,” she announces. Lazarus Varigarde hops off the stage to open the one behind them. “That’ll work, thank you.” Then she begins repeating herself like a crazy person. She says the same thing over and over, using a different tone in her voice each time: “Can you come in through the window for a moment, please?”
I begin to worry for her, but after the fifth or sixth time she’s said this, a hawk swoops in through the opening and lands beside her on the stage. She thanks it. Seconds later, a barn owl does the same. She really might have been singing with animals my first morning, after all. Does she talk to all animals, or just birds of prey?
“A beast-babbler. That’s very impressive, Miss Whitfield. Thank you for sharing.” Celeste surveys Zeke. “Your turn, Frosthaven.”
He feigns a smile before stooping under the council’s table and disappearing from sight in the shadows. It’s something everyone’s seen already, but the council darts between Ferra and where Zeke must be while scribbling at a furious rate. This probably won’t be the last time they’re paired together.
