Ferrous (Fae's Folly Book 1)

by Valerie Mars

  Lunch, I assume, will be enjoyed to various degrees depending on everyone’s experiences with the matching. I’m not feeling hungry when we enter the room where lunch is set up, but then I remember I’m in a foreign realm and this is royal catering. Well, it’s in a castle, at least. I might eat better than the Queen of England today. She’s drinking the better tea, though.

  I pat my pocket—still there—and head straight for the dessert table. Most of the other participants are good little fae and queue at the other end, but I don’t know if I have the stomach for much food, anyway. Despite that, my plate towers high with sweets by the time I finish raiding the assortment. A table in the corner receiving plenty of sun catches my eye, so I hunker down there and begin digging into the most delicious clotted cream I’ve ever had on a scone. Take that, Queen of England.

  I’m slathering a tablespoon of cream onto a meager sliver of my remaining scone when another plate appears across mine. “I heard an interesting rumor this morning.”

  Popping the scone into my mouth, I hum while peering up at Twyla. We both know I know of which rumor she speaks.

  “Is it true?” The intensity of her gray-blue eyes cuts through my facade, and I look down at my plate, pretending to search for my next victim. It’s sort of true. But also not. Or maybe there’s a third vague estimate? I’d be grateful for the people spreading the rumors to stop by and tell me, because Ryland Everhart’s genuine feelings are the second biggest question of the year after the question of the Iron Blight’s origin.

  Twyla sits down and folds her arms across her chest, looking adorably furious. Her lilac brows lower over her eyes, and I wonder if she’s as volatile as Ryland when upset. “He did something,” she states.

  “Yep.”

  “And it confused you?”

  “Double yep. The rumors aren’t what they seem, though. I was there for,” I voice the rest at a whisper, “safety.”

  “Your mental state reads anything but safe,” she says, popping a grape into her mouth.

  I snort, because she isn’t wrong. “It’s psychological warfare up in this bitch.”

  “His eyes say the same.”

  “Yeah, I saw the swirls yesterday.”

  “I’m sure you did, but I actually mean something different. Has Ryland told you about my gift?”

  I shake my head. “He keeps everything about you under lock and key.”

  She leans over the table and drops her voice. “With a good dose of eye contact, I can read emotions.” I jolt back and look her dead in the eye without meaning to. “You’re surprised.”

  That feels a bit too simple.

  “Let me clear my mind and think of a memory.” I don’t know why I’m making games of this already, but the distraction is welcome. Closing my eyes, I think of drinking pink moscato with Clara on moving day. Then I meet Twyla’s gaze.

  “Gratitude. Companionship.”

  “Holy shit, we need to get you in as a couple’s counselor or something.”

  She frowns. “Is that confirmation?”

  I look away while covering my eyes. “Don’t look at me! I don’t know if I can handle the truth.” Should I be covering my ears instead?

  Her giggles ring out, adding some much-needed relief to my inner absurdity. “Admittedly, it’s something that takes effort to use. We can carry a normal conversation and I’ll usually hold back. It’d be unfair to create a friendship that way, don’t you think?”

  I spread my fingers and peep through the cracks. “With that in mind, it’d probably be unfair to ask what your brother was feeling, huh?”

  Her plush lips form a sheepish smile. “Probably. I’ll tell you there’s plenty of confusion, however.”

  “There seems to be an excess of that in my life recently,” I mumble into a candied strawberry. My teeth crack the hardened sugar coating like glass before sinking into the sour zip of the fruit. This could be addicting.

  Twyla’s eyes light up. “Aren’t those the best?” I moan while already reaching for another. “My favorite’s the kiwi, but the apples are a runner-up.” She seizes a slice of candied apple, biting into it with her front teeth. The image sends me back to Halloween and the last time I saw a candied apple. Or another human, for that matter.

  I may not be here if Bill wasn’t eating a caramel apple that night. I’d have stopped and listened to his conspiracy spiel and missed the portal altogether. Instead of Faerie, I’d remain in the land of Bill with his reptilians and tinfoil hats to protect against 5G.

  Shit on a biscuit. Would something like 5G be able to bleed into Faerie? This year was supposed to be a big one for roll-outs, too. It’s a better theory than selfie filters, at least. I wish to all the cheese in heaven that I had the ability to Google right now. Bill might be onto something. Fuck if I know how to confirm it, though.

  “Mallory?” I gasp, having forgotten to breathe somewhere between my memories and theorizing. Twyla hovers over me like I’m about to faint, but I feel great. “Can I get you anything?”

  An incredulous chuckle escapes me as the enormous task at hand takes shape. “Coffee. I’m going to require lots of coffee. Have you seen your brother?”

  “You’re giving me whiplash, Mal. I’ll find both and some water if you stay put.” She lingers, her single raised eyebrow reminding me of Ryland.

  I salute her before picking up a slice of apple and shoving it into my mouth. A shard of sugar glass slides between two molars uncomfortably, but it’s better than focusing on the state of Faerie any longer. About a minute later, a kiss of air tickles my neck and Ryland’s voice arrives.

  “Did you find something?” I search for his location, but can’t find him among the groups of bodies. “Quit gawking around. Yes or no?” I nod while mouthing yes. “I’ll let Kai know.” With that, the line dies and nothing more graces my hearing.

  Twyla returns with coffee and water, and predictably no Ryland. “He said he’ll—”

  “Already got me, thank you.”

  Her eyes roll ever so slightly. “Should have figured that.” She unwraps a cupcake, and I realize I haven’t asked about her matches. I don’t even remember walking by her.

  “You’ll have to forgive me for not noticing during my brooding, but did you get matched?” Her chest inflates with a slow breath of air as she takes in her bottom lip and nods. “Come on, Twy. I don’t read eyes.”

  That earns me a quirk of her lips. “Your Winter friend Kael again, a Spring I don’t know, and a Summer everyone knows.”

  “Ruh-roh.” The genocidal one? “Does his family name rhyme with firebrand?”

  “Name and spirit both, I would say.”

  “That’s a lot to handle. Did you use your gift?”

  “Without meaning to, as I typically do upon first impressions.” She looks up from her cupcake, eyes glassing over. “It’s dark. You better take care of Bash.”

  “If he’d let me,” I mutter before tossing back more coffee. I’m going to pry myself in there, eventually. Big brother be damned.

  Coffee and anticipation have my stomach flipping as we watch the council return to the dais. The sheets of paper in Celeste’s hands seem too few; too final. Ravenna carries a miniature trunk which she sets down in front of Celeste. Ferra’s leg is shaking, and I’d hold her hand if mine weren’t so sweaty.

  The speaker welcomes everyone back. “We’re going to call each group down to the floor, where you’ll stand until all quads are mustered.” She looks to the small wooden chest at her feet. “After that, we do as the scrolls dictate.” Reading from a scroll…how classically wizard-like in a world of elemental fae magic.

  “This won’t surprise a soul, but the first two quads I wish to announce are made from our esteemed council members. They’re a perfect boys versus girls split, right down the middle. Basil, Leonidas, Ramsey, and Lazarus. Sweet Roslyn, Skye, Ravenna, and Nyx. They’ll join the floor once the last names are called.” She rearranges the papers in her hand, looking down and then back around the room.
“With that, it’s my pleasure to formally announce your quads.”

  I imagine an alternate version of this moment, one that wasn’t rushed and haphazardly put together. They must have planned something grand, with winding floral arrangements and a black tie dress code. Well, it’d probably be something like silk brocade here, but that’s beside the point. Crowded bleachers in the royal version of a gymnasium probably weren’t in the vision.

  I think we’re all the more excited for it, though. Every dragging second of our morning’s matching drudgery has led to this reveal. We don’t need fancy outfits; we have fucking magic. Well, they do. But that’s the general vibe I get.

  There’s a beautiful circular quality to Skye’s gift. Without it, I’m the one person in the crowd without magic. But with it, I’ll become the only one who can see magic. And maybe it’s about time I do. I reach into my pocket and uncork the vial as Celeste reads the third quad. Here’s to my last hoorah before reality comes crashing back down like a motherfucker.

  I don’t hate licorice, but there’s definitely an asshole quality to the tea that makes me sputter before remembering this is supposed to be a secret. Ferra eyes me, but I wave the coughing away as a tickle in my throat.

  I assumed magic tea would be instant, but nothing changes in the seconds or even minutes following. The tea they drink at the beginning of every event must be to refresh the magic—a booster.

  Butts. Now it’s just another boring graduation ceremony.

  They call Ferra around the halfway mark. Laith and I give her a quick hug before she hustles off to join Zeke, Maggie, and Johanna of Eisenburg—not to be confused with Florida.

  Several familiar names are called, and I watch them assemble. The guy who can make flowers wilt, Poppy Viridian, Celery the show-off, and one of the fae who barked at me on the grounds. Fenrik and Yael’s names are called together and I almost cheer.

  At least twenty quads later, August’s name comes after Celeste announces a Spring named Sage. My knuckles turn white on the tops of my thighs in the time that passes between August and then Twyla. Next follows Kael, and boom, there it is. Hopefully August and Twyla get along better than Bash and Ryland.

  Time grinds to a halt when Celeste announces Larkin Voss. Hell, the entire room stops. I know Bash’s name will follow, but my heart begins thumping. “Sebastian Ankerstrand,” she continues. Alright, cool. You’re giving me Ryland next, right? This is the longest second of my life, Celeste, just say—“Ryland Everhart,” Fuck yes! Give me a rare Kai and I’ll be a happy g—“and Kaiser Varigarde.” With that, my fragile heart can rest. Not that it should bear such importance to me.

  Seeing Kael and Ferra included in quads gives me hope for Laith, but I begin to worry when there are only enough of each season left to form five quads. The odds aren’t in his favor at this point. I grab hold of his hand around the three quad mark, both of our palms sweaty.

  He meets my eyes and shakes his head. “It’s alright, Mal. We knew this was coming.” I squeeze his hand in response. We watch as the final three join the rest, and then it’s the two of us alone at the top of the bleachers with a handful of leftover Spring gathered several rungs lower. Two fae sit in Summer, one with peach hair that belongs to Murphy. My heart clenches for her. The Autumn stands only has one person left.

  Celeste pulls a key from the chain hanging around her neck while Ravenna picks up the box of scrolls. “You kids ready to do this?” The hundred or so quads respond in unison with their usual army-like affirmation. Celeste opens the box. “I’m seeing scrolls numbered one through five. Onto number one we go,” she says, seizing a scroll and breaking the seal. “The only citizens eligible for Oberon’s Clause are the individuals present during the breaking of seal number two. Verify all parties are present before continuing.”

  She looks at her council, frowning. “We’re ready for scroll two, no?” Skye and Nix shrug while the rest nod. Celeste turns back and opens the second scroll. “To bind the quads, have each member link hands in a circle.” Cliché, but okay. “With all participating quads gathered under a single roof, utter the words that bind. Be sure not to utter the words before your quads are finalized, as the bonds are irrevocable. You will find the binding phrase in scroll three.”

  Celeste reads the instructions a second time, and each quad forms circles with their hands. Ramsey Everhart taps on her shoulder, and her mouth drops open. I’m guessing he reminded her the rest of the council makes up two quads, because Ravenna sets the box back on the floor and everyone but Celeste jumps off the platform and links hands. They take a moment to ensure everyone’s ready, and then Celeste carefully opens the third scroll and reads.

  I don’t hear what she says. I’m aware she’s speaking, but something else dominates my attention: the tea. The tea is hitting, and my view of the crowd from my place on the bleachers turns into a fluid representation of the color spectrum as waves and jagged shapes of magic blend and intertwine over their 500 some-odd heads like a psychedelic Aurora Borealis.

  It’s instantaneously overwhelming, so I shut my eyes. Celeste says, “Well, that was anticlimactic. Next scroll we go.” I turn to Laith before opening my eyes, but he’s too focused on Oberon’s Clause to notice my movements. There’s an orange cloud of magic above his head, swaying softly in an invisible breeze. Its peaceful singularity soothes my eyes.

  When I feel sufficiently rested, I try looking to just the left-side rear portion of the crowd to see if I can take it in small doses. It’s still a lot, but as Celeste views scroll number four, I begin to discern the different colors and textures individually from the mess. On this more palatable scale it’s unforgettable, and I know Skye has given me a great gift.

  “Well, folks. This is unexpected. Let me read it to you and we’ll act from there. I ask that everyone remain silent during and after.” Some of the nebulous shapes prickle with the apprehension generated by Celeste’s statement. “A quad without the presence of Techie heritage will be defunct unless a fifth member with Techie heritage of any season can be added within a quarter hour of opening this scroll. Any quads already possessing at least one member of Techie heritage may remain a quad. When ready, read the binding words of the final scroll and Oberon’s Clause will be complete.”

  I can’t help but jerk my head to Laith, who now sports a shit-eating grin. He runs his fingers through his hair as the council and Celeste shout back and forth.

  “Ramsey, how many Separatists are present?”

  “Seventy-nine—err, eighty.”

  “So we’ll lose forty-five quads?” Quiet devastation befalls the crowd.

  “More than that,” Ravenna yells. “A few quads have two Separatists.”

  “What kind of treaty is this?” Celeste shrieks, her voice nearly puncturing my ear drum with Ramsey’s added projection. She and everyone else stare into the bleachers.

  My cheeks hit the red zone as Laith’s silent chuckles shake the bench. It’s good to know I’m not the only one who responds to chaos with laughter. “Ophelia must have been a hell of a lay,” he mutters. “Had Oberon by the balls, that one.” I’m too enthralled by the colors and disaster at hand to do anything but swat him on the arm.

  “Well, this is a pickle.” Celeste thrusts her arms out to either side. “I want every quad with someone of Techie heritage to my left,” she says, shaking her left arm, “and those needing a fifth member to the right,” she finishes with a karate chop of her right. “Every Separatist or individual possessing Techie heritage in the stands will report to me immediately.” Then she brings her hands together and mimes the parting of the Red Sea, pushing everyone into action.

  “We’re a hot commodity now, Mali. Let’s go.” Laith leads me off the bleachers by his hand, an act of which I’m thankful for in my current state. Even so, I nearly throw up as we weave toward the platform. The magic—the colors—are everywhere, bobbing along with their owners and leaving licks of essence behind them.

  There are far too few of us on the platfo
rm, a fact Celeste does little to hide as her reddened face mouths profanities before addressing us. “Nine? That’s all that’s left? For the love of fucking Ophelia, am I right?” She fixes her hands onto her hips and takes a deep breath, exhaling before continuing. “Line up for the procession and we’ll be on our way.”

  I vaguely worry how they’re going to explain not throwing me into a quad, but the worry gets stuffed somewhere else as we face everyone and the colors resume their assault.

  All eyes are on the platform by now, and silence blankets the crowd. We head to the right of the stage and follow Celeste to the two council quads. Of course they wouldn’t have Techie blood. She nudges the single Autumn fae forward to either group, before shaking her head and calling Laith. Several council members nod, and seeing it herself, Celeste points Laith to the male group.

  “Chrysanthemum.” A Spring female steps forward, but everyone shakes their heads. Next is Murphy, who they deem worthy of the council’s female quad. With the council taken care of, Celeste turns to lead the remaining seven of us through the fifty-some-odd quads awaiting a Separatist. Fuck being them right now.

  Nyx calls for Celeste as we embark, and there’s rustling among the council. She turns back, tracing Nyx’s hand to where it points above our group. Roslyn’s hand flies over her mouth, and Lumberjack Leonidas of Summer looses a booming belly laugh.

  I search my vicinity, but only see an angry quad or three below a canopy of kaleidoscope. Celeste steps before me, failing to cover her mouth as Roslyn did. She grabs onto my sweater and hauls me forward. “How?”

  I look behind her to the council, and it’s definitely me they’re eyeballing. More specifically, they’re eyeballing the space over me, which is somewhere I’m suddenly very reluctant to look.