To Wear a Fae Crown (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 2)

by Tessonja Odette

  My stomach turns at the thought, and I try to retrain my focus on my reflection. But now all I can see is the blood still matted in my fur.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Aspen shudder, then two legs replace his four. My reflection becomes distorted as feet splash through the stream. When the water returns to its calm flow, I see Aspen at my side in his seelie form. He’s gazing at me. Me, the firefox. Me, the killer.

  I can’t bear to look at him, so I stare at the earth beneath my paws.

  A warm, gentle hand falls on my back. I want to pull away from the touch, but I can’t find it in me to move.

  Aspen brushes his hand along my fur, safe from my flames now that they’ve diminished to a harmless glow. “I’ve felt exactly how you feel now,” he says, voice thick with emotion. He sounds so different from his stag’s voice. I try to remember what my seelie voice sounds like, but I can’t. He continues. “This is how I felt after I killed the Holstrom girls. Then again after I slaughtered their animals. It isn’t an easy feeling.”

  “But the act of killing...that part was too easy.”

  “Yes.”

  I swallow hard, the lump in my throat feeling out of place in my fox’s body. “I’ve killed two people. Torn open two throats without a second thought.”

  His hand stills, then returns to stroking my fur. “It won’t get any easier. But what you did was necessary. Unlike me, you didn’t fall victim to your rage. You protected yourself. Stood up for what needed to be done.”

  “How do you know? You weren’t there when I left Mr. Meeks to burn alive. You weren’t there when I sank my teeth into King Ustrin’s neck.”

  He angles himself closer to me, but I still won’t meet his gaze. “I know because I know you. I know how calculated you are. How calm under pressure. How precious you consider life.”

  “You are one of us.” A new voice fills the air, one I only half-noticed in my distracted emotional state. It’s the crustacean from the cave, and he’s scuttling toward me from between the trees.

  In fact, several dozens of figures stream from the shadows, lighting the night with their balls of flame, their bright bodies, their glowing eyes and fiery wings. “You’re one of us,” the fire fae echo.

  A white kitsune steps forward and lowers down on its front paws, eyes closed. “Unseelie Queen of Fire.”

  A blue wisp bobs at the kitsune’s side. “No. Ustrin is defeated. There is but one ruler of Fire now.” She flourishes a glowing, blue hand and bends into her version of a bow. “Queen of Fire.”

  The rest of the fire fae perform their own bows, echoing the wisp. “Queen of Fire.”

  I stare wide-eyed at the fae surrounding me. My fae. My people. The daunting task of ruling them falls heavy on my shoulders.

  After what feels like an endless silence, the fire fae rise. Some stream off into the night, but a few step closer to me, as if awaiting instruction. The kitsune who first bowed taps anxiously from paw to paw. “Can I eat him?” he finally says.

  I’m caught off guard. “Eat him?”

  “The dead king.”

  The other kitsune nod, pleading to join the feast. A fire sprite flies overhead. “Can I burn him?” she asks. “That is, if Your Most Gracious Majesty hasn’t consumed all of him with your flame.”

  A firebird swoops down from the trees. “May I harvest any remaining scales? They will insulate my nests and keep my young warm.”

  My stomach churns at the eagerness in the eyes around me. My human side shouts from the back of my mind, No, absolutely not. This is not how we treat our dead. But a new part of me admits the chilling realization that I know very little about the unseelie.

  Both sides confess I’m in way over my head.

  Finally, I turn to Aspen. Without reading his expression, I give him a questioning glance. In return, he offers a subtle nod.

  “Do what you will,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t quaver. “Harvest him, burn him, and consume him as you wish, but do so without argument amongst each other. You may have your requests in the order I received them, and not one fight will break out amongst you. When you are finished, I want no sign of him remaining.”

  Another round of bows follow, and after thanking me, the fire fae disappear into the night. A few remain close; some retreat to the boughs overhead, others burrow in holes nearby, and a few sprites and wisps float about the trees.

  Aspen and I are left mostly alone in silence.

  After a while, he asks, “Do you know how to turn back?”

  I shake my head. “I’m afraid to.”

  “Why?”

  The lump rises in my throat again. I can’t give voice to my feelings, my fears. In truth, I’m afraid that once my fox side falls away, I’ll crumble. I’m afraid I’ll taste blood in my mouth, feel it on my flesh and never be able to face myself again. And I’m afraid how Aspen will look at me. He seems to accept the vicious firefox. Can he accept the violent woman?

  “You can’t stay in this form too long,” he says. “At best, you’ll be putting off the inevitable. At worst, you’ll forget who you really are.”

  “What’s the inevitable?”

  “You must face what you’ve done and accept yourself. You must feel. For one with human blood, I can only imagine it’s going to be far more painful than anything I’ve experienced. But it’s the only way.”

  I’m pulled between two terrors: the fear of emotions that will surely cripple me, and the fear that I could lose myself completely. “How do I do it?”

  “Someday it will be effortless to shift between forms,” he explains. “For now, strong emotion is the easiest. What helps me find my seelie side when I’m trapped in a rage is tender feelings. Anything sad or painful or joyful. Do you remember when you stopped me in my stag form when I was on my way to your village? You helped me remember. You made me feel.”

  I nod, recalling how he’d calmed and returned to his seelie form. “But you were stuck in a rage. I’m stuck in...I don’t know what this is.”

  “You’re in between,” he says. “You’re trying not to feel one way or another, but you must give in at least a little. You must let yourself feel something.”

  The resistance is like a solid wall. Fiery anger stands on one side while debilitating sorrow stands on the other. I’m perched on the top of the wall, balance tenuous as I teeter on a blade’s edge.

  Aspen’s hand rests on my shoulder. “You can fall, Evie,” he whispers. “I’ll catch you.”

  With that, I close my eyes, a sob lurching over the lump in my throat, tears streaming from beneath my eyelids. I shudder, again and again. Then a ripple of pain tears through me from my head to my toes. My body feels like it’s grown unwieldy, heavy, lumbering, enormous hands where dainty paws just were, clawing into the dirt. My eyes catch those looking back at me in the stream. Wide and wild, auburn hair like a tangled nest around my head, blood splattering my cheeks. I slap the water with my hand, disrupting the reflection, then take my damp fingers and smear them across my face, furiously rubbing.

  Hands grab my shoulders, warm and strong. I freeze, finding Aspen’s eyes. I’m locked in his gaze, unable to move or look away. It’s the moment of truth. The woman in the reflection was more of a crazed animal than my firefox form was. Is that what he sees too?

  He studies my face, and I study his. I’ve never been more aware of our contrast. His golden skin is pure and flawless, his eyes swimming with color. The angles of his jaw and cheekbones look as if they were carved by a master craftsman. And his hair; even in disarray, his blue-black tresses fall in elegant waves around his antlers. But me? I’m...I’m...

  “You’re so beautiful, Evie.” A hand leaves my shoulder and lights on my cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness of tears and water from the stream. “In every form, you’re beautiful. In every form, I’m here for you. In every form, I love you.”

  His face swims before me as more tears obscure my vision. My shoulders slump, and Aspen pulls me close. I nestle into his chest, clingin
g to his shirt as his warm arms wrap around my back. The dam breaks from within me, unleashing the sorrow I held back after my mother’s death, releasing my agony over the two lives I’ve taken. I let it all out, let myself break and crumble, break and crumble.

  Throughout it all, Aspen maintains his silent vigil, holding me like a vessel for the pieces of my shattered soul.

  39

  A warm light touches my face, and I turn away from it, burrowing my head into Aspen’s chest. I inhale his scent deeply, his rosemary and cinnamon helping to clear my mind. We must have slept by the stream last night after I sobbed for hours. I don’t remember falling asleep, but my body feels rested. Invigorated. A buzzing sound flutters by my ear along with an odd warmth.

  I turn my head and open my eyes, expecting to find the light of dawn. Hazy morning sunlight has fallen over the woods, but that isn’t the light that first woke me. A fire sprite hovers over my face, head turning one way then another as she smiles.

  My eyes widen, and she darts a few feet back. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she begs, her tiny voice quavering. “I came to thank you for your gracious gift last night. Then when I saw you, I couldn’t help but look upon my queen. You’re so...” she lets out a dreamy sigh, “pretty.”

  Aspen stirs next to me, and he lifts himself onto his elbows, brow furrowed as he takes in our little interloper.

  I pull myself to sitting, and the sprite dances in the air before me.

  “I didn’t realize how pretty you were before,” she says. “Truly, I didn’t like you much at all, but then you were a firefox with those lovely flames, and then you defeated Ustrin. Then you let me burn him.” She lets out another sigh, this one contented. “I feel quite invigorated this morning. I’ve never burned a royal before.”

  “He was delicious.” I whirl toward the voice, finding a kitsune sitting on the other side of the stream. He runs his tongue over the side of his muzzle as if savoring the memory.

  My stomach churns, and I suppress a shudder. I’ve yet to utter a word and am still befuddled over what I could possibly say.

  Before I can come up with a coherent reply, a firebird lands nearby. “His scales will keep my hatchlings warm. Thank you, Your Majesty.” She bows, and the other two fae follow suit.

  I manage to find my voice. “You’re welcome.”

  “Will you be taking us home?” the kitsune asks.

  “Home?” I echo.

  The sprite clasps her hands together, expression wistful. “To Fire. I haven’t been since I was a wee spriteling. Now that Ustrin is gone, you can have his palace!”

  I’m overwhelmed by their forward nature, by thoughts of going to the Fire Court and claiming a palace. But these are my people. These strange, unsettling creatures that feed off carrion and harvest the dead are whom I now rule. They are whom I must care and advocate for. I plaster a forced smile over my lips. “Yes, we will return once I have settled the details of my travels.”

  The sprite flutters closer, head tilted to the side. “Might I travel at your side? I can light your reading materials and I promise not to burn your gowns.”

  “I’ll consider it,” I say.

  “And may my tribe light your travels at night?” the kitsune asks. “Do not allow these duties to fall on the wisps. They will take us miles off course each night. They have no sense of direction, despite what they will tell you.”

  “Another thing I’ll keep in mind.”

  The firebird flaps her wings. “And will you—”

  I hold up my hand to silence her. Squaring my shoulders, I adopt a regal bearing. “Let us discuss travel once I am prepared to hold a formal audience. You may petition me then.”

  The three fae bow, uttering, “Most Esteemed Queen of Fire.”

  When they make no move to leave, eyes still trained on me, I rise to my feet and extend a hand with a nod. “You may go.”

  Once they’re out of sight, I hear Aspen snickering behind me. I round on him. “Stop that. I have no idea what I’m doing, and you know it.”

  His lips pull into a smirk. “You’re doing fine.”

  I try to match his grin, but my lips falter. All at once, the crushing sorrow I felt last night returns in a rush. My knees buckle beneath me, but I clench my fingers into fists to steady myself. Sorrow and rage go to war within, but I neither fight them nor encourage them to grow.

  Aspen’s face softens as he offers me a hand. “It will get better.”

  I’m tempted to follow my rage, to take it all to the Twelfth Court and shift back into my firefox form. I could run free, with only a fraction of the burden I feel now. Perhaps it would be easier to rule the unseelie in that form as well.

  I shake the thought from my head, reminding myself I have more than the unseelie to fight for. There’s a war coming. Two, most likely. The seelie council will discover what I’ve done and they’ll come for me. They’ll come for all the rebels. We’ll be forced to fight, fae against fae. The humans will come next. Without a treaty, what’s to stop violence from breaking out? What’s to stop the humans from crossing the faewall with iron swords, guns, and grenades? What’s to stop the fae from crossing the wall to slaughter innocents in an attempt to reclaim their land?

  Me. I’m the only one who can temper the destruction. I’m the only one who cares enough about both sides to fight this war without letting the Fair Isle fall into chaos.

  War will come. It’s already here.

  I sparked it. I’ll fight it. And I’ll end it.

  I don’t know how, but I know that I will.

  With a sigh, I take Aspen’s outstretched hand, and we make our way through the forest together.

  By the time Selene Palace comes into view, an imposing figure is halfway between us and the front doors. Queen Nyxia closes the distance, expression twisted with irritation. “Look who finally decided to show up. The good Queen Evelyn.”

  I furrow my brow, taken aback by her scorn.

  She puts her hands on her hips. “As if I didn’t already have enough unwelcome guests.”

  My mouth falls open and snaps shut as I search for words. “If I’m no longer welcome—”

  “Not you.” She flutters a dismissive hand. “Your...sister.” The last words come out more like a hiss.

  The blood leaves my face. “My sister? She’s here?”

  “Yes. She claimed the protection of a peaceful exchange of words and said she’d speak to no one but you.”

  “Did she come alone?”

  Nyxia nods. “Thankfully, otherwise I wouldn’t have spared the girl’s life.”

  “Where is she?”

  She lifts her chin and purses her lips, as if preparing for reproach. “The dungeon.”

  I start off toward the palace again. “Take me to her.”

  My heart pounds in my chest as Nyxia leads me through the front door, then down a hall I’ve never been to. We descend a flight of stairs that end in a corridor carved from obsidian. My mind is whirling to comprehend what Amelie’s arrival must mean.

  I feel Aspen’s hand graze my elbow. “Be careful,” he whispers. “We don’t know what to expect.”

  I nod. Every part of me assumes this is some sort of trick, and I don’t fault Nyxia for choosing to lock her up.

  The dark corridor widens, and two wraiths in flowing black translucent robes stand guard before what must be the dungeon. Nyxia nods to the guards, and they stand apart, allowing us to enter. Beyond, everything is carved from the same glossy, black stone as the corridor, and the bars of the cells are blanketed in writhing shadows. The only light comes from a few sparse orbs along the walls, keeping the occupants hidden from view.

  Nyxia stops before a cell, gesturing toward it before she steps away. Arms remaining crossed, she takes up post along the empty wall opposite the cells. Aspen does the same.

  Only I approach the cell. I step closer, squinting into the dark. A figure shifts inside, but I can’t see clearly. I lift my hand.

  “Don’t touch the bars,” Nyxia say
s, making me jump.

  I look back at her, taking in the warning her eyes are trying to convey.

  “The shadows will incapacitate you,” she explains.

  I swallow hard and return my attention to the cell. Hand still raised, I turn my palm upward. My motions are almost automatic, as is my intention for light. As soon as I think it, a blue flame ignites above my hand. Only then does a wave of shock move through me.

  “Evie.” The voice comes from within the cell. The figure steps closer to the bars, as do I. My fire illuminates my sister.

  Rage and tenderness and sorrow fight for dominance as I take in her haggard appearance. She looks worse than I did last night—than I likely still do now. Her copper hair is matted with dirt, tangled around her shoulders. There’s no sign of her selkie skin, only filthy flesh and a thin, torn dress that ends above her knees.

  She smiles, eyes swimming with tears. “You’re making fire,” she says with a gasp. “Are you queen now?”

  My eyes narrow, suspicion creeping over me. Is that why she’s here? To fight me for my throne? She’s the eldest. It never occurred to me that she would fight me for the crown. That she might have a stronger claim to it than I do. I lower my hand, extinguishing the flame as my fingers clench into fists. “Why are you here?”

  She takes a step back, as if surprised by my cold tone. “I escaped him. I finally did it, Evie.”

  I steel myself to voice my next words. “Our mother is dead.”

  Her hands fly to her lips. “No.”

  “They killed her because you refused to attend her trial.” I know I’m omitting more than I’m saying, but in this moment, I want to wound her. I want to punish her for everything she’s done and for everything she intends to do now.

  She slides to her knees, wailing. Her hands reach for the bars but flinch away before they make contact with the writhing shadows. “He did this,” she cries through her teeth, slamming her fists on the obsidian floor.