by Katie Cross
Mabel’s shoulders eased back. She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, released it, and opened her eyes again. They were as blue as a summer sky. Wolfgang stopped at a door, casting a look at Mabel and then at me.
“You ready, Miss Attitude?”
Mabel sneered. “Just let me into the meeting already.”
“Act like that with Her Highness Farah,” he muttered, returning Mabel’s glare, “and I’ll never have to talk to you again.”
I Am Farah
A sprawling window dominated the throne room, overlooking a particularly beautiful segment of the Balmberg waterfall. Panes of sapphire, ruby, and emerald glass sparkled in the windows, and panels of mahogany wood gleamed along the walls. The elegance was simple, grounded in earth tones and wood. Portraits of past leaders, male and female, hung in clusters of three along the wall. So the Northern Network isn’t always ruled by women, I thought, suppressing a flash of disappointment.
Wolfgang lifted an arm to the right, where three thrones sat in front of a wall of pure glass. Light from the cascading waterfall flashed behind the glittering gold thrones.
“Her Highnesses await,” he said.
The three High Priestesses sat quietly, regarding us with striking differences in their expressions, which ranged from annoyance to curiosity. Their piercing stares surprised me. I wondered how Mabel would approach such a tough crowd. It never hurts to appeal to their vanity if you can, Marten had once instructed me. Vanity, however, required a careful balance of searching and sincerity. I hadn’t yet mastered it because I didn’t have the patience to flatter other witches.
Wolfgang escorted us to the back of the room, far enough away that it would take several seconds to reach the High Priestesses should we decide to attack. Mabel shoved me behind her, near a window with floor-length curtains, but kept a polite smile on her face.
“Your Highnesses,” Wolfgang said, standing between Mabel and the thrones as he dipped into a bow. “Allow me to introduce our hon—our guests, High Priestess Mabel of the Western Network and her prisoner, Blanca. I mean Bianca.”
The witch in the middle had spirals of ebony hair and coffee-colored skin. A ring in her right nostril glinted when she shifted forward. She stared at me, her eyes calculating. When I met her gaze, she didn’t pull away. We remained locked in a silent stare for a full ten seconds before she turned back to Mabel.
“I am Farah, High Priestess over the Guardians and Defender of our Network,” she said. Her commanding tone rang over the room, making it clear why she ruled over security. She had the businesslike countenance of a leader. I didn’t see much room for forgiveness or error in her eyes.
She motioned to the black-haired witch on her left. “This is my sister, Samantha.” Her right arm rose toward the third High Priestess, who wore her hair wrapped in a turban. “And Geralyn. They rule the Northern Network at my side.”
None of the sisters seemed remarkable in appearance. Geralyn and Samantha had the same thin, hawk-like nose and solemn countenance. As soon as Farah said their names, I forgot which one was which, for both sisters seemed to blend into each other. They wore variations on the same outfit, with jewels in their ears and full-bodied skirts of glaring fabric. The three High Priestesses had the same coffee-colored skin as many of the Northern Network witches I’d seen so far. Farah, however, shared no other characteristics with Geralyn and Samantha. I wondered if they were truly sisters or just bound under a powerful magic to rule the North as such.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Mabel purred with a smile, bowing low. I fought the urge to roll my eyes but did the proper thing and bowed with Mabel.
“What have you come here for?” Farah asked. “We granted you an audience only because we are curious. I assume you’re here to discuss the war simmerin’ in the lower Networks?”
“I am.”
“And our participation in it?”
“Not quite.”
“We don’t consider ourselves part of Antebellum,” Farah continued, “so this war has nothin’ to do with us.”
I listened in quiet fascination. They were so close-minded. So certain.
Mabel gestured to me with an outstretched hand. “As your Head of Guardians mentioned, this is my prisoner, Bianca Monroe. She’s the daughter of the High Priest of the Central Network, Derek Black. He’s rumored to be the most powerful witch in Antebellum,” she said, leaving a pregnant pause. “But here I have his daughter, whom he was unable to protect and clearly has not been able to recover.”
“We know who she is,” Farah said.
Mabel appeared surprised. “Do you?”
“We have our ways. To what end are you pointin’ out the lineage of this girl? I don’t care who your prisoners are.”
Mabel’s cunning smile bloomed on her face. “Proof,” Mabel said. “Derek Black is not the witch of great power he’s reputed to be should you ever be tempted into an alliance with him.”
Farah’s eyes narrowed. “An alliance?” she asked. “I know nothin’ of what you speak.”
“I’ve come with a proposition,” Mabel said. “One I believe you’ll like very much.”
“And what is it?”
Mabel spread her hands. “I’ve come to offer you freedom.”
Farah braced her hands on either side of her throne and leaned forward, her nostrils flaring. She kept her voice cool. “Are you insinuatin’ you’ve taken our freedom away?” she asked in a low, dangerous tone.
“No.”
“Explain yourself.”
“I understand your hesitation to join the lower Networks, so I won’t ask for an alliance or even support,” Mabel said. “I ask only for your indifference. If you make an agreement to not assist Derek in any way, I will swear a binding that the Northern Network shall be left alone.”
Farah’s eyes tapered. Geralyn and Samantha showed the first signs of life, exchanging unreadable looks.
“Explain what exactly you mean by alone,” Farah said.
“Exactly what it sounds like. No one shall bother you. The isolation of the Northern Network will continue under my reign.”
A more perfectly crafted proposal didn’t exist. Mabel didn’t even ask for their help. No cost. No loss. In a rush of horror, I realized that I’d vastly overestimated her goals. She wasn’t doing this to rule Antebellum. Unlike Evelyn, she didn’t want to advance herself politically or financially. Until now, I hadn’t appreciated that Mabel’s sole motivation flowed from one desire: to claim the Central Network as her own. I wondered briefly if she even cared about the South or the East. Had she just used them as a means to get what she really wanted?
Farah straightened. “Interestin’,” she murmured. “I wasn’t expectin’ that.”
Mabel smiled, as if Farah had given her a compliment. “If you are willing,” Mabel said, withdrawing a scroll from her pocket. Wolfgang started toward her but stopped when he saw the paper. “I have a non actio concensi binding drawn up. I’d love to discuss the particulars with you, if you’re interested.”
Farah sucked in a deep breath through her nose. “I am,” she said, releasing the air with one whoosh. She turned to her sisters, murmured something to each, and all three stood. Samantha and Geralyn cast one last glance in our direction before exiting through a side door, their bright dresses rustling. Farah held out her hand.
“Let me read it,” she said.
Mabel turned around to face me, blocking my view of the room with her body. “Kneel,” she commanded in a low voice. I obeyed. She grabbed my lower jaw and squeezed until her fingertips dug into my bone. My nostrils flared. “Don’t. Move,” she hissed. “Don’t even sit. Stay on your knees where you belong. Unless you want to pay for it later.”
She released my face with a flick of her wrist, giving me a quick glimpse of Wolfgang before he looked away, a thoughtful expression on his face. Mabel glided to the other side of the room, binding in hand. Farah remained near her elevated throne, standing at least a head taller than Mabel. They fell into
conversation. I released my breath in relief, shifting my jaw from side to side. Kneeling on the cold stone floor wasn’t even embarrassing as long as I didn’t have to endure Mabel’s company. Besides, I had other things to think about. I scanned the room. Where had Merrick gone? Had I been dreaming? Perhaps I was finally going mad, falling victim to Mabel’s insanity.
No, I told myself, feeling the burn of his hand on the small of my back again. He had been real, and so was the hope I felt.
To my surprise, a tea tray drifted to the floor in front of me. One shiny silver cup sat in the middle of a matching plate. It reminded me of Isadora. Small biscuits lay in a petal formation around the steaming teapot, but I had no appetite. I watched Mabel out of the corner of my eye. She still spoke with Farah but kept her body angled toward me.
With a sigh, I leaned forward to smell the tea. In the reflection of the silver pot, I saw Merrick standing just behind my left shoulder, hidden on the other side of the floor-length window curtains. Strands of sandy blonde hair had fallen out of his queue and hovered around his face. Our gaze met in the reflection, taking the bottom out of my lungs. His eyes were no longer a beautiful emerald but a livid, verdant fire.
“Are you all right, B?” he asked, low and quiet, without the thick accent of the North to disguise him. This was my Merrick. My best friend. While his presence comforted me, I felt more confused than ever. Had Papa been using him as a spy? It seemed impossible—Merrick was the youngest Protector in the Brotherhood. Perhaps Papa had already made an alliance with the North that I didn’t know about. It wouldn’t surprise me. Papa had always been one step ahead of everyone else.
Despite my overpowering questions, Merrick’s voice still sent a thrill through my body.
I nodded. Technically, I was fine. Stressed but not hurt.
“Can you speak?”
I shook my head. He huffed. The light behind him highlighted the profile of his face as he looked away, setting fire to the golden stubble on his cheeks. The need to speak to him filled my throat with a heavy weight. How I’d missed my best friend! I kept my eyes riveted on the teakettle, drinking in every detail.
“Your father wants me to tell you to hold on a little longer,” he said. “We have a plan. A solid one. It’s going to work.”
His voice sounded like a song. I would have closed my eyes to drink it in, but I didn’t want to take my gaze off him. When? I wanted to ask, but I knew he wouldn’t tell me. It would be better for me if I didn’t know.
“When I saw you on the back of that wagon with her, I—” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I’m sorry this happened. Has she hurt you?”
I shook my head. Mabel glanced over, checking on me over her shoulder. I returned her icy stare, satisfying her curiosity. She looked back at Farah, none the wiser.
What are you doing here? I wanted to ask. Did Papa send you on a mission? Have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you?
He ran a hand through his hair. “I wish I could set you free now, but we have to wait. Do you understand?”
I nodded and curled my fingertips into my palms until my nails bit into the sensitive skin. Tears filled my eyes, and I was grateful he couldn’t see them. The sweet, tangy scent of evergreen filled my lungs. Though he stood only an arm’s-length away, the distance between us felt eternal. I yearned to throw my arms around him, to laugh when he made a quip about my wild hair, to know home wasn’t far away. The magic silencing my voice burned heavier than ever.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
I nodded. Of course I trusted him.
“We’ll get you out of here. You can do this, B. You’re made of steel. If anyone can survive Mabel, it’s you.”
In that moment, when I didn’t believe enough in myself, Merrick’s faith in me quieted my doubts. I nodded so he’d know I’d heard.
“I’ll see you soon, little troublemaker.”
The curtains rustled as he transported away. I swallowed back the rest of my emotions. His promise rang through my mind, giving me strength.
I’ll see you soon.
“I will not make such a decision in one day,” Farah said to Mabel, rolling the scroll back together but keeping it clasped in her hand. “I will discuss this with my sisters. We will summon you when we have an answer.”
Mabel’s neck twitched, but she nodded. “Very well,” she said, the lack of a respectful title such as Your Highness ringing in the air. “I shall await your decision.”
Farah’s eyes lingered on mine for a half-second.
“Go,” she said, turning away. “And do not return until you are called.”
“Daughter of the Central Network,” snapped a familiar voice in my ear several days later, on the eve of my third week as Mabel’s prisoner. “You have not left yet.”
I whirled around, suppressing a gasp. Dafina hung in the air behind my shoulder. I pushed myself away from the balustrade and turned my back to the bustling marketplace far below.
“You’re back already,” I said, not bothering to disguise my surprise. Her crimson wings fanned even faster.
“A fairy is very fast,” she said, baring her teeth. Her once-vibrant hair had faded, and now its ends looked jagged and torn, uneven on both sides. She’d already changed so much since our first meeting four days earlier that I hardly recognized her. If her wings hadn’t been such a bright red, I would have thought her a different fairy.
“You started losing your beauty,” I said. “Is it because you haven’t fulfilled my favor yet?”
“Favor?” she hissed. “You think fairies are fools?”
She zipped around my head, choking smoke trailing behind her. I ducked away, coughing until it cleared out of my lungs.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, waving my hand in front of my face to clear the air. “I never said you were a fool.”
She flew toward me, her bony, thin arms outstretched. “Send me to find the Watcher!” she screeched. “When she’s here all along! I am no fool!”
I dodged her attempt to rip strands of hair from my head. “Dafina, what are you talking about?”
She hovered a breath away from my face. Her cheeks flared a hot crimson that flowed down her neck and onto her arms.
“The Watcher!” she cried, pointing inside. “The Watcher is with you every day! You send me on a fool’s errand—flying all over the Network, speaking with witches, sneaking into the Arck. All for nothing! You make a fool of the fairies!”
I followed her arm to see Juba lying in the sun.
“No,” I said in a low voice. “Absolutely not. Juba is not Isadora. Juba’s a bully and ornery and ate a witch. Have you been sipping from ipsum bottles?”
Dafina trembled with rage. “Not that one,” she cried. “The other. The other! The one that follows the other daughter of the Central Network. The other animal is your friend, the Watcher. I know the magic. I sensed it while hiding in the castle. The Watcher passed me. I know her magic!”
I reached out to hold onto the wall. “Juka?” I whispered. “You’re trying to tell me that Isadora is Juka?”
Dafina hissed, like a snake about to strike. “Yes!” She grabbed a fistful of hair in her hand. “For your ignorance, I lose my beauty! You, daughter of the Central Network, will pay for what you’ve done to the fairies. What you do to one, you do to all!”
The past few weeks whirred back through my mind. Juka had always been with Mabel. Except for when Mabel journeyed to the Southern Network and the Northern Network, Juka never left Mabel’s side. Unlike Juba, Juka interacted with no one else. My heart nearly stopped. Isadora had been under my nose all this time.
“Dafina, I didn’t know, or I never would have sent you,” I said, exultant. “I didn’t know! But how wonderful!”
She regarded me through narrowed eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. “You lie,” she said, but the vehemence in her tone had lessened.
“No! Why would I waste my favor and your time?”
Dafina hesitated only a moment,
blinking rapidly. “You did not make a fool of the fairies?” she asked. I shook my head.
“No, of course not.”
Now that I knew where to find Isadora, I had to tell Zane. Writing a message wasn’t an option, and I couldn’t afford to wait for him to come back to check on me. He had to know immediately. My mind raced with ideas until Dafina cleared her throat, her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised in expectation.
“Oh,” I said, shaking my head. “Right. Sorry. Your bondage to me is released. You have fulfilled the favor under fairy law. Reclaim your beauty and be free.”
Dafina bobbed in the air. Her sharp tone faded. “You are still no friend of the fairies, daughter of the Central Network,” she said. “But … you are no enemy, either.”
As close to a compliment from a fairy as I was likely to ever get. I paused, staring at her. “Dafina,” I drawled, “what are you going to do now that my favor is fulfilled?”
“Leave,” she said, folding her tiny arms. “I will return to my forest home.”
“Can you go wherever you want?”
“Of course.”
“Can you deliver a message?”
She paused, hovering in one spot, and tilted her head back. “Why does the daughter of the Central Network ask?”
“I need you to tell my friend Zane that the cheetah with Mabel is Isadora. Can you do that?”
“No!” she hissed, balling her hands into fists. She flew around me in a fury. I dodged her attack, holding my breath to keep the red smoke out of my lungs. “You have asked enough of the fairies!”
“Wait! Let me finish!”
“I will never help you, ungrateful daughter of the Central Network,” she screeched, zipping around me in fiery agitation. “Never! May the war kill you and all your family! May the winds of the West tear all the hairs from your head! May your eyes—”
“Stop, Dafina!” I cried. “I’ll owe you a favor!”
Her crimson wings, humming so fast they appeared a mere whir of red light, slowed until she hovered in one spot. She glanced back over her shoulder.
