Tessonja Odette
TO CARVE A FAE HEART
The Fair Isle Trilogy Book One
First published by Crystal Moon Press 2020
Copyright © 2020 by Tessonja Odette
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Map of the Fair Isle
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
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About Tessonja
Map of the Fair Isle
Chapter One
Every young woman dreams of marrying a royal. A king, a prince, it doesn’t matter, so long as he’s richer than sin and handsome enough to fake a smile at. What else could a girl ask for?
Well, a working brain, for starters. And I do suggest all young women have one of those. That way, she’d know marrying a royal would be The. Worst. Thing.
You see, here in Eisleigh, all young women are eligible to be married off to a king. There’s just one problem.
He’ll probably eat you before you make it to your wedding bed.
And I’d rather not get torn to shreds by razor sharp fangs, thank you very much.
So you might be wondering why, after such a declaration, a sensible young woman like me would be traipsing through the woods toward the faewall in the middle of the night. I’ll tell you why. To bribe my way to freedom.
Some might call it superstition to leave gifts for the fae. If fae weren’t real, I’d agree. Unfortunately for the residents of Eisleigh, they are real. Dangerously, terrifyingly, blood curdlingly real. And I’m not about to offend them tonight.
I hear a rustling nearby. The snap of a twig to my left. The crinkling of falling leaves. I whirl to find nothing but the silhouette of an owl launching from a branch overhead to soar into the night sky. With a shaking breath, I pull my heavy wool cloak tighter around me and refocus on the path ahead. Even with the moonlight speckling the forest floor, I can barely make out the well-worn trail between the trees.
Yet I manage, trying my best not to trip on twining roots and rocks and all sorts of earthly assassins bent on making me regret coming here alone. It’s usually Mother who comes to the faewall with me. Or Amelie, my sister. Tonight though, it’s just me. I’m too old to need the protection of my mother, and Amelie—well, I’m usually the one protecting her even though she’s two years older than I am. Besides, she has better things to do tonight.
You’re welcome, Amelie. I hope you’re enjoying your date. Hopefully my hard work can keep us both from certain doom! In all honesty, I can’t blame her for not being with me tonight. For all she knows, this might be her last night of freedom.
Once the trees begin to thin, I catch a glimpse of the faewall up ahead. The wall is always an unsettling sight, no matter how many times I’ve seen it. It’s composed of massive standing stones, twice my height and three times as wide, set a dozen or so feet apart. Between the stones, all you can see is dense mist towering high into the sky, showing nothing of the fae lands beyond. The wall spans from one end of the Fair Isle to the other, dividing it in half to separate the human lands of Eisleigh from the fae lands of Faerwyvae.
A shiver crawls up my spine as I approach the wall. There’s no mistaking the danger radiating from between each pair of stones and the mist beckoning behind them. Each between is an entrance to Faerwyvae, the place humans never go on purpose and never return from when they do.
My heart quickens, and I pat the sheathed dagger that hangs from the belt around my waist, feeling the comfort of its weight against my hip. With slow, creeping steps, I make my way to one of the stones, then unshoulder my bag. From within, I remove a plate and saucer—both marked with my family surname and the name of my village on the bottom—and set them on the ground at the base of the stone. Then I take out a heel of fresh brown bread and a canteen of goat’s milk, placing the bread on the plate and pouring the milk into the bowl.
My movements are routine and reverent, following the tradition Mother taught me every year to commemorate the anniversary of the Hundred Year Reaping. It’s meant to curry favor with the fae in a way that will ensure my sister and I won’t be chosen for the next Reaping. Since the Hundred Year Reaping comes at dawn tomorrow, I could use that favor now more than ever.
I stare at my offering, then look at similar ones farther down the wall. At the next stone over, I see a patterned scarf with a sparkling, moonlit brooch perched upon it. Farther down, I’m almost certain I see the silhouette of an entire deer corpse.
I return my attention to my offering of bread and milk. It’s always been bread and milk, ever since I was a girl. Mother says anything fancier could draw the attention of the Reaping, while anything less could be seen as an insult fit for punishment. It seems the only way to guarantee my sister and I won’t become the brides of monstrous fae is to remain respectfully unmemorable.
Why the fae give a lamb’s ass about silly human offerings in the first place is beyond me. We couldn’t possibly give them anything they don’t already have in the fae lands. Besides, do fae even eat? Aside from human brains and the tears of young maidens?
I take one last glimpse at my offering, hoping it’s enough to keep me and my sister safe, then turn around.
A new wall blocks my path.
A towering, brooding wall of shadow and teeth. I gasp and launch a step back. My vision clears and focuses, revealing the figure of a man, taller than me by two heads. He’s dressed in dark, nondescript clothing beneath an equally dark cloak that makes it impossible to get an impression of anything but his face. That accounts for the shadows I saw at first glance. As for the teeth, I must have been mis
taken, because there are none to be seen beneath his self-righteous smirk. My eyes trail from his mouth to his upturned nose and angled eyes.
A fae. Great.
It isn’t unusual for fae to be seen on this side of the wall, but there are only two reasons one would be here at all. First, to cause trouble. This is most often performed by lesser fae—goblins, sprites, trolls. Second, to clean up said trouble. This is usually done by the fae ambassadors, sent by the high fae who like to pretend their kind mean us no harm. So which one is he? Trouble? Or charm?
It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Even the most refined-seeming fae can tear out your heart before you see it coming.
I steady my breathing and put on a brave face, reminding myself to blink as I hold his gaze. If I forget to blink, he could maintain eye contact long enough to glamour me. Or, more accurately, he could maintain eye contact long enough to suppress the proper functioning of my amygdala.
This fae is just like any other creature, I remind myself. A dangerous creature, yes, but a creature bound by the laws of science. Science, I can understand. Science, I can confront.
Despite my mantra, I know I’m in the presence of danger. I’m vulnerable, small, wildly aware of my state of undress. My cloak suddenly seems too frail a thing to hide the fact that I’m wearing a thin cotton nightdress tucked into trousers. Why couldn’t I have put on a proper top? Then again, I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here, much less a fae. A towering, beautiful, horrible fae.
Luckily, his eyes don’t stray to my clothing as he extends his hand toward the stones and the offerings at their bases. “Seeking favor, human? Hoping you’ll be chosen to win the hand of King Aspen?” His voice is low and deep, dripping honey.
I suppress a laugh. Does he honestly believe any of us would want to be chosen as a bride of the fae? It’s called the Reaping for a reason. Otherwise, we’d call it the Hundred Year Whimsy. Now, how do I answer that question without getting my face ripped off? “I ask only that my offering is received fairly and that my relationship with your kind maintains its good and distant standing.”
His lips twitch, but I can’t tell if he’s on the verge of smiling or scowling. “Your gift comes too late. The Chosen have already been selected.”
The blood leaves my face. The two Chosen have already been confirmed? But the announcement isn’t made until dawn. “Is that why you’re here? To finalize the names?”
“I just returned from doing so.”
So he must be an ambassador after all. But if he just came from finalizing the names…then that means…
I can hardly finish the thought. No other village but my own is near this part of the faewall. I can only hope he came from farther south. With a deep breath, I say, “Might you tell me their names?”
He takes a step forward, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. “For a price.”
Of course. I should have known better than to step into that predictable trap. No peace of mind is worth making a bargain with a fae. “On second thought, I’ll wait until dawn. I’ll just be on my way then.” I step to the side to skirt around him, but he’s faster.
Again, his wall of a body is blocking me. “It will be an easy bargain. Give me your name and I’ll give you theirs.”
“Ha, I’m sure!” I regret the outburst as soon as it’s made. Mother did say my mouth would be the death of me. But he’s ridiculous if he thinks I’ll fall for that! I know what he’d ask after I gave him my name. Is that your true name you’ve given me? Such an innocent question—if you’re daft. But anyone who knows fae knows affirming he has my true name is all it takes to put me under his complete control. It would go beyond the power of a simple glamour, giving him the ability to make me do unspeakable things. A glamour, at least, ends by cutting eye contact. But giving one’s name? Rumor has it only death can sever that level of control.
I gather my poise and put together a more polite reply. “Clever wording, but no, I will not give you my name.”
He smiles wide. My eyes move to his mouth, looking for sharp teeth. In the dark, I barely get more than a flash of white between his full lips. “How about you tell me your name then. In return, I will tell you theirs.”
My eyes flick back to his, and I turn his words over a few times in my head. I don’t think he’s left room for a trap. Breathe. Blink. Breathe. Blink. “Fine. I will tell you my name. It’s Evelyn.”
“Evelyn…”
I plaster a pleasant smile on my face. I’m sure it doesn’t reach my eyes. “First names will do. Now it’s your turn.”
He glares, but his lips are curled with amusement. “You aren’t afraid of me, are you?”
How could he ask me that? Surely, he can hear how loudly my heart is pounding in my chest. “Why would I be afraid?”
He lunges forward, lips peeling back with a snarl. Instead of lurching away, I stand my ground, dagger in hand as his fingers reach my neck. I raise my blade. He freezes, his nose an inch from the iron tip.
We hold our positions. His fingers are wrapped around my throat, the pressure uncomfortable, but not tight enough to constrict my breathing. My chest heaves. If he squeezes even the slightest bit more, I’ll plunge my dagger into his eye socket. It wouldn’t be easy. I’ve never killed a fae before, or anyone for that matter. But, as a more than capable surgeon’s apprentice, I have a steady hand and am no stranger to cutting a blade into flesh. I know just how much pressure is needed to slice through every kind of tissue, know how deep and how hard I would need to thrust to reach vital organs.
His finger flinches at the base of my collarbone. I prepare to strike.
In the blink of an eye, he’s taken a step back and his head is thrown back in bellowing laughter.
I keep my dagger raised, chest heaving with rage. “What’s so funny?”
“I love being surprised. You’re scared after all. Scared but unflinchingly prepared. You’d have killed me.”
I swallow hard, resisting the urge to rub my neck as I glare back at him. “And you?”
He sobers from his laughter, but his smile remains wide. “I wasn’t going to kill you. I simply wanted to see what you’d do. You’re wise to carry iron around here.”
“Thanks,” I say through my teeth. “I’ll be going now. Let me pass this time.”
He turns to the side, extending a hand toward the forest in a perfect impersonation of a gentleman. I brush past him, the hilt of my blade still clenched in my fist.
“What about our bargain?” he calls after me. “Don’t you want to know the names of the two Chosen?”
I pause, hesitating before I turn to face him. “Go on.”
He doesn’t move toward me, just holds my gaze for endless moments.
Breathe. Blink. Breathe. Blink.
Finally, he utters the words I’m waiting to hear. “Theresa and Maryanne Holstrom.”
The Holstrom girls. From Sableton. My village. I should feel terror for them, anguish for their families. We grew up together, after all. But all I feel is relief. Sweet, overwhelming, glorious relief. I can’t fight the smile that tugs at my lips, and I tip my head back and close my eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper, although I don’t know who I’m thanking. The fae? The stars? The Great Mother above?
I hear an amused laugh not too far away and remember the presence of the fae male. My eyes fly open and dart his way. But he’s gone.
I whirl around, expecting him to be waiting menacingly behind me, but it seems the forest is empty. Good riddance. I return the way I came, no longer jumping at the sounds of snapping twigs or rustling leaves. Nothing can shake my joy right now. Nothing.
For the first time in my eighteen years of life, I can consider myself safe.
Chapter Two
My bed trembles beneath me as if the very earth is shaking. And yet, I can’t be bothered by it. Not when there’s such delicious sleep to be had.
“Evie. Evie! Get up!”
The voice startles me fully awake, and I open my eyes to find Amelie’s face an inch from
mine. I groan and roll away from her. The bed returns to shaking, in earnest this time. Amelie is on her feet, bouncing from one side of my mattress to the other.
“Evie, how can you sleep? You haven’t heard the news yet!”
The news. She must mean the announcement of the Chosen. How long did I sleep? Finally, I roll onto my back and look up at my sister. Her copper hair is backlit by the morning sun coming in through my window. Her green eyes are bright beneath her long, feathery, black lashes. She’s dressed in one of her finest daytime dresses, a cream, lowcut gown with a mauve floral pattern. Of course, she’s outfitted in a fancy dress. That’s how she celebrates.
Amelie plops down on the bed next to me and takes me by the shoulders. She’s grinning so wide, I can see all her neat, perfect teeth. “It’s the Holstrom girls! It isn’t us!”
I realize I should act surprised. There’s no reason to tell her about my encounter last night, which would be the only excuse I’d have for knowing the news she’s bursting at the seams to share. I sit, trying to look eager. “Oh? The Holstroms?”
Amelie’s smile turns into a frown as my blanket slides from my shoulders. I follow her gaze and realize I’m still wearing my cloak. She pulls back the rest of the blanket, revealing the dirty hem of my trousers and mud-splattered boots.
“Really, Evie? You didn’t even bother to remove your shoes before bed?”
I stretch and shift my legs to hang over the side of the mattress, then begin working at the laces of my boots. “I was tired. You know, from securing our great victory?”
Amelie floats to my dressing table and stares at her reflection in the mirror that hangs above it, prodding at her brows and cheeks. “That explains why I didn’t see you at the plaza. When Mother and I left to hear the announcement, your boots weren’t by the front door. We figured you’d already left.”
I kick off one of my boots and begin unlacing the next, still puzzling over how deeply I slept last night. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well in my life. Relief will do that to a girl, I suppose. “Did I miss anything? Aside from the announcement itself, I mean?”
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