To Carve a Fae Heart (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 1)

by Tessonja Odette

  Amelie whirls toward me, grinning. “You should have seen the look on Mrs. Holstrom’s face when Theresa and Maryanne’s names were called. She almost fainted!”

  A pinch of guilt tugs my chest. Would our mother have fainted if she’d heard our names? But the sinking feeling evaporates before it can take hold. I’m still too grateful it wasn’t us. “Fainted? That must have been a sight.”

  “Almost fainted. She did cry. A lot. The girls have already been taken beyond the wall. You should have seen the coach that came for them! Gold and pearl with dark, lustrous wood.”

  I stand and cross the cold floor to my window. “They’ve already been taken to Faerwyvae? What time is it?”

  “It’s almost noon.” I meet Amelie’s gaze and she frowns at my hair. She pats the chair at my dressing table. “Come. You look like a dead bird.”

  I should be offended, but I’m used to my sister finding fault in my appearance. She’s always been the pretty one, the silly one, and the one most beloved by all the folk in our village. There’s a reason she was out with a man last night while I was alone in the woods. She likes company and men and friends. I like practicality. And sleep.

  I take a seat and Amelie stands behind me, immediately worrying at the knot in my hair that once was a braid. In the mirror, the contrast between us is stark. My sister is all copper hair, bright green eyes, pale peachy skin, and a smile that remains even when she’s frowning—which she’s doing now at my hair.

  I, on the other hand, am a more subdued version of the girl behind me. My hair is a dark auburn that only looks remotely copper in direct sunlight, my eyes are a dull blue instead of green, my skin is far too bland to be considered peachy, and too dark to be considered fair. Then there’s my smile. Let’s just say the women in the village call it a perpetual pout when they’re trying to be honest about my looks without being insulting. I do appreciate how sultry my perpetual pout makes me sound, but I know the truth of it. I look like I’m angry. All the time.

  Once Amelie has finished undoing my braid, she sets to brushing out my tangles, a task that earns me a deeper frown from my sister. I smile. No matter how futile, she never gives up trying to make me presentable. “How was your date last night?”

  I catch her eye-roll in the mirror. “It can hardly be called a date. It was nothing more than batting my lashes at Bertrand from across the parlor while stuck in awful chatter with his boring sisters for three hours straight.” She pauses, then smiles. “We did kiss behind the stables before I left though. I thought we were going to be caught when his driver came looking for us. Thank the Great Mother Bertrand’s fingers are like sausages, or he’d surely have had me out of my corset by then.”

  “Will you be seeing him again? Now that you know you’re a free woman?”

  “Why would I? I’m seeing Magnus tonight.”

  I furrow my brow. “Magnus?”

  “Magnus Merriweather.” She pauses her brushing, eyes going wide as she meets mine in the mirror. “I haven’t told you, have I? That’s the best part! After the announcement, Magnus invited me to dinner. Through his cousin, Annabel, of course. But I saw the way he looked at me from across the plaza. He and Theresa Holstrom were practically engaged. Now that she’s…well, you know…he has to marry me!”

  “Has to?”

  “Well, Theresa was obviously his first choice, but I’ve always known I was a close second.”

  “And you’re happy about that?”

  Amelie’s smile grows radiant as she returns to brushing my hair. “Magnus is the most handsome man in Sableton. Maybe all of Eisleigh, though I haven’t traveled the Isle much, as you well know. But I can’t imagine a man more dignified than he. And now he’s stuck with me. I couldn’t feel luckier, Evie.”

  I try my best to suppress my laugh. Despite Amelie being what I very much define as a silly person, I never go out of my way to make fun of her. She may be two years older, but she’s more fragile than I am, like a tiny violet in a patch of weeds. That fragility was almost the death of her once. I’ll never forget what it felt like to think I was going to lose her, and I’ve been fiercely protective of her ever since.

  “We’re both free women now,” Amelie says, shaking me from my thoughts as she pins my fully brushed hair into a low chignon the way I like. She’s given up trying to get me to wear my hair down like hers. “How are you going to celebrate?”

  My eyes fall on the stack of books on my dressing table. All are either human anatomy or medical guides, to aid my studies as a surgeon’s apprentice. Hidden beneath the stack of books is a letter. A letter I’ve read and reread a dozen times or more since receiving it last month. I’ve been waiting to respond to it until this very day—the day I can declare my absolute freedom.

  I feel my cheeks flush before the words are out of my mouth. Not with shame. With excitement. “I’m going to mainland Bretton. To medical school. I’m going to become a real surgeon.”

  Amelie’s eyes go wide as if I’ve just told her I plan on exchanging my head for a new one. “The mainland? You’re leaving the isle?”

  My heart drops at the hurt in her tone. It was always my plan to leave the Fair Isle after the Reaping. I would have left already if it would have been allowed. According to the treaty, all young women who would come of age during the Reaping are forbidden to marry or leave the isle three years prior. You can only imagine the influx of weddings and moves to the mainland that took place three years ago. I was livid Mother wouldn’t comply with my wishes and leave with us immediately. Amelie was furious she was forbidden to marry at age seventeen. But mother was fixed on staying in Eisleigh, convinced our offerings would keep us safe. I understand the fae, she would say. We will not be driven from our home or forced into rash behavior. We’ll work with them. You’ll be safe, I promise.

  Mother was right. We’re free from the Reaping once and for all. Now I can do what I’ve always wanted to do. “I’ll still visit you and Mother.”

  Amelie forces a smile, but I can tell she’s hurt. “When will you go?”

  “I’ve been invited to join the fall quarter at Bennings University of Medical Arts. It begins at the end of the month.”

  My sister sighs, pinning the last strand of hair in place. She steps back, admiring her work, then places a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll see me get married at least, right?”

  I feel my throat grow tight as I stand to face her. “Of course I will.”

  Amelie pulls me into a hug with her slender arms. My head barely reaches her shoulder. “It won’t be the same without you.”

  I blink back tears. “Nothing will be the same without you.”

  She releases me but keeps her hands on my shoulders. “Have you told Mother?”

  “Told me what?”

  I whirl to find Mother standing in the doorway.

  “Evie is leaving us for medical school on the mainland,” Amelie says with a pout, then floats away from me, past Mother, to my door. “Meanwhile, I have a man to steal. Good day.” With that, she disappears into the hall, leaving me to face Mother alone.

  Chapter Three

  “Is this true, Evelyn?” Mother asks, her voice soft. “You’re moving to the mainland?”

  I feel my shoulders collapse and have to turn away to avoid her tear-glazed eyes. “It shouldn’t be a surprise.” My voice comes out more defensive than I intend, but I’m not sure what to say. I wasn’t ready for this conversation yet. Thanks, Amelie.

  I grab a pile of clothes from my table and move behind my dressing screen. Again, I’m surprised to find my trousers so dirty and recall the night before. The wall. The offering. The fae male. I shake the memories from my mind and peel off the pants and nightdress and toss them to the floor. I don a fresh pair of wide-legged trousers, then retrieve my stiff corset from the floor. With a grimace, I wrap it around my waist. A moment later, I hear Mother’s footsteps approach from behind, followed by the gentle pull of the laces. She knows better than to lace it as tight as Amelie’s. Mother di
slikes corsets almost as much as I do. However, she’s convinced it’s the burden we must bear for propriety’s sake. At least until they fall out of fashion.

  With my corset done, Mother returns to the other side of the screen, and I put on a cream satin blouse with round pearl-like buttons, followed by a short-waisted coat in a deep gray. I still can’t meet Mother’s eyes when I step out from behind my dressing screen, but I can feel her scrutiny at my trousers. I’m likely the only woman in my village who prefers trousers to dresses, and Mother hasn’t decided her stance on them when it comes to propriety.

  Not that propriety is Mother’s only concern. She has her own curious ways, like her trailing scarves, colorful hair ornaments, and mismatched shawls. She’s an odd mix of both me and Amelie, as if we were split from two sides of her personality, each taking an equal half. On one hand, Mother is whimsical, fair, and pretty like Amelie, with the same copper hair and green eyes. She knows how to fit into society and earn the acceptance of her peers. On the other hand, Mother has always been a bit of a secret rebel. She came to the Fair Isle from the mainland after she parted ways with my father. Yes, she willingly parted ways with a decent man, leaving the more traditional structure of the mainland for the less judgmental people of the isle. That’s how she explains it, anyway. I’ve never known the residents of Sableton to be anything other than petty gossips with empty heads and rigid ways.

  But the people here respect her, lone mother of two, witch of Sableton. Of course, she prefers the term healer. I prefer the term charlatan.

  “When did you even apply to university?”

  Finally, I meet her eyes. “I sent my application in the summer and received the reply a few weeks ago. They’ve invited me to join the next class. Ma, this is huge for me.” I’m hoping the excitement in my tone will lift the corners of her mouth, but it doesn’t.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I knew you’d be upset. Besides, I didn’t want to say anything until we were safe from the Reaping.”

  “After all the work I’ve done to make sure I won’t lose you, I’m going to lose you anyway.”

  I take a step toward her. “You did all that work to keep us free. That means giving me the freedom to choose.”

  Her eyes are pleading as she closes the distance between us and puts her hand on my cheek. “Couldn’t you be happy here? Continue your path as a surgeon’s apprentice for Mr. Meeks?”

  With a groan, I skirt around her and head for my door. I hear Mother’s footsteps fall behind me as I enter the hall and descend the stairs. “I don’t want to be an apprentice forever. I want to be a full surgeon. Do you think Sableton has room for another one? No. Mr. Meeks will be surgeon here until he dies, and his son will be surgeon after him.”

  “Well, that’s not a bad idea, Evelyn,” Mother says as I reach the platform at the bottom of the stairs. “You could take the Meeks’ example and do the same with me. You could learn my craft. You could help me run the apothecary.”

  Irritation courses through me. She’s never stopped trying to convince me to learn her craft. I round on her. “Ma, we’ve had this discussion a million times. I don’t want to brew silly potions and make up stories from tea leaves. I don’t want to lay my hands on people until their made-up ailments dissolve from their imaginations.”

  Mother’s face falls, and I know my words were too cutting. “Is that what you think I do all day? Fool around and take people’s money for nothing? How do you explain the things I know? The miracles people experience after working with me?”

  I release a sigh and continue down the hall, past the parlor and the door that leads to the public shop that is Mother’s apothecary. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…there’s a rational explanation for everything. I’m sure what you do helps people. Just not in the way I want to help people.”

  “But you have so much potential. I can feel it in you.”

  I enter the kitchen, where I take a seat at the thick wooden table, reaching for what remains of this morning’s loaf of bread. “Mr. Meeks says I have potential too. Real potential. He says I have a steady hand and the right disposition for surgery. When I graduate from university, I’ll have the skills I need to make a difference in the world. I can do more than just make people feel better. I can save lives.”

  “Someday you’ll realize you have the power to save lives already inside you.”

  A wave of anger sends heat to my cheeks. “You mean, like you?”

  Tense silence grows between us, and a flash of guilt crosses Mother’s face. “You’ll never forgive me for what happened with your sister, will you? It kills me that your sister suffered for my mistake, but I promise you, I would have taken her to Mr. Meeks before things got too far.”

  Again, I know my words were too harsh, but it’s the truth. Amelie nearly died four years ago, not because of some mistake, but because of Mother’s entire belief system. Mother may help people in her own way, but she doesn’t save lives. Pretending she can only hurts the people who actually need medical intervention.

  I avert my gaze to avoid the hurt look on her face, instead taking in the jars of herbs lining the shelves spanning each wall, strands of drying plants hanging from the ceiling, tinctures and potions brewing on the countertops in glass jars. The sight makes my muscles tense. It’s chaotic and messy and none of it is me. I crave the order and neatness of a sterile surgery room, not the messy kitchen behind an apothecary. I let out a heavy sigh. “Ma, you know I forgive you. Amelie forgives you. But the fact remains that Sableton isn’t where I belong. Eisleigh isn’t where I belong.”

  “You’ll never be happy on the mainland. There’s no magic there, no—”

  “I don’t believe in magic. You know this.”

  Mother’s lips flicker into a sad smile, and her tone becomes wistful. “You used to believe in magic. You used to help me make draughts and potions. You used to sit at my side all day and read the tea leaves of the shop patrons. Don’t you remember what it was like back then? Amelie would play the piano and sing while you and I would lay our hands on the sick and cleanse their energy. You were so powerful then.”

  I shake my head. “I was a child. A little girl who confused her imagination for magic and thought she gave offerings to the fae because they were friends with the humans. I know better now.”

  “If you don’t believe in magic, how do you explain the fae?”

  “The fae aren’t magic. They’re creatures like any other. Everything they do can be explained with science.”

  “Science doesn’t explain everything,” Mother says. “Sometimes you have to follow your heart.”

  With gritted teeth, I force a smile. “Lucky for me, both science and my heart are telling me to go to the mainland. That’s my choice. You won’t change my mind.”

  We hold each other’s gaze, and I try my best to maintain my composure, even as Mother’s eyes fill with tears. The bell rings from inside the shop. A male voice calls out, a patron entering the apothecary, but Mother makes no move to greet him. She looks like she wants to say more to me, to find the right words that will convince me to stay with her. Nothing will convince me. Nothing.

  Finally, Mother averts her gaze and peeks out the window that looks into the shop. “Mr. Anderson is here for his tincture,” she whispers.

  I take the opportunity to shove a piece of bread in my mouth, but after the argument with my mother, its taste is bitter.

  Mother leaves the table and heads to the doorway. She pauses beneath the arch, back facing me. Her voice comes out with more sorrow than I expect. “Don’t lose all faith in magic, Evie. Keep at least a flicker of it alive in your heart and know no matter how far you go, you can always come back home.”

  She disappears into the shop, and I hear her cheerful voice greet Mr. Anderson. I should feel victorious after winning the argument with Mother. I should feel excited about medical school.

  But all I feel is empty, the haunting tone of Mother’s words still ech
oing through my head.

  Chapter Four

  The tang of blood mixed with the sharp aroma of alcohol fills the air of the surgery room. I refuse to tremble as I hazard a glance at the mangled limb of the patient and what used to be a hand. All that remains are strands of tissue, muscle, and bone in unnatural angles dangling from the forearm. Hank Osterman groans on the operating table, writhing beneath my hands as I keep a firm grip on his shoulders.

  “Chloroform, Miss Fairfield,” Mr. Meeks says, his voice calm yet firm.

  I rush to obey, soaking a cotton cloth in chloroform, then placing it inside the metal inhalation cone. “It’s going to be all right, Mr. Osterman.” I try to mimic Mr. Meeks’ calming tone as I cover the patient’s nose and mouth with the cone. After a few breaths, his groans subside and his body grows slack.

  “Tourniquet,” Mr. Meeks says.

  I fix the strap above Mr. Osterman’s elbow, then turn the screw that tightens the slack. The flow of blood begins to lessen.

  “Bone saw.”

  I reach for the saw. My stomach dives as Mr. Meeks takes it from me. I’d hoped he would let me operate the bone saw this time. With hardly a blink, I swallow my disappointment and keep my eyes trained on Mr. Meeks’ every move. His motions are smooth and deliberate. In no time, the lower arm is completely detached. I dispose of the mangled remains, then hand over clamps, needle, and thread, watching Mr. Meeks’ deft fingers as he ties off arteries and stitches the skin together over the wound. Like always, I’m at a loss for words, awed with the power a surgeon like Mr. Meeks has. The power to save lives.

  Sweat is dripping from my brow by the time the operation is over.

  Mr. Meeks looks at me for the first time since the surgery began. His gray eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “You did well, Miss Fairfield. I’m glad you were able to get here so quickly. It would have been quite the challenge without you, dear girl.”

  His praise lifts my shoulders, and I grin with pride. Never mind his tone erred on the side of patronizing. I like to tell myself he simply thinks of me too much like a daughter to forgo with the cosseting. “I’m glad I could be here too. Every chance I can learn the trade is a chance I’m eager to have.”