To Spark a Fae War (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 3)

  To Spark A Fae War

  The Fair Isle Trilogy Book Three

  Tessonja Odette

  Copyright © 2020 by Tessonja Odette

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Parker Book Design

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  Free Amelie Short Story

  About the Author

  Also by Tessonja Odette

  1

  No one dreams of starting a war.

  A revolution, maybe, but never a war. Personally, I’ve never been one for revolutions or warfare, preferring to fight death and illness in the surgery room. Instead of a sword, I once favored the scalpel. Laudanum. Chloroform. All essential weapons against threats to mortal lives.

  But that was back when I thought I was mortal. Human.

  Before my mentor betrayed me and I used a scalpel not to save a life but to end one.

  Before a human shot my mother with an iron bullet and tried to turn the gun on me.

  Before I tore out the throat of a fire lizard to take his throne as my own.

  After all that, I think I understand warfare. The pursuit of justice.

  With the blood of fire fae and ruthless kings flowing through my veins, I admit I was born to inherit a legacy of violence.

  I carry that legacy now, feeling it rushing through my blood and veins as I walk down the darkened street—a human street, in the same city my mother was killed. The night is blanketed with smoke and shadows and sounds of evening merriment. I’m in the pleasure district of Grenneith, where brothels, taverns, and gambling halls cluster side by side.

  I keep my head held high, trying my best to exude confidence as I walk by a particularly rowdy-seeming pub where several men loiter outside the door. They leer at me, whistling. I pat the obsidian dagger—a gift from Queen Nyxia—strapped around my waist beneath my coat. The blade isn’t iron, like I once carried in the past. But it isn’t iron I need for what I’m about to do. Still, blade or no, I’d rather not deal with any interruptions to my night’s plans.

  One of the men breaks off from the group and comes toward me, sending my heart racing. The swagger in his steps tells me he’s clearly had more than his share of drink tonight. I allow my fire to flood my palms, but only enough to keep my mind clear without burning my kid gloves.

  The man smirks as he looks me up and down, eyes trailing the modestly high lace neck of my gown to the black and white striped satin hem that brushes the cobblestones at my feet. “What’s an elegant lady like you doing walking the streets unaccompanied this late at night?”

  For the love of iron, perhaps I should have come dressed as a man tonight. I wasn’t sure I could pull it off once I reached my destination, but I hadn’t accounted for the perils on my journey there. Now what to do about it? I could brush past him, ignore him, hurry my pace, but that would show fear. Instead, I look him straight in the eyes. “Same as you.”

  “Oh, I doubt that, miss.”

  I put a hand on my hip, an innocent gesture, if not for the blade sheathed and hidden within reach. “Am I close to the Briar House?”

  The man draws back in surprise before a crimson flush rises to his already ruddy cheeks. “The Briar House? You?”

  I keep my eyes pinned on his and flash him a dangerous smile. “I have exotic tastes.”

  He seems encouraged by this, taking a bold step closer, hand resting on the waistband of his trousers. “I have something exotic you could taste.”

  “I doubt that.” A surge of fear leaps in the back of my awareness, but I burn it away. I focus on his eyes on mine, drawing his attention deeper until the imagery of a bird in a cage floods my mind. His face goes slack, and I know that I have him. This is only the third time I’ve glamoured someone, and only the second time I’ve attempted it consciously. The first was an accident with Mayor Coleman, and the second was earlier this morning when I—well, let’s just say borrowed—this dress.

  I keep my voice low and even as I speak to him. “You will tell me where the Briar House is.”

  He doesn’t hesitate to answer, his tone flat. “Next block over. Right side of the street. Second building from the corner.”

  “Thank you. Now, you are going to return to your friends and pay me no heed as I continue on with my business. You will allow none of your companions to harass me either.”

  He nods, pointing a thumb at the group of men eyeing us from near the pub door. “I’m going back to my friends.”

  “Wonderful.” Now the true test begins. He takes a step back, then another, and turns. Our eye contact is severed. My breath hitches as I watch him walk in the opposite direction. Any moment he could turn back around. As far as I know, most glamours end when eye contact is lost. However, I gave him an active order. Will the glamour last long enough for him to do as he was told? I didn’t stick around the dressmaker’s shop long enough this morning to find out what happened once I left with my borrowed goods.

  I remain in place as I watch his unsteady progress back to the group. Only when he rejoins them and lets out a casual laugh do I feel I can breathe again. With a turn on my heel, I continue on my way.

  To the Briar House.

  I’ve never been inside a brothel—nor outside one, come to think of it—and I’ve never wanted to be. Not until I learned Henry Duveau, the councilman who shot and killed my mother, brings unfortunate fae females to this particular pleasure house after illegal capture. Over the last week since Mother’s death, I’ve thought mostly of two things: killing Mr. Duveau and taking down the Briar House.

  If I’m lucky, I’ll do both tonight.

  The brothel’s foyer is a mass of scarlet silk, maroon velvet, and gold lace as far as I can see. The lights are dim; no electricity, only several lanterns with red or gold glass covers. Plush couches line the walls, strewn with pillows bearing an ungodly number of tassels. Partitions that look like dressing screens separate certain corners and alcoves, and I can hear tittering laughter behind at least two.

  I try not to allow discomfort to show on my face as a stately woman in a dark pink gown steps into the foyer from one of the halls. The cut of her dress
is modest like mine, her gray-streaked brown hair arranged in a neat pile on the top of her head. My auburn tresses, on the other hand, are hidden beneath a wide white hat decorated with black peonies. Anything to keep me from being immediately recognized should I come into contact with Mr. Duveau. Hence my human state of dress.

  “I am Madame Rose,” the woman says. A false name, obviously, considering it fits a little too neatly in with Briar House. Nonetheless, she’s whom I came here to see. Her posture is confident, her eyes are keen, and her smile is welcoming. “What can I do for you? Have you come seeking companionship tonight?”

  “I have, Madame.” I take a step closer to her, lowering my voice. I repeat the same thing I said to the drunk man outside, use the same term I once overheard Henry Duveau use when mentioning the Briar House. “I have…exotic tastes.”

  She nods, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “And might I ask how you came to know of my wares? I do not recognize you as a regular patron.”

  I know she’s testing me, but I have my lie prepared. “I was referred to your establishment by a colleague of my father’s. We are visiting from out of town, and I needed to sate my unusual appetites, if you know what I mean.”

  She eyes me with scrutiny, although her smile remains on her lips. “How did you sate these…unusual appetites before? The Briar House is the only of its kind in all of Eisleigh.”

  It takes no small effort to hide my giddy relief. If this is the only brothel peddling fae females as merchandise, then what I’m about to do will be far more satisfying than if I’d learned there were several more establishments like this. I hide my relief behind a conspiratorial grin and lower my voice further. “I have my ways.”

  She gives me an approving nod and extends her hand toward a velvet divan strewn with gold satin pillows. “Then tell me more about your tastes and I will see if I can find something to satisfy you.”

  We take a seat on the divan and I pretend to ponder. “I like them to have a tendency to put up a fight.” My voice remains steady as I say it, but my words make acid churn in my stomach. I can’t help but recall how similar they are to what Lorelei had said about Mr. Osterman. I think he liked his prey to put up a fight. Mr. Osterman was one of the two men who’d captured me and Lorelei and tried to do unspeakable things. The other man was my mentor, who I apprenticed under during my training to become a surgeon. Both men are now dead.

  Good riddance.

  “You like a fight, do you?” Madame Rose’s lips quirk at the corners.

  “A little,” I say. “I prefer if you have someone who has remained a bit…untamed, shall we say? Feisty.”

  She assesses me from head to toe. “Now, you are a surprise, aren’t you? Who did you say referred you to me?”

  I lean in, my voice a whisper. “I dare not say his name, but he is a well-respected councilman. You do know who I speak of, do you not?”

  “Ah,” she says. “Yes, I know exactly who you mean. He is my establishment’s prime patron. One would even call him a partner in my business. Although, I’m hurt he’s never mentioned you to me before.”

  Is that suspicion I’m sensing? I hardly falter, continuing my feigned conspiratorial air. “Like I said, my father and I are on business from out of town. Father’s acquaintance with the councilman is new, but I must say it has grown quite intimate. This won’t be the last you see of me here.” I end that with a wink.

  “I should think that’s the case, for I’m confident once you sate your appetite, you will hardly be able to keep away.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

  Madame Rose rises to her feet. “I think I have the perfect specimen in mind. Give me just a moment and I will prepare her for you.”

  “One more thing,” I say, standing before she can turn away. “Father was under the impression his colleague would be here tonight. He has an urgent message he’d like me to pass on to him. Could you arrange a meeting for us?” I have no grounds to assume anything I’ve just said. No intel that Mr. Duveau is here, only the barest hope.

  She cocks her head slightly to the side. “The man you speak of is not here tonight, so I apologize that I will not be able to satisfy that request.”

  Damn. Still, there’s one more chance. I lock my eyes on hers, pulling her attention to me, drawing that imaginary bird into the cage of my hands—

  Nothing. There’s no give in her attention, no sway in pulling her gaze. I adjust my hat as an excuse to break eye contact and glance at her wrist. There I see what I should have sought before: a hint of red beads around her wrist, barely visible beneath the lace cuff of her gown. Of course she wears rowan. In a brothel full of enslaved fae, it would be idiotic not to. Still, I had to try.

  Try and fail.

  Even though I went into this knowing the chance of finding Mr. Duveau was slim, I can’t stop the crushing disappointment. However, my mission is far from over.

  I plaster a false smile over my lips. “Never mind that. I’ll seek him out myself.”

  That’s a promise.

  2

  Madame Rose leaves me in the foyer for several minutes. When she returns, she guides me into one of the halls that branch off from there. The carpets are plush and red, the walls papered with red and gold designs of roses and vines. Before I went to Faerwyvae, I might have considered the decor luxurious. Compared to fae luxury, however, this place is hideous.

  We walk past several doors as we make our way down the hall, and I try not to blush at the sounds of pleasure that emanate from behind them. I constantly summon my inner fire to keep my nerves at bay until Madame Rose pauses outside a door at the end of the hall. “Your merchandise awaits.”

  I give her my thanks and enter the room. Inside is a modest accommodation with more gaudy crimson satin and papered walls. A vanity and wash basin peek from behind a dressing screen next to a narrow wardrobe. The only other furnishings in the room are a high-backed chair and a small bed. Upon the latter rests a petite female with lavender hair and pale green skin.

  “Enjoy,” whispers Madame Rose before she closes the door.

  “Welcome,” the fae female says without warmth. She lies on her side wearing a sheer nightgown, head propped up by one arm while the other hand is draped over her hip. Her pose would be seductive if it weren’t for the scowl etched over her face that no false smile could hide.

  With slow steps, I approach the bed. She tenses as I near her, violet eyes trained on me, burning me with their hate. “Finally, I can take this off,” I say, pulling the enormous hat from my head and tossing it on the ground. With a sigh, I lower myself into the chair and adjust my bone-crushing corset to no avail. I can no longer stand restrictive human clothing, and corsets are the worst offenders. Another reason I should have come dressed as a man today.

  But would Madame Rose have bought my disguise? I’ve barely begun to test my fae powers over fire, and glamouring others is a gamble. There’s no way I would have been able to conjure a physical glamour over myself.

  Still, what’s done is done, and there is more yet to do.

  The fae courtesan looks visibly alarmed by my behavior as she watches me from the bed. “Do you…want me to come to you?”

  “No need.” I wave my hand dismissively. “We can talk as we are.”

  She furrows her brow. “Talk?”

  “Yes. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. There’s no need to sprawl out for my sake.”

  Her eyes widen, and she makes no move to change positions. Meanwhile, I fiddle with the pins in my hair until half of it comes down from its achingly tight updo. For some reason, this seems to set the fae at ease. Slowly, she folds in on herself and moves into a seated position, shoulders hunched. “May I put on a robe?”

  “Do what you will,” I say without looking at her. However, as soon as she stands and turns her back to me, I take the opportunity to study her. She’s smaller in stature than Lorelei, with narrow hips and dainty limbs. Thin iron cuffs circle her wrists and ankles, the skin beneath the
m visibly red. She approaches her wardrobe and retrieves a colorful robe. I’m about to look away as she drapes it over her shoulders, but my attention is snagged on something I can barely make out beneath the sheer back of her gown—two jagged marks over her shoulder blades. Scars.

  Bile rises in my throat as I recall the sets of wings I saw in Mr. Meeks’ underground laboratory. Did any of them belong to her?

  The fae returns to the bed, sitting at the edge. She leans back halfway, chest arched slightly forward, before she seems to reconsider. Straightening upright, she crosses her arms over her torso and fixes me with a glare. “I don’t understand what you want me to do.”

  “Let’s start with your name.”

  “Mikaela,” she mutters.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Mikaela. I am Evelyn, Queen of the Fire Court.”

  She rolls her eyes with a grunt of irritated laughter. “Right. So that’s the fantasy you came here for.”

  I ignore her. “Are you a pixie?”

  Her expression hardens. “I’m whatever you want me to be,” she says through her teeth.

  “But what are you really?”

  Another eye roll. “Yes, I’m a pixie.”

  “What court are you from?”

  “Summer.”

  “I see. How many of your kind are there in the Briar House? Not pixies, exactly, but fae.”