To Wear a Fae Crown (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 2) Page 18

  “Release the glamour,” I hiss at Lorelei.

  “Four.”

  “I’m not letting Franco die.”

  “Three.”

  “Damn it, Lorelei—”

  She lets out a frustrated grumble and lifts her hands toward me. “Fine.”

  “Two.”

  I dart from my hiding place.

  “One.”

  “I’m here. Let the prince go.”

  Aspen whirls toward me, expression unreadable. He takes a step forward as if to stop me from approaching. I meet his gaze with a subtle shake of my head, hoping I can convey my meaning through the gesture. Do nothing, Aspen. His chest heaves with suppressed rage, but I can’t tell if it’s for me or Ustrin.

  King Ustrin faces me with a feral grin. “The rumors are true after all.”

  “Let. Him. Go.”

  He waves his hands dismissively. “Once we’re done speaking, he’s all yours.” He nods at his guard, who takes a step away from the prince.

  I cross my arms over my chest to keep them from shaking. “What do you want?”

  His forked tongue flicks toward me. “I simply wanted to know what your intentions are. After I learned of your escape from imprisonment, I wanted to be sure you weren’t doing anything...unwise.”

  “I didn’t escape from imprisonment,” I say, my words walking the blade’s edge between truth and lie. “The human council gave me permission to await my mother’s trial wherever I pleased.”

  “So you chose Lunar? How quaint.”

  I shrug.

  “And you still plan on attending your mother’s trial?”

  My mind races as I weigh the impact of my words. “I’m considering it.”

  He hisses. “What is there to consider?”

  “I want a bargain from you.”

  He erupts with a violent laugh. “A bargain? From me?”

  “It will serve us equally.”

  “What terms do you offer?”

  “I want my last days in Faerwyvae to be peaceful ones. That’s all I ask. I want you to promise that neither you nor any ally of the Council of Eleven Courts will engage the rebel alliance in violence so long as I remain on the Fair Isle.”

  His slitted nostrils flare. “What do I get out of this promise?”

  “In return, I promise to attend my mother’s trial and accept my exile without argument if the human council allows us to leave unharmed.”

  “And that you will never return,” King Ustrin adds.

  I swallow hard, preparing the words that could seal my fate. “In addition, I promise that once I leave the Fair Isle, I will never return.”

  The Fire King’s expression shifts with a pleasant smile. “That’s all I ever wanted. For your grandfather’s ilk to be gone for good. You see, I am not a violent man. I could have you, your mother, and your sister executed, yet I am giving you this mercy.”

  “Mercy indeed,” I say through my teeth.

  He lifts his chin. “I agree to this bargain.” With a flick of his fingers, the standing guard pulls the sword from Franco and shoves it into the sheath at the incapacitated guard’s hip, then hefts him off the ground. The three retreat behind a line of fire that springs from the earth, stretching out in a wide arc behind them.

  I run to Franco as does Nyxia. Some of her soldiers pursue Ustrin, breaking through the wall of fire, while the rest set up a perimeter around us. I kneel at the Lunar Prince’s side and call for wine and clean cloth. His shirt is soaked with his bright red blood, his face even paler than usual, a gray tinge beginning to creep up his neck. I know what happens to fae who sustain iron injuries. I can only hope the sword wasn’t embedded in his abdomen long enough to do severe damage.

  I grasp the collar of his linen shirt and tear it open. Black patterns cover his chest and stomach, mingling with the blood. With a shock of relief, I realize the black is not from veins of poison but from his intricate tattoos. I let out a sigh, the tension smoothing from my shoulders. His wound is deep, but with his abdominal cavity free from poison, he will heal much faster than Aspen did.

  With the thought of his name, comes the awareness of his proximity. Aspen stands near Franco’s head, his presence heavy in the space he occupies. I meet his eyes for a moment, finding a flicker of confusion in them. Then they go steely, and he turns away. Before I can consider him a moment longer, a wraith’s gray hand comes into view, bearing a bottle of wine. I quickly pour the liquid over the wound and my hands, then get to work.

  25

  With every move, I call upon my fire, let it tingle my fingertips as I pour all my intent into Franco’s healing. In a matter of minutes, the wound is cleaned and the bleeding is staunched by the remnants of Franco’s shirt. Only then do the guards lift him and transport him to his bedroom. That’s when I’m finally able to seek out a splinter of bone and spider silk thread to stitch his wound.

  In the prince’s room, I’m joined by three petite fae with enormous black eyes and pale moth-like wings. I quickly learn they are Lunar Court’s healers. They flutter around me, helping where they can. Like Gildmar, they aren’t adept at handling injuries from iron or any kind of human weapon. Luckily, Franco’s affliction proves to be minimal. I assess internal damage and find that a lesion in his small intestine is already knitting back together before my very eyes. With no further surgery needed, I finish cleaning his wound and begin stitching him back together.

  One of the healers hands me a cluster of silky green moss. “Moon moss,” she says. “Use it beneath his bandage once you finish his stitches.”

  I take it from her. “Thank you, but what does it do?”

  “It will speed his healing. It only grows near the Wishing Tree when the moon is full.”

  I finish my ministrations with the help of the fae. Prince Franco begins to rouse by the time I finish tying off his bandage with the moss packed beneath it. His eyelids flutter open, accompanied with a groan of pain. He tries to sit, but I place a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

  The moth fae flutter about, and one darts toward the door. “I’ll tell Queen Nyxia he’s awake.” Another pours a cup of Midnight Blush and hands it to me.

  “Drink this.” He takes the wine from me, and immediate relief crosses his face. Midnight Blush might not be as effective as honey pyrus extract, but considering the mildness of his injury, it should suffice.

  He takes the cup and drinks the liquid down, then meets my eyes with a furrowed brow. “You...saved me. With a bargain.”

  “So you were conscious during that.”

  He shakes his head, silvery hair sticking out at odd angles. “Sort of. I hope you didn’t bargain away anything too vital.”

  I purse my lips. “So do I.”

  He studies my face. “Why did you do it? Nyxia would have taken him down before he managed to kill me. Her shadows would have wrecked his mind and each of his guards before they made another move. That’s if he had any intention to follow through with his threat to begin with. You know he was baiting you, right?”

  At the time, it didn’t occur to me that Nyxia would have saved her brother or that Ustrin might be bluffing. In retrospect, of course the powerful alpha would have saved the prince. King Ustrin’s threat was a trick for me alone. And it worked.

  I try for a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe I wanted to make the bargain.”

  A corner of his mouth quirks. “For me? Or for some devious plan of yours?”

  I blush. Even with the presence of the moth fae, I’m still painfully aware of my proximity to a shirtless Franco in his bedroom. It hadn’t seemed improper when he was unconscious. Now all I can see is his heated expression, his bare, inked chest. I clench my jaw and take a step away from his bed where I can more easily maintain my composure. “If I had a devious plan, I wouldn’t tell you about it.”

  “Then I’ll pretend you did it for me.”

  “Pretend all you like, but don’t leave this bed for the rest of the night.”

  His lips pull into a mock pout.
“That will be so boring. Unless you plan to stay in it with me.”

  The sound of buzzing wings and stifled giggles deepens my blush. The prince certainly has no shame. I cross my arms and give him a pointed look, although I can’t hide my amusement. “I’m a medical professional, and you are my patient. You are going to stay in this bed alone and try to get some sleep. Iron injuries are no joke.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Fine. You sure know how to take all the fun out of a near-death experience.”

  I shake my head and pour him another glass of wine. “Drink this, then go to sleep.”

  He accepts it, and I watch him down it in a single gulp. He winces as he returns the glass to me, then settles back on his pillows. His lids grow heavy and his expression turns serious. “Thank you,” he says, “for what you did for me.”

  “You’re welcome.” I place a hand on his shoulder to give him a comforting squeeze. Just as I’m about to pull away, he lifts his hand to rest it over mine. Our eyes lock the way they did outside my bedroom after the revel. I can’t help but think of the kiss we shared that night. But, of course, that kiss is impossible to consider without thinking of Aspen. About the hurt it caused. About our fight, about the passion and fury I still carry for the king.

  My heart sinks, and I gently pull my hand from under his.

  Maybe in another life, Franco and I could have been something. Or even in another time. If Aspen and I are unable to mend the rift between us…

  I can’t finish that train of thought. Instead, I smile at the prince. “Goodnight, Franco.”

  He returns the grin, blinking slowly as the Midnight Blush begins to take hold. “Goodnight, Evelyn.”

  I move away from the bed, and one of the moth fae flutters over to me. “We’ll watch over him tonight,” she whispers.

  I give her my thanks and continue to the door, only to come to a halt. In the doorway stands Foxglove, expression forlorn as his eyes rest on the sleeping prince.

  “Oh, were you coming inside?” I ask, nodding toward my patient.

  He shakes his head as if to clear it. “No, I came to find you.”

  I join him in the hall, but as we turn away from the door, his attention snags once again on the room.

  “Are you sure you didn’t want to—”

  “No.” A blush creeps up his neck as he pushes the bridge of his spectacles.

  I can’t stop the grin from stretching over my face. “You fancy Prince Franco, don’t you?”

  His expression turns wistful. “He’s just adorable, Evelyn, how could I not?”

  “Are you...well acquainted?”

  “We’ve hardly spoken a word. I doubt he knows I exist. Besides, I can admire him from afar, can’t I?”

  I chuckle. “Yes, I suppose you can.”

  “Now, enough about that beautiful prince. I came here to talk about you and what happened with King Ustrin.”

  “Did you witness it?”

  “I watched everything from the observatory and nearly died when I saw what that guard did to the prince. It is a crime most foul for a fae to use iron against another.”

  “I was shocked to find a fae could use iron at all.”

  “As was I. It’s nearly debilitating to so much as touch iron. I’m certain even sheathed, it leeched strength from that guard. I hope he was gravely afflicted.” His words carry venom, and I can’t help but feel the same. The guard went immobile after he stabbed Franco, making me wonder if he survived the act at all.

  “How did King Ustrin come to own an iron blade anyway?” I ask.

  “It’s likely a relic from the war. We stumble across such weapons, often buried in some forgotten area. You can usually tell by the dying earth surrounding it. However, with all the deserts in Fire, it may have been easier to go undetected for much longer.”

  I nod, but my mind lingers on Foxglove’s mention of the desert. I’ve never seen desert lands and always imagined them with equal parts fascination and terror. If I take the Fire Court as my home, that desert will belong to me.

  “More pressingly,” Foxglove says, interrupting my thoughts, “we should talk about the bargain you made. I couldn’t hear the words spoken from the observatory, but Lorelei told me what was exchanged. How you sacrificed our great plan to save the prince. I can’t say I blame you. I’d have been tempted to bargain for the fair prince’s life, but...we came so far.” His shoulders sink, expression crumbling.

  “I’m not sure I did sacrifice our plan, Foxglove.”

  He furrows his brow. “How do you figure?”

  “Well, I’m not clear on how this all works, so you must correct me if I’m wrong. When I made the bargain, I told him I’d attend my mother’s trial. I have every intention of fulfilling that promise as stated.”

  “But you told him you’d accept exile too, did you not?”

  “I told him I’d accept exile without argument if the human council allowed us to leave unharmed. Well, I can’t accept my exile if it isn’t offered, and if the council agrees to my bargain, then they won’t offer exile.”

  Foxglove’s eyes widen. “Well, now, aren’t you clever!”

  “There’s more. I don’t know if I did this correctly, but I tried to use the power of intent. When I said I’d accept my exile if the council allowed us to leave unharmed, my intent for the word us was myself and my mother. That way, if it comes to begging Mr. Duveau to allow her and I to leave the isle, Amelie’s absence from the trial will have no bearing on the bargain.”

  Foxglove’s lips pull into a wide grin.

  “Did I do it right? The power of intent?”

  “Yes, I believe you did. Very well done. However, you also promised you wouldn’t return if exiled.”

  “And I’m willing to keep that promise,” I say. The thought alone makes my heart sink. “But, most importantly, was his side of the bargain. I agreed to all this in exchange for his promise that he and the council fae wouldn’t engage the rebels in violence so long as I remained on the isle. If all goes according to plan, and I’m able to stay in Faerwyvae forever, we’ll have an upper hand. The council won’t be able to attack us...ever.”

  His mouth falls open. “Brilliant, Evelyn. Simply brilliant.”

  “You think it will work? Did I leave too much room for interpretation?”

  He tilts his head one way and another, as if weighing the various scenarios in his mind. “Depending on the exact words used, I don’t think that will stop the civil war from breaking out between the rebels and the council, but it will prevent them from engaging us first. They will only be able to attack on the defensive.”

  “Then that’s enough for us to have an advantage, right?”

  We arrive at my bedroom door and stop outside it. Foxglove grins. “My dear, I think you’re right. I could hug you if you weren’t covered in blood. Instead, I will have to settle for a goodnight. Will you be ready to leave in four days’ time?”

  The blood drains from my face. It’s both too soon and not soon enough. I’m far from ready to face the council at the trial, and yet I’m eager to get this over with. To free my mother. To face my fate.

  He continues, “You should arrive the day before her trial so you can get settled in. Well, I should say so we can get settled in. I’m most certainly going with you.”

  The statement surprises me from my frazzled thoughts. “But you represent Autumn, Foxglove. Why would you attend Mother’s trial with me?”

  He squares his shoulders. “You will be Queen of Fire, my dear. It’s time you start acting like a royal. No fae queen would face the humans without an ambassador, and until you have one of your own, I am more than happy to play the part.”

  “But...will Aspen even let you?”

  He lets out a tittering laugh. “I assure you, I won’t have a choice in the matter. He’ll think it was his idea.”

  I furrow my brow. “I’m not so sure. Things have been...strained between me and the king.”

  His expression softens. “I know things aren’t exa
ctly comfortable at the moment, but King Aspen cares for you unlike he’s ever cared for anyone. Trust me. You’ll work out whatever is amiss between you.”

  My heart yearns to feel the optimism of his words as if it were my own, but I don’t allow myself to dwell on it. Instead, I shift the subject to more practical matters. “You’re certain you can manage not to tell him about our plan?”

  “So long as he doesn’t ask, I don’t have to tell the truth, although,” he twists his fingers together in a nervous gesture, “I implore you to tell him the truth. If he had hope—”

  “I don’t want his hope.” My tone comes out sharper than I intend. “I don’t want anyone’s hope right now. Not until I think this might actually work. If I can get the council to agree to my terms, then I’ll make our plan known. Until then, it’s folly.”

  “Hope is never folly, Evelyn.”

  I swallow hard, steeling my expression. “It is when it could break your heart.”

  26

  The next four days pass in a blur of anxious preparations. I hardly see a soul as I spend most of my time in my room going over every word I’ve prepared to say at Mother’s trial. Only Lorelei and Foxglove come to visit, and I try not to read too much into Aspen’s absence. Even the few times I’ve left my room to seek him out, he’s nowhere to be found. The doors to the throne room remain firmly closed throughout most of the day, and Foxglove tells me Aspen and the rebel allies are busy plotting their first move against the council fae.

  Perhaps it’s for the best I haven’t spoken to Aspen. I’m still not sure what I intend to say when I finally do. Should I apologize? Yell? Force his lips onto mine until that spark returns between us?

  Only one thing is clear: we’re running out of time. If I don’t see him soon, there’s a chance I might never see him again.

  On the day we are to depart on our journey to Grenneith, I’m an anxious mess. With pacing steps, I cross my room, rehearsing the terms of the bargain I’ll be presenting. I try to anticipate every argument the council could counter my proposal with, and plan out answers to those as well. It’s maddening and hopeless, and I just want this to be over already.