To Wear a Fae Crown (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  Heat radiates from my core, down my arms, and into my palms. I let out a shout of frustration, and with it comes a flash of light followed by molten heat beneath my fingers. I spring away from the bars, my fury evaporating into shock as I stare at the glowing metal where my hands just were. In their place are two bright orange prints, as if the bars were partially melted by my hands.

  Mother stands, eyes wide as she watches the glow slowly begin to cool.

  “What was that?” I manage to gasp.

  “Your magic. Our magic.”

  I grip my stomach, nausea turning inside me as I stare at the bars even after the glow dissipates. Then I return my attention to my mother. “How did I do that?”

  “Rage is an element of fire,” she says gently.

  “Why am I only able to do this now?”

  “This isn’t new, my love. You’ve always been able to manipulate fire, although I must say, never in such a literal sense.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why else do you think you have always been drawn to the healing arts, Evelyn? The element of fire is more than physical flame. It’s deeper. It encompasses pleasure, passion, anger, creativity. In healing, it’s the life force energy that animates living beings. I channel that life force into every tonic I make, let it flow into every spell and charm, even when working with the earthen elements I favor as an herbalist. You work with the same life force too, my dear.”

  My eyes search hers, a chill of understanding crawling up my spine.

  She continues. “You’ve always held the talent to heal, to weave someone’s inner fire, to strengthen their life force. You used it long before you picked up a scalpel.”

  My mind spins with memories. Lorelei’s leg. Aspen’s surgery. The silly motions I performed when I was a child, laying my hands on Mother’s shop patrons. “I wish you would have told me.”

  “I tried, Evie. You didn’t believe me.”

  I want to argue, but she’s right. When I stopped believing in magic, I stopped believing in her. Started ignoring everything she had to say about magic and her craft. “I had my reasons,” I say. Despite my best efforts, I can’t hide the note of condemnation in my tone.

  As if she can read my mind, her shoulders slump. “I know, my love, and I don’t blame you for it. Magic isn’t infallible, and I will regret failing your sister every day for the rest of my life.”

  “Why did it happen? If you have these healing gifts, why didn’t you know how to help Amelie when she almost died?”

  “Do you remember what happened the morning before you and your sister left to play in the woods?”

  “No. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “I was caught in a downpour on my way back from delivering Mrs. Collins her draught. I caught a terrible chill from it.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “An attack by water weakens fire, Evelyn. That’s an important factor you need to know for your own good.”

  I’m frozen with a sudden realization. I recall how weak I felt after my near drowning with the kelpie, how it took me three days to recover. I remember how awful I felt waking up with water in my lungs after Cobalt trapped me in the coral cage. Each time I’ve been injured underwater, I’ve suffered greatly from it.

  “If I’d been at my full strength, I would have known there was no curse on your sister, that her discomfort was due to a physical ailment, not a magical one. I never should have tried to rely on my powers in such a state, and I should have taken her to Mr. Meeks at once. I’ll live with that guilt always.”

  My throat feels tight as I take in the shame on her face. I sigh. “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It matters if you can learn from my mistake.”

  “What’s there to learn?” I let out a bitter laugh. “In two weeks, we’ll be going to the mainland and I’ll never be bothered with magic again.”

  “Despite what you think now,” Mother says, “being stripped from your magic is no laughing matter. When we get there, you’ll see what I mean.”

  “Does that mean you’re done fighting me on this?” I lift my brow. “You’ll go peacefully to your trial and not try to convince me or Amelie to run?”

  It’s her turn to bark a cynical laugh. “I don’t have much of a choice, Evelyn. Mr. Duveau holds me in this cell by the power of my name. After he escorts me to the Spire, I’ll no doubt be restrained with water. So, if by go peacefully you mean do what I’m forced to do, then yes.”

  “Mother, we have no right to be here.” My rage threatens to return, to argue against my own statement, but I breathe it away. For good measure, I cross my arms and tuck my hands beneath my elbows. “If our presence on the isle means war, then this is a sacrifice we must make. We have to save the treaty.”

  I can tell she’s resisting the urge to disagree. “I wish you’d reconsider,” she whispers. “I won’t force a promise from you, but I will implore you to take your sister and find allies who will protect you. Claim the life you deserve.”

  My inner fire begs to rise and meet her offer, but my good sense tamps it down. “I’m not a revolutionary, Mother. I’m a surgeon. And I’m going to stand at your side from now until death and make the sacrifice that saves the most lives.”

  She nods and lets out a heavy breath. “I know. This is who you are.”

  I lift my chin. “It is.”

  “What does your sister think?”

  It’s a struggle to maintain my composure at the mention of Amelie. Mother has no idea what has happened to her. Has no idea where she is or whose thumb she’s under. The same questions from yesterday pound at my head. What if she doesn’t come to the trial?

  I force a look of nonchalance. “You know how she is, Mother. So long as a favorable marriage is an option, she’ll be happy. I’m sure the sheer number of eligible bachelors on the mainland will be more than enough to keep her spirits from sinking too low.”

  Mother holds my gaze but gives no other sign that she can see through my ruse. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  I approach the cell and take Mother’s hands through the bars, entwining our arms. It’s as close as we can get to a hug. “As long as we have you, we will get through this.”

  She nods.

  We shed a few tears as we break apart, and I try not to crumble as Lorelei and I return to the carriage. Behind the closed doors, the two of us maintain silence, and the carriage rolls into motion. Lorelei says nothing about what I did to the bars or gives any indication she’d been listening to our conversation. But she had to have seen and heard everything. I can feel it in her silence, in her burning stare.

  I lean back in my seat, analyzing the conversation with my mother forwards, sideways, and back again. No matter what conclusions I try to establish, one question repeats again and again.

  Where in the blazing iron is my scientific explanation for all of this?

  11

  I have magic.

  I have fire magic.

  The concept isn’t any easier to comprehend now than it was at my mother’s cell. I stand at the window in Mr. Meeks’ parlor, chewing a nail as I stare out at the trees surrounding Mr. Meeks’ property.

  Lorelei’s soft footsteps come up behind me. “Are you all right?”

  I shrug. “As all right as I can be.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What’s there to talk about?” I turn to face her.

  Her expression is hesitant, a look I’ve seen her wear around Aspen but rarely with me. “There’s a lot to talk about. Your mother. Her trial.” She nibbles her bottom lip. “What you did at her cell.”

  “You saw.”

  She nods. “If you want to talk—”

  I skirt around her and walk to the middle of the room. “I don’t want to talk.”

  “But I know about magic. I don’t personally utilize fire, but I can help you make sense of it.”

  Part of me wants to smile. She’s come to know me well if she understa
nds that making sense of things is my primary aim. Still, I’m not ready to verbalize what I experienced. Not when it matters so little considering I’ll be leaving the isle, magic, and these strange powers behind so soon.

  I open my mouth to give her an excuse when the parlor door opens.

  In walks Mr. Meeks with a tray of tea and cookies. He sets it on the tea table, then faces me with a warm smile. “I thought you might want some refreshments.”

  “Thank you kindly,” I say, hoping my words don’t carry the turmoil I’m hiding.

  He nods, then turns to Lorelei. “I apologize, miss, but I admit I don’t know what refreshments your kind desire.”

  She looks from him to the tea table. “Tea and cookies are fine.” Her tone is brusque, reminding me of how she spoke to me when we first met. I bristle, hoping Mr. Meeks doesn’t take offense, but he doesn’t seem perturbed in the least.

  He takes a few steps closer to her. “Are you implying the fae eat human food?”

  “Seelie fae prefer human food, yes. We are also fond of fae fruit and wine, though, and that goes for the unseelie too.”

  His eyes are alight with wonder, as if her words are a gift. “That is very interesting indeed.” He brings a finger to his chin, watching her with a querulous expression. Lorelei crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes, but Mr. Meeks doesn’t seem to get the hint.

  “We thank you for your consideration, Mr. Meeks,” I say to avert his unwanted attention from Lorelei.

  He turns to face me, cheeks flushed. “Ah, yes, and do forgive me for my questions. It’s a rare thing to chat so intimately with a fae.”

  “Rare indeed,” I say. “I can’t thank you enough for allowing us to stay.”

  “Of course,” he says, drawing closer to me. The scrutiny returns to his face as he studies me now. “How was your mother, by the way?”

  I tense, searching for words. “She seemed well-accommodated. For a prisoner, that is.”

  “It must pain you greatly to see her like that.”

  “It does.”

  He lowers his voice. “Did she reveal anything to you? Any explanation over these allegations?”

  I consider lying to him, but what would be the point? It won’t change anything. “Mother confirmed that I am of fae heritage.” I watch his face, waiting for it to pale, for the fear to strike his features.

  Surprisingly, he remains composed. In fact, his expression seems to brighten. “Really! Oh, that is extraordinary.”

  “Extraordinary is a...word for it, I suppose.”

  He clasps his hands together and looks me over as if seeing me for the first time. When his eyes meet mine, he blinks in rapid succession. Heat rises to my cheeks as I realize what the gesture means. I take a step back. “Mr. Meeks, I’m not going to glamour you. I don’t even know if I can.” My statement forces me to recall what happened with the mayor, the way I imagined holding his attention in a cage, how he spoke about King Ustrin without meaning to. So perhaps I can, but I most certainly won’t. It’s not like I meant to do it in the first place.

  His face burns beet red, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “I know dear, I know. It was but an automatic response. However, that does pose an interesting question. How much fae blood do you have?”

  “I am a quarter fae.”

  “I do have so many questions for you. Do you mind?”

  “About...”

  “About your heritage. You know how keen I am to understand the fae from a scientific perspective.”

  “Mr. Meeks, I only confirmed my heritage today. There’s not much I can tell you.”

  “Still, you likely hold a great deal of answers inside you. Answers the scientific community can only guess at.”

  Normally, I’d be as excited as he is about such a learning opportunity. Not today. Not with mental exhaustion tugging at my mind.

  Mr. Meeks flushes again as he presses his lips tight and takes a step back. “Forgive me, dear girl. I dare not press you when you are clearly in no state. However, can I request your assistance later? Would you be interested in running some...experiments of sorts?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know how much help I could possibly be.”

  He waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll help me plenty. It will be like old times. Me and my dearest apprentice working side by side. You never know, we could discover something that could transform human understanding of the fae.”

  I let out a heavy sigh. His enthusiasm is impossible to ignore. Besides, perhaps he’s right. Maybe we can learn something that will further my own understanding of myself. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

  He turns his grin on Lorelei. “And you—”

  “No.” She burns him with a glare, then sidles up next to me, arms still crossed over her chest.

  My shoulders tense, but again Mr. Meeks is unaffected by Lorelei’s sharp edges. He lets out a nervous laugh. “Once more, I beg you to forgive my overeager excitement over your heritage. You know how I can get.”

  I force my lips into a smile. “I do.”

  “Very well. I’ll leave you to it. Oh, but I have yet to mention...” He extends his arm toward the tea table. “The tea I brought is of a special nature. It’s something I had from your mother’s apothecary. When I bought it, she said it was a formula meant to ease the nerves. I’ve hardly had use for it since I much prefer laudanum, but now I find the perfect recipient of its cure.”

  My throat feels tight as I stare at the teapot. Only now do I recognize the aromas wafting from it. The blend is one of Mother’s favorites—lavender, chamomile, vetiver, and lemon balm. Mine too, although I was always loathe to admit it before. My voice finds its way past the lump in my throat. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Meeks extends a hand and squeezes my shoulder, then nods at Lorelei with a warm smile. “I’ll be in the surgery if you need anything.”

  Once he leaves, I make my way to the couch. My hands tremble as I pour the tea. Tears prick my eyes as the aroma grows stronger. I bring the cup to my nose and deeply inhale. Sipping slowly, the warm liquid dances over my tongue, soothing me with its comforting familiarity.

  “I don’t trust him.” Lorelei’s voice shatters my reverie. She walks toward me, eyes narrowed to slits. “This man is your beloved mentor?”

  I furrow my brow as I look at her. “You should be kinder to him, Lorelei. He’s our host. I would be sleeping in a prison if it weren’t for Mr. Meeks.”

  “I don’t like his talk of experimenting on you.”

  “He wasn’t talking about experimenting on me. I’m sure he just wants to ask me some questions. Besides, of course it sounds odd to you. Healing in Faerwyvae is far different than it is here. In the human realm, we make breakthroughs in the medical arts by way of experimentation.”

  She shakes her head. “No. It’s more than that. It’s...” Her words dry on her lips, and for a moment she sways on her feet.

  “What is it?”

  She puts a hand over her forehead, then comes to sit next to me on the couch. “I’m not feeling well.”

  My stomach sinks. I haven’t worried much over Lorelei’s state of health since last night, but being this far from Faerwyvae can’t be getting any easier for her. I set down my cup and reach for the other, then I fill it with tea and hand it to her. “Drink this. I doubt it will help much, but you’ll feel calmer. It has lavender, chamomile, lemon balm—”

  “Iron?” Her eyes are wide as she stares at the cup in her hands. She all but throws the cup on the table, rising to her feet. “Those cups are painted iron. That’s what is making me feel ill right now.”

  I look at the two cups, both painted white. There’s no sign that they’re made from iron; before I examined them, I assumed they were porcelain. “Why would he serve us...” I can’t bring myself to finish my train of thought.

  Lorelei backs away from the table. “We need to get out of here.”

  My heart begins to race. “It can’t be what we think this is. It was a mistake, an acc
ident. An experiment, perhaps.”

  She darts toward the front door but pauses before it. “Someone’s on the other side.”

  I run to her and take her hand in mine, then pull her toward the side door. It leads to the hallway and the kitchen, where we can leave out back. I fling the door open and freeze. Mr. Meeks stands on the other side, an apologetic smile on his face as I hear the front door swing open behind us.

  I whirl to find Mr. Osterman in the doorway, a spear of ash and iron in his one remaining hand. His eyes burn into Lorelei. Spear aimed, he charges forward. I launch myself toward Lorelei, but an arm pulls me back.

  “I’m sorry, my dear,” Mr. Meeks whispers as something metal covers my nose and mouth. An inhalation cone. I recognize the familiar scent of chloroform.

  Lorelei’s scream is the last thing I hear.

  12

  A subtle sound creeps upon my awareness. Evie. Evie.

  It’s my name, I realize, although the voice sounds far away.

  Evie. Evie.

  “Evie.” The voice becomes clear. It’s Aspen’s. I pry my eyes open and find myself lying on a bed in a dimly lit room. Aspen stands over me, face pale as his eyes take in his surroundings. “What in oak and ivy is this place?”

  I push myself to sit, expecting to feel a head rush, but nothing more than an odd sense of mental fog comes over me. Like Aspen, I look around the room. It reminds me of Mr. Meeks’ surgery, but it’s far too small and cluttered, not to mention unfamiliar. Shelves line the walls full of bottles and boxes.

  My heart leaps into my throat when I notice the operating tools laid out on a tray next to me. That’s when I realize I’m not in a bed but on a table. An operating table.

  Did something happen? Was I injured?

  I try to recall the last thing I remember, but it’s a blur. There was my visit with my mother. Was I hurt? No, I remember leaving. Then returning to Mr. Meeks’ house. I remember the parlor, the tea, the arrival of Mr. Osterman…

  Panic threatens to overwhelm me, but Aspen’s presence and the violet aura around him tell me something important; this is a dream. Was my last memory a dream too? It must have been. Mr. Meeks would never...he’d never...