I shake my head, unable to reconcile the man she’s describing with the hunter from my village. He’s lived in Sableton my entire life. He has a wife! Could it be I never knew him at all? That no one really knows him?
I remember what he said after he woke from surgery.I thought she was a woman. She looked like a woman.
Equally disturbing is Lorelei’s assertion that she can glamour herself, change her appearance at will. I refuse to believe that’s possible. Again, there must be a scientific explanation. Another undiscovered hormone the fae emit that wreaks havoc on our nervous systems, altering our perceptions, our interpretation of visual stimuli.
“Sorrow not,” Lorelei says, a bitter edge in her voice as she lifts the hem of her dress. “He may have lost an arm, but iron through the leg is a lot to heal from for a fae.”
I can’t help but look at the flesh she’s exposed. One of her legs is perfect, slim, and brown, while the other is scarred and misshapen, wrapped in thin vines like a makeshift cast.
She continues. “He, on the other hand, still has his wife while Malan will never again be amongst the living.”
I shudder, my chest heaving. I want nothing more than to change the subject. For her to leave. To unsee the battered flesh of her leg.
“Can I wear this?” Amelie’s voice comes out small. She strokes the skirt of the purple gown she’s already wearing.
Lorelei swings her head toward my sister. Some of the fire seems to drain from her eyes, her shoulders slumping forward. “Yes. In fact, wear the nicest dress you can find in there.”
I point to my bag on the dressing table. “I was going to wear—”
“Wear. A. Dress,” Lorelei says, eyes locking back on me. “A fae dress. You are about to meet King Aspen and Prince Cobalt. This is not the time to argue about it or cling to your silly human ways.”
Amelie squeals in delight and tosses the seafoam dress at me. I catch it with a resigned sigh.
“I take it neither of you need or want my help,” Lorelei says, her tone still icy. “Meet me in the hall when you’re dressed.”
I feel empty after she leaves. Partially from guilt, but I’m used to my sharp tongue getting me into tight corners with others. What’s more unsettling is the upside-down world I’ve been thrust into. One where fae find me ignorant and the people I’ve trusted my entire life are seen as monsters.
For the love of iron, is any of this real?
Chapter Ten
“Must I wear these?” Amelie asks.
I peer from behind the dressing screen to see my sister stroking the rowan berries around her neck. Her nose wrinkles, a frown tugging her lips as she stares into the full-length mirror next to the dressing table.
“Yes,” I say, then pull back behind the screen. I’m wearing the seafoam dress after turning it inside out and back again several times. The fae dresses don’t have visible seams and look appropriate worn either way. Not that I thought Mother’swear your clothes inside outsuggestion would help anyway. I can think of no logic to such a superstition. But it was worth a try.
She lets out a heavy sigh. “But it doesn’t match the dress.”
“Neither does getting glamoured.”
“That makes no sense, Evie. Besides, it’s not like I’ll do anything that will put me in a position to get glamoured. I know how to blink. I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not.” She wasn’t stupid when she fell under a glamour four years ago either, but I don’t say so. Instead, I retrieve my dagger from the pile of clothes I’ve hidden it in, then strap the belt around my thigh. It’s snug, but the gray leggings I found should keep it from chafing too badly. Luckily, the seafoam dress has several layers to the skirt, making the belt and dagger invisible to prying eyes. “Rowan works against the fae. We need to keep wearing the necklaces Mother made us. Make sure at least part of it is touching your skin at all times.”
“Oh,nowyou believe in Mother’s craft.”
I roll my eyes, then check the fit of the dress. It feels fine. Unlike the dresses we wear at home, these ones are loose and flowing, easy to put on without much assistance. Best of all, no corsets.
I meet Amelie at the mirror, and she grins at my reflection. “You look beautiful, Evie!”
As much as I hate to admit it, the dress suits me, complementing the copper tones in my dark hair. I quickly look away, then approach the dressing table to rifle through my bag. “Did mother give you a pouch of salt and a tincture?”
Amelie drags her gaze away from the mirror with some difficulty, then stands at my side. “Yes, yes. Do we bring them both with us?”
“Bring the salt,” I say, tying the pouch to my waist. Salt is another one of Mother’s prescriptions I can believe in. While I don’t believe it wards off magical enchantment—because, obviously, enchantment isn’t real—I do believe it helps protect our digestive tracts from harm. Mr. Meeks once told me he theorized salt could counteract the harmful effects of fae food by neutralizing any acids and helping us digest unfamiliar components. “But take the tincture now. Half a dropperful like Mother said. Remember?”
She nods, then finds the pouch and bottle in one of her bags. Once she’s finished tying her own pouch to her waist, we face each other.
