“That’s in two weeks!” I’m nearly shouting. “You won’t divulge whatever proof you have to support your claims, nor will you allow me to argue on my mother’s behalf fortwo weeks?”
“Exactly,” he says without remorse. “Considering your mother is being held under charges of treason, any conversations we have outside of an official trial are of no use. We are both better off waiting until then to speak more on the matter.”
Foxglove puts his hand on mine for a moment, a silent request for me to regather my composure. “If the trial isn’t held for two more weeks,” he says, “we should delay all actions regarding the treaty until then.”
Mayor Coleman shakes his head. “That won’t do. Eisleigh’s council has already given your king ample allowances to secure the treaty, and numerous times he’s failed. This is the last chance we’re giving him.”
“But this most recent setback is not King Aspen’s making,” Foxglove argues.
“Isn’t it, though?” The mayor scoffs. “Your king requested Evelyn Fairfield by name after the Holstrom girls were executed. He bypassed our selection of my nieces and received the Fairfield girls in their stead. For all we know, he could have selected them on purpose, knowing their fae heritage. He could have done it to compromise the treaty.”
Foxglove doesn’t argue. Even though I know the mayor’s theory is wrong, I also know how the humans—and many of the fae too, for that matter—view Aspen. They see him as cruel, volatile, and reckless. They don’t realize everything he does is meant to maintain balance in Faerwyvae.
But there’s something else tugging at my mind. Something that doesn’t quite add up. “If Eisleigh’s council thinks Aspen is responsible for this newest complication, then why are you giving him a final chance at all? Why not consider it a breaking of the treaty?”
Foxglove throws me a sharp look, one I ignore as I keep my eyes fixed on the mayor.
“We don’t want war, Miss Fairfield. Giving King Aspen a final offer to maintain peace is mutually beneficial to both humans and fae. We have every right to withhold this generous proposition, but we are giving him the benefit of the doubt one last time.” He says this with confidence, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty that crosses his face, so subtle I almost miss it.
My eyes lock on his, seeking what he’s leaving unsaid. I hold his gaze, and it feels like I have his eyes in a cage of my own making, a bird trapped between my fingers. I see it in my mind’s eye; his attention is that bird, and the cage is my will. The longer I hold both, the more pliant the mayor becomes. “There’s something you aren’t telling me,” I say, my words rolling with a calm yet deadly fire. “Tell me why you’re really doing this.”
The mayor’s face seems to have gone slack, but his eyes are still locked on mine, pupils dilated like enormous black saucers. “King Ustrin demanded our compliance. He’s put us in an exceedingly difficult place.”
My mouth falls open, and with it goes the image of the bird held within the cage of my hands.
The mayor blinks several times, cheeks burning crimson. He leans back in his chair, a subtle move, but it’s like he wants to put space between us. Like he’s…scared.
I’m keenly aware of Foxglove’s stare. I meet it, but I’m not sure what it means. He seems flustered.
But why? I can’t help but wonder at the strange imagery that flooded my mind moments ago when I met the mayor’s eyes. One word comes to mind. Glamour. I glamoured the mayor.
Of course I didn’t. All this nonsense is just getting to my head.
I focus instead on what Mayor Coleman said. That King Ustrin demanded compliance. I ponder the name and try to match a face to it. Then I recall the fae who approached me in the hall after Aspen won back his throne from Cobalt. Orange scales, lipless mouth, slitted nostrils—the King of Fire. I shudder. I don’t know much about the lizard king, but our first encounter left me nothing but unsettled.
I furrow my brow. “What does King Ustrin have to do with anything?”
The mayor pins me with a chilling glare. “That is not up for discussion either.”
“Mayor Coleman,” Foxglove says, his light tone in stark contrast against the tension building in the room, “if the human council is willing to allow King Aspen a final chance to secure the treaty, then I don’t see why another two weeks will matter. He and Evelyn Fairfield have done all but the final step in securing the treaty. If there is even the slightest chance they can finish what they’ve already begun, I think it’s worth waiting for.”
“No,” the mayor says. “If your king wants to secure the treaty and prevent Maven Fairfield’s execution, then he will accept my nieces as his new Chosen. You will bring them to the Autumn Court tonight. King Aspen will take the eldest as his wife and perform all acts required by the treaty in a single day by the end of one week.”
“King Aspen has already made Evelyn his mate,” Foxglove argues.
“That doesn’t make her his wife.”
“They have performed the Bonding ritual.” He saysbondingin a half-whisper, like it pains him to utter the word aloud. Considering his reluctance to tell me about it before the mate ceremony, I assume it isn’t discussed with humans often.
Mayor Coleman, however, shows no sign of reverence as he says, “If Miss Fairfield never sees King Aspen again, the Bond is of no consequence between them.”
His words send anger and nausea swirling inside me, a volatile mix that makes my head spin.No consequence. Never see King Aspen again.
The study door opens, pulling me from my thoughts. My mind sharpens as two figures enter the room. One is the guard who left earlier. The other I recognize as Sheriff Bronson, Sableton’s law enforcer. There’s no doubt he’s here for me.
“Evelyn Fairfield,” the mayor says, “you are sentenced to imprisonment.”
7
