“That’s just it. The humans aren’t the ones changing. The fae are. As every year goes by, I can’t help but think we’re becoming more and more like them.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It is for the unseelie,” I say. “If Faerwyvae becomes too civilized, the unseelie will cease to be. You know it’s true.” A shudder runs through me at the thought. Long ago, before humans came to the isle, all fae were unseelie. I wasn’t alive back then, but I’ve heard the tales. Fae were wild creatures, ethereal spirits, forces of nature. Then the humans discovered the isle and made first contact with the fae. They taught us language, shared food, offered clothing. Those who accepted these things began to transform on a physical level, adopting human bodies, opening themselves to human emotions. The result is what we now callseelie. There once was much debate over therightway to be fae. Was it keeping to ancient tradition or embracing evolution? Blood was shed over that very question, battles were fought, won, and lost. At the end of the last war, our isle united under the principle that each side should be allowed to be who and what they want to be.
I suppose that right belongs to the humans as well, for better or worse.
My shoulders slump, an unsettling feeling stirring in my gut. This conversation has put me highly on edge, drowning out all the pleasant mirth I felt mere moments ago. So, I do what I always do when I’m uncomfortable. I make light of it.
“Honestly, Flora. You wouldn’t be arguing if you attended last year’s season. It’s almost as bad as watching harpies breed, minus the only fun part—the sex. No, instead it will be polite conversation, stiff dances, andsomany rules.”
She chuckles. “Then maybe I’ll come this year, if only to watch you suffer.”
I brighten at that. “Please do, Flora. In fact, you should take a room at the palace all month. You can even set up shop. You’ll get loads of business, as I plan on making all the dances glamoured occasions. You know everyone wants their next glamour to be even more dazzling than the last.”
“Do I sense desperation?”
“Absolutely. Please save me from boredom. Nyxia will be gone on her lovers’ holiday with her mate all month. The rule of Lunar will rest solely on my shoulders.”
“How can you expect to be bored if you’re running a kingdom?”
“I’d hate to find out. Come on. Your glamours make life so much more interesting.” My words are more than just flattery. While most fae are capable of conjuring glamours, myself included, we are limited by our own particular strengths and imaginations. Flora’s creations are artistic marvels unparalleled by the capabilities of the average fae. She has the distinct talent of connecting a glamour to an object. I don’t know any other glamourist who can do that. And where most fae glamours are nothing more than illusions, hers take physical form, forging with its wearer.
“I’ll consider it,” she says unconvincingly and hands me my two boxes. “Which glamour will you wear first?”
I waggle my brows. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Besides, what if I’m planning to use both at the first ball?”
She says nothing, but I sense an invisible eye roll. Her mask bobs toward the door that leads to the main portion of the shop. “I suppose this might be a good time to warn you that an audience awaits. A horde of women, to be exact.”
I glance back at the door, my eyes widening with horror. “What? They’re waiting in the shop?”
“They aren’t inside yet,” she says. “They’re waiting outside. Regardless, it seems you’ve been found out. Why else do you think I kept you in the backroom this whole time?”
“I thought this was where you serve your most important shop patrons.” My tone is teasing, but the thought of exiting the shop to a cluster of husband-hungry socialites has the blood leaving my face. I wonder who at the palace I have to thank for flapping their loose lips regarding my whereabouts. I’ll have to interrogate later. First, I need a way out. Perhaps if I shift into my raven form…
Flora snorts a laugh, clearly amused by my distress. “Go out the back door. I’ll distract your many admirers.”
“Thank you,” I say, closing my eyes with relief. Flora leads me to the door at the opposite end of the room. I pause and face her, startled when I find her suddenly standing a head taller than me. Gone is the stout body and flowing robes, replaced with a tall, slender figure in a black silk evening gown, her arms covered in long white gloves. Her mask remains, but it now rests over a humanlike head with strands of long, black hair falling around it.
“Is this the form you wear for your human patrons?” I ask. Like all fae, Flora can shift between two physical manifestations—her unseelie and seelie form. A fae’s unseelie form is their natural shape, while one’s seelie form is modeled after human likeness. It’s what some humans refer to aslesser faeandhigh fae. Which is quite rude, honestly.
“I find it’s more comforting for them,” she says. “There’s nothing like comfort mixed with a dash of mystery to loosen one’s purse strings.”
“The same can be said about bodices.” She swats my arm with her gloved hand but lets out a low chuckle. I shift my tone to a more serious one. “Will you at least come to tomorrow’s ball? Please say yes.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says, tone flat.
Holding both of my boxes under one arm, I push open the door, waving as I back out of it. “Thanks for everything, Flora.”
She waves back and closes the door between us.
I turn around with a sigh, relieved to find the alley gloriously empty.
Or…not empty.
Damn.
4
