Excitement lights in the girl’s eyes. “Turning away from magic is the only way to reach salvation and temper the wicked nature of the fae. Marriage to a man of the church can turn one of fae blood toward the light and away from darkness. Of course, I come not from Saint Lazaro but The Church of Bretton. That was the first religion that came to Faerwyvae, you know. The fae were nothing but beasts before humans first discovered the isle. It was human influence that made them better and smarter. It’s only natural that all fae turn fully seelie one day.”
I curl my fingers into fists. The more she talks, the more I want her to shut up, because if she says another word—
“Maybe it isn’t so much that she’s seeking salvation but to corrupt Brother Dorian.” The taunting feminine voice comes from behind me. I turn to find a blonde dressed in a simple gray dress. The neck is high and the bodice unadorned, but the modest style doesn’t hide the ample curve of her bosom. I’d die to have curves like that myself. She props an elbow on the back of my pew and gives the other girl a wry grin.
Vanessa’s mouth falls open. “Corrupt Brother Dorian! That’s blasphemy!”
“What’s blasphemy is how you condemn your own kind.” The blonde sweeps a lock of hair off her brow to casually show off her pointed ears.
“Arguing is a sin so I will say no more.” With that, Vanessa faces away from us, receiving an approving nod from her shrewd-looking chaperone.
I glance back at the blonde.
“Maisie, is it?” she asks. “I’m Briony Rose.”
“Briony Rose…am I the only full fae that doesn’t have a surname?”
“Oh, it’s not a real surname. It’s what Sisters Agatha, Spruce, and Marsh call me at the convent. I know nothing of my parentage. Whoever they were, they sent me to the sisters for schooling when I was but a babe. And since I’m technically not out in society, I was allowed to come unchaperoned, much to the brotherhood’s chagrin.” Her lips lift in another mischievous smile, and I know right then that I like Briony Rose.
I hear the telltale pop of the flash bulb at the door and turn to see another girl entering the church. She seems much more comfortable than I was with the camera and holds a few different poses for Mr. Sputnik before stopping to chat with Glint McCreedy. Based on how she gestures to her skirt, I assume they’re talking about her ensemble—a mauve skirt and matching jacket with sleeves twice as puffy as mine. After sharing a laugh with the reporter, she heads down the aisle. She’s full fae with heavily bejeweled pointed ears and walks with her nose in the air, bustled skirts swishing with every step. Where the other contestants are seated with a single companion, this woman has two, both young girls. She claims a pew on the opposite side of the aisle from me.
The front doors of the church close, and another figure enters from the antechamber. I recognize him as Father Viktor, the priest I delivered word of Dorian’s fate to. Behind him follows Brother Billius, and at his side—
My breath catches in my throat.
It’s Brother Dorian.
14
In the days since I made the bargain with Nimue, I’ve tried to envision what Dorian looks like. Not how I truly remember him on that dark and rocky shore but how I would prefer to see him. As a fae-killing beast with cruel eyes, a loping gait, hunched shoulders, and meaty hands made for strangling innocents. A killer who stalks his prey with a menacing snarl. But as I look at him now, I see nothing close to my imaginings.
Instead, I see his strong posture, his warrior’s nose, his wide-shouldered build. His hair is darker than I first thought it to be, cropped short on the sides while the top falls in loose black curls. He’s dressed not in the robes the other two men wear but a black jacket and slacks with gold embroidery at the cuffs and high-buttoned collar. As he passes my pew on his way to the altar, I get a closer look. I take in dark eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips.
Lips I must kiss within seven days.
My mouth tingles at the thought. Not that it ever stopped tingling since Nimue altered my magic, but it seems to grow sharper, almost painful. As if my lips know my target on sight and are ready to do my bidding. To kill.
Guilt sinks my stomach, but I remind myself this man is dangerous. He murdered a sea fae and bathed in her blood. His assassination was sanctioned by the Alpha Council. By my father.
The reminder eases only a fraction of my tension as he continues past. That’s when I get a look at his backside. There I find a rounded curve of blubber beneath his starched trousers. I can’t help but admit I like what I see. I’m not the only one, either. Every pair of eyes follows Brother Dorian as he strides with swift, confident steps up the dais to the altar. My nose twitches, much the same way it does when I see pretty treasures made for stealing.
I shake the thought from my head. Dorian isn’t a treasure. He’s a mark. A target. A beast destined to die.
“He isn’t half bad, is he?” Briony whispers from behind me.
I startle at the sound of her voice but force an agreeable grin.
Father Viktor stands at the center of the dais, flanked by Dorian and Billius. The latter grins in his leering sort of way while Dorian stands with his hands clasped behind his back, expression firm, cold. Maybe haughty is a better word. With how much taller he stands than both Billius and Viktor, there is something domineering about his presence. Perhaps that’s just his hidden darkness showing through. I expect his eyes to flit my way—or really any direction other than straight ahead of him—but they don’t. He simply stares at nothing and no one. Is he nervous? Or does he hate faekind so much that he can’t be bothered to feign interest in a pageant being held in his name? Podaxis climbs onto my lap, and I lift him to my chest so he can see the dais.
“Welcome, children of the Almighty,” says Father Viktor. He closes his eyes and presses a fist over his heart, a warm smile curving beneath his bushy mustache. The light from the altar’s brazier catches on the gold hoops he wears in his ears. “May Saint Lazaro’s Holy Fire forever warm our hearts.”
“Blessed be His Holy Fire,” Dorian and Billius say in unison.
I glance around at the contestants to see if we’re meant to repeat any of that, but Vanessa is the only one who speaks. Her words, however, are, “Praise Almighty.”
I wrinkle my nose, feeling thoroughly out of place.
“It’s weird for me too,” Briony whispers behind me, “and I live in a convent.”
