Becoming a Fae Queen: Raven Court, #4

Chapter

One

ARIA

She groaned as another’s magic was lost. Each was more painful than the last.

Stirring spaghetti noodles gives me a sense of calm. Until I remember that I’m a fae princess, and stirring spaghetti noodles is something a servant would do.

My calm explodes. I twist my mouth and put my free hand on my hip.

That’s right. I’m a princess. Of Faerie. I can’t believe it either. Or at least, I couldn’t until the memories of my time in Faerie mingled with snippets of the memories I lost. Until being a faerie princess made more sense than not being a faerie princess.

It’s the reason I could be taken into the Winter Court when everyone told me a human could not enter. Because I’m not entirely human. It’s the reason I was able to use magic to escape the winter dungeon unseen and plug my ears with shadows when…

But the maelstrom inside isn’t because cooking noodles is servants’ work, it’s the realization that not only am I a fae princess, but I’m also stuck in the human realm. Again.

And I’m far away from home.

It’s my turn to make dinner, Aria, says my foster brother, Ian, as he enters the kitchen. He looks over my shoulder, then opens the pantry for a jar of marinara sauce.

I don’t mind, I say, but don’t add that I’m doing it mostly for me, not him.

I saw that twin of yours at school today, he says, twisting the cap of the bottle, popping the seal. What’s her name? Carrie?

A flush of emotions rushes through me at the mention of my sister, who is also stuck in the human realm. "It’s Carys."

"Carys," he repeats, and I worry he’ll suggest she come live with us, but family or not, High Queen Carys stole my memories and made me forget who I am. It was only because the Winter Queen told me the truth before shoving us both out of Faerie that I even know that now.

Carys is the last person er… fae—whatever I want to see, let alone live with under the same roof. I was grateful when my foster parents—the humans who took me in—requested that she stay with another family.

I think she’s staying at the group home near the park, Ian says as he reaches for a saucepan dangling from the ceiling rack. But she just enrolled at our school.

I feel like he’s waiting for me to comment, because he pauses to look at me before pouring the sauce into the pan and placing it on the burner. But I have nothing to say.

She looked a bit like a fish out of water, he adds, turning the knob on the stove. The burner flashes on.

Yes, well, I imagine she’s never been to high school before, I mutter under my breath into the hot steam.

Look, it’s strange that you never mentioned you even had a twin sister, and I don’t know what happened between you two, but it looked like she was struggling so maybe you could⁠—

I snap my head to him, stopping his words. But then I check myself and move to the counter to slice the loaf of French bread. I shouldn’t take it out on him, he’s just trying to help. I just… don’t want to talk about her.

I know.

I couldn’t lie when Carys showed up on the King’s doorstep. Like literally. I’m a half fae and any percentage of fae blood in any humanoid’s system stops any lie instantly. I couldn’t feign unrecognition or claim she must be a doppelgänger stranger I’d never met, because all of that would be a lie.

But not being able to lie didn’t mean I had to divulge everything either. My foster parents knew I had memory loss, so a quick explanation that I didn’t know she was my sister until very recently, and that I wasn’t thrilled she was here, was the only thing I would say. And of course, both were true.

Ian opens the fridge for a bag of salad, then gets a bowl and stands next to me.

They set a court date, he says, dumping the greens into the bowl.

What?

Lindsey and Blake. They’re almost finished with the paperwork, and they already set a court date for your adoption.

Really? When? I set down the knife and turn to him.

The day before the Winter Formal. He smiles.

Less than three weeks. My eyes widen and I cover my mouth with my hand. I don’t know how to respond. Since my memories were wiped, all I’ve wanted was to belong. To have a family. I like living with the King’s and I thought I wanted to become an official member of their family, but I already have a family. A big one. My parents are gone, but I have several brothers and sisters. Some who even look like me, like⁠—

Aria!

Geminia.

How ironic that I was just thinking about the sister who looks most like me—besides Carys—and she’s here! Maybe she’s come to take me back! I whip my head to the sound of my sister’s voice. Maybe she’s⁠—

You’ll never guess what I’ve found!

I’m tempted to ask if she could show me another time. Sterling is waiting for me with Madseok. I was supposed to meet him earlier, but I got roped into another political meeting with the king and Carys with some simpering praefectus who clearly can’t handle their stewardship. It was boring and pointless, and I wanted to slip out a hundred times, but didn’t want the wrath of my father or my sister for ditching out on my duties. Again.

Now I’m free to slip away and feel the spray of the sea on my face and the sun on my back.

But Geminia rarely wants my attention for anything. Not like Ophi and Sage, or even Rio and Leo. She’s my closest sister in age after Carys, but we’ve never been close. If I turn her away now, she might never want to share anything with me again.

You’re right. I’ll never guess, I say, playing along. You’d better just tell me what you’ve found.

Geminia looks up and down the corridor like we’ve become fugitives of the crown and cannot be caught by the searching guards, then she grabs my hand and pushes aside the old blue tapestry with a large stag embroidered in the center, and pulls me through one of the hidden passageways behind it.

We shuffle through narrow, dark tunnels that wind through the palace. The clacking of our shoes on the stone floor is the only sound, but it echoes, bouncing off the walls and sounding like an entire legion of soldiers chasing after us.

Where are you taking me? I ask, a little breathless, but more from the exhilaration of the unknown than exertion. I let out a nervous laugh. I can’t even see where I’m going!

Geminia slows and turns back to look at me, her blue eyes glinting in the near darkness. Stop complaining and let your fae eyes adjust, she says, smirking. Or are you telling me that I’ve mistaken you for Carys and you can’t handle a little adventure?

Touché, I say and gesture that we keep going.

When we round a corner, two of our sisters, Celeste and Lyra, wait in the shadows.

Celeste aims an accusing finger at Geminia. Did you tell her?

No. I want her to see it for herself.

Good, Celeste says.

What’s going on? I ask, but I’m loving the intrigue.

I’m not telling, but I promise it will be worth it. Come on. Lyra takes my hand and pulls me through a narrow doorway and into a small, abandoned room.

The space is lit by a single, large window, paned with stained glass like those found in human churches. The filtered light gives the room a muted, colorful ambience that is immediately calming. It’s sparsely furnished with blue plush chairs and a small table. An old vanity sits in one corner with trinkets scattered across it, but my attention is pulled to the portrait that takes up the entire southern wall.

A fae with long, white-blonde hair is the subject of the painting. She has iridescent dragonfly wings and an expression that says she’s full of secrets. I’ve never seen the portrait before, but by the short description my father has given, I know who she is immediately.

Amberle Kindra, I say.

Amberle Kindra as in… our grandmother? Celeste asks, her voice full of awe.

Grandmother? Lyra asks, unfamiliar with the word.

She’s our father’s mother, I explain. Grandmother is a human term.

She’s… beautiful, Lyra says, and we all agree.

There was more to her than beauty from what Father said, I say.

What do you know about her? Geminia asks.

I turn away from the portrait to look at my sister. Just a little. Father didn’t speak of her often.

I’ve never heard anything about her, Lyra says.

Perhaps this is a sort of… shrine to her or something, I say, glancing around the room. Look around, maybe you’ll find out more about her. I turn to exit.

Won’t you look with us? Celeste asks.

I bite my bottom lip. The Sea of Neptulus is calling to me. I can almost hear the impatient snort of Madseok, who is itching for a ride as much as I am. Sterling is waiting, I say. But tell me if you find anything.

Aria? Ian asks, pulling me from the vision.

Blinking a few times, I push back at the emotion the memory sparked. I can’t remember any more of it. If my sisters found anything about our grandmother, or if I ever went back to that hidden room behind the blue tapestry.

I have the feeling I didn’t. I clearly remember the disappointment in all their faces—especially Geminia—when I excused myself for what I thought was more important: leaving to meet Sterling and Madseok. But I don’t think I remedied it. I wasn’t a very good sister to them.

You okay? Ian asks.

Yes, I say, truthfully. I just got lost in my thoughts. I move back to stir the boiling noodles.

So… speaking of the dance, Ian says. Matt Green wants to ask you.

Matt Green, huh? Blake—my foster dad—says, entering the kitchen.

Wait, what? I’m grateful for the subject change from Carys, and that Ian didn’t pry after I zoned out, caught in that memory. But Ian is giving me whiplash.

"Yeah, it could be like a celebration after the adoption," Ian says.

Since when are you so thoughtful, Ian? Blake asks with an eyebrow raised, and takes a slice of bread from the cutting board, tearing it to eat.

He has a point, I say.

Ian rolls his eyes. Since Matt said if I convinced Aria to go with him, he’d give me his cousin’s number to ask her. He looks at me with pleading in his eyes. C’mon Aria. We could double.

Isn’t Aria going with Sterling? Blake asks around a mouthful of bread.

"They broke up, remember?" Ian says.

Blake turns to me with concern creasing his forehead. Sorry, Aria. Yes, I remember.

It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m fine, I say, and I know it’s the truth. Sterling and I are better as friends. Really.

I’m not sure if it convinces him, but he eats more bread.

Ian claps his hands together. So… would you be up to going with Matt since you and Firell are no longer together?

Firell was the last name Sterling went by when he pretended to be a teenage human football star at my high school. It was a little more human sounding than Firetail. Part of me wishes I could go back to that. Back to the stupid parties and the stupid games and act like I’m just a normal human teenager. Back to the simplicity of it all.

But I can’t. I’m a fae princess trapped in the human realm. And Sterling is trapped too as a prisoner of the Winter Queen.

And I’m in love with his brother, who I might never see again.

Tien. Captain Firetail. The fae who kidnapped me and brought me to Faerie against my will in order to save his precious Raven Court by putting me on the throne. That fae was the last guy I imagined myself falling in love with. But I did.

I try not to think about where Tien is—stuck in a trows’ lair dancing to his death—but my heart won’t let me forget because it’s my fault he’s there.

I thought I was doing something noble by saving the high queen from death-by-trows. Using my budding shadow magic, I stopped mine and Carys’s ears so we couldn’t be lured into their mound. But Tien was taken, and it’s unlikely he’s alive.

A sharp pang in my chest twists and seems to cut the air from my lungs. I cannot think of that. He must be alive. He has to be. I would know it if he’d died, wouldn’t I?

You’ll have to get Matt’s cousin’s number another way, I say to Ian as I walk out of the kitchen. Tell him no.

Chapter

Two

TIEN

They said the dancing would never end until you’ve collapsed from exhaustion or loss of blood. But even trows seem to have a limit. With enough stamina, they can be outlasted. It helps that they love their feasting and can be persuaded to set down their fiddles for hours at a time as they stuff their faces with sweet meats and herbs.

At first, the smell of roasting mutton prepared with mouth-watering spices was torturous in my hazy delusion. I struggled to push through the fog long enough to drag myself to the discarded scraps, only to be discovered and the fiddles remembered again.

The early days nearly did me in with the lack of nourishment and the constant skipping and twirling to the whine of the strings. The skin of my feet rubbing raw within my boots enough to bleed. It didn’t take long for the weight to fly from my bones. As my boots wore to tatters, several of my toes caught on rocks and were crushed underneath other dancers, fracturing them.

Of course, the pain didn’t matter while I danced. A new laceration or snap of bone only tripped my dance steps a brief moment until it was forgotten, and the dancing resumed with vigor.

I was on the verge of collapse and imminent death when the big one took notice and realized who I was.

Cap’ ‘in. Cap’ ‘in Fire, he’d said.

Big One seemed more intelligent than the others because when he’d chant, Cap’ ’in. Cap’ ‘in Fire, he’d only get blank stares and dismissive hand waves. Big One began sneaking me scraps of food and my strength slowly returned. And with my strength, my wits.

Pushing through the fog is getting easier now. At least I notice the taste of dirt. And when the music stops, the constant mixture of sharp and dull agony in my feet and legs returns quicker.

Big One tosses a bone in my direction. I snatch it up immediately. The feasting has just begun, hopefully giving me plenty of time to rest and eat and recover some. And maybe think through another plan to escape. Gnawing on the bone, while keeping my eyes on the group, I bemoan my failed attempts and ignore the sharp return of my various injuries.

First, I tried the obvious by calling for Lament from the Urozen. If I could cut down trows quickly and with such surprise that they didn’t have time to pick up their fiddles, perhaps I could easily escape, but my trusty golden blade will not come. The trows must have some sort of spell in their mound, blocking access to the spirit world.

With one end of the bone, I mark another tick on the wall. I don’t know how long each dance lasts, or how many I’m forced to endure each day. Being underground, I have no idea whether it’s day or night or the stage of the moon, so I count the dances and the feasts.

My second failure began with my realization that the creatures are nothing without their magical, hypnotic music. So, I waited until they were occupied with filling their bellies, then stole and quietly smashed as many violins as I could while they feasted. I smashed a dozen fiddles before they wizened and sprung to action, only to have twice as many appear in their hands as they grabbed their reserve instruments from the various hidden nooks and crevices of the lair. I paid the price with a spirited dance across a particularly rocky area and ended up with two broken toes.

For being mostly unintelligent creatures, the trows are no fools when it comes to their deadliest weapon.

I needed to do something even more subtle to prevent myself from being pulled into their dangerous music. The next logical step was to stop my ears from hearing the sound.

I close my eyes and refuse to think more about that disaster. A combination of mud and precious animal fat from the meager portions the Big One throws at me is not enough to block the sound. It can fall out or be yanked out too easily and isn’t worth the pain that follows.

My best option is something more… permanent.

I glance at the marks on the wall and search for a pattern that should have been obvious. Every third feast, a handful of the trows gather their bows and arrows to hunt for future feasts. Their weapons are crude and simple, but the creatures are skilled, and the arrows are sharp.

One more dance, then one more feast, and they’ll go out again. When they return, I’ll steal one of their arrows and pray the sharpness hasn’t been dulled from use. It must be a reliable tool.

There’s one thing that keeps me under the spell of the fiddles. One thing that prohibits my escape. Although I’ve greatly relied on it all my life, I’ll gladly carve the hearing out of my ears to enjoy freedom again.

Chapter

Three

ARIA

Iblast Taylor Swift in my EarPods to drown out the chittering of teenagers walking to class.

I hate going to school. It feels like such a waste of time when I know Sterling is… my throat tightens, and Tien… I feel sick. I can’t think of it. I can’t think of them. I can’t go down that dark path again and turn into another sobbing pile of uselessness. I’m doing no good by constantly crying about it. I’ve been there, done that.

So, I lie to myself and keep the volume of my music on high—letting Taylor ruin my eardrums while singing about being the antihero. I can lie within the deepest recesses of my thoughts. Surely Sterling is finding a way to escape the clutches of the Winter Queen. Like I did. He’s not letting the hallucinations of the Winter Court dungeon get to him. He’s stronger than that. He can handle it.

I tell myself there’s no way Tien remained under the trow’s control long enough to get himself killed. He probably escaped five seconds after he was lured into their lair! He has that golden blade he pulls out of the air, after all. Surely, he could do that while dancing? He probably cut down every fiddle-playing trow the first chance he got.

They’re fine. They’re both fine.

Probably.

I’m the one stuck in