Fae Mates Read online

  There was no point in replying. It was obvious to anyone with a set of eyes that Coltrane had sawn off the safety horn at the end of his saddle so he could get his passengers to hold onto him. Clenching my teeth, I endured what sounded like a post-coital neigh and held onto his flanks with my thighs.

  We galloped through the forest, with tree trunks blurring at our sides, through sun-drenched clearings, and out into a road that was paved with white stones instead of cobbles. McVittie explained that faeries had built the highest levels of the Mound, while human slaves constructed the lower levels, which accounted for the differences in magical cushioning and aesthetics.

  The sun shone on our backs, casting long shadows, and morning mist streamed out from the surrounding forests. We continued down the Mound’s steep roads until we reached the village of earth-dwellings that resembled anthills where we had first met the seeing hag.

  Coltrane stopped at a fountain in the town square, where groups of hags dressed in black crowded around a noticeboard. “Here we are,” he said. “If you want door-to-door service, you’ll have to pay extra.”

  “We’ll walk the rest of the way.” McVittie leaped off my shoulder onto Coltrane’s, who pulled a money bead off his collar and patted him on his furry black head.

  While one side of Spindlewinder village consisted of anthills, neat little cottages lined the other side, each as unique as the next. From the sizes of them, they were one-roomed dwellings about half the size of the homes that humans occupied in Doolish.

  McVittie trotted at my side, chatting amiably about the village. Apparently, hags lived here during the day, and winged dormice occupied it after dark. I wondered if the mouse who had been Pokeweed’s wet-nurse had come from here.

  My brows drew together as we passed a pristine, white cottage with a wooden door and a window box full of poppies. It was so small, I couldn’t imagine it containing anything larger than a chamberpot. I’d always thought humans were the least fortunate on the Isle of Fae. I guess I was wrong.

  I eyed a tall cottage that leaned to one side like that tower in Italy. “Have you lived with Mistress Catha for long?”

  “As a familiar?” he asked with a bristle in his voice.

  “No.” I frowned and continued down the cobbled street. McVittie might be a cat, but even I could tell that there was an intelligent human beneath the fur.

  “She took me in after I ran away from home,” he said. “I did odd jobs in exchange for food.”

  “What kind?” I asked.

  “Mostly spying on her neighbors to see what they were saying about her.”

  “Isn’t she supposed to be an all-seeing hag?” I muttered.

  “The magic doesn’t work how you’re thinking,” he replied. “If anyone could tell the future or read people’s bad intentions toward them, they’d position themselves in the right place and rule the world. Or worse, they would murder people based on what they might do in the future.”

  “Hmmm…” I glanced over my shoulder at the figure clip-clopping on the cobblestones a few paces behind.

  “Never mind the centaur,” said McVittie. “We need to find out what kind of enchantment has ensnared your you-know-whats and how to break it.”

  “Right.” Despite being told to ignore Coltrane, I couldn’t help turning back to take another look.

  He broke into a trot and then slowed to our side. “I recognize you now.”

  “No, you don’t,” I snapped.

  “The hair’s different.” He tilted his head as though that would help him see better. “So are the wings, but I never forget a pretty face.”

  My pulse quickened, and paranoia made sweat break out across my skin. That time Coltrane had rescued me from the wood sprites, I had told him that I was one of the princes’ fated mates. If word got out that I was roaming the streets and not dead, Queen Titania would have me quartered by nightfall.

  “You’re mistaken,” McVittie said in a voice of ice. “Dahlia is visiting from the Calf of Fae.”

  Coltrane folded his arms across his chest. “Then why were you both sneaking about the forest, then? Most tourists go to the Mound or if they’re posh enough, Prudence Plaza.”

  “Why are you following us?” I hissed.

  “It’s a free country, isn’t it?” he said.

  My teeth ground together. Actually, it wasn’t. Not for us downtrodden humans, who were trapped here while the rest of our species outside the Isle of Fae lived in huge mansions, feasted on banquets, and enjoyed extreme makeovers. There was even a person called RuPaul who helped transform boys into fabulous-looking queens. What did we have? Endless drudgery sweetened by handouts from the United Nations.

  “Ignore him,” said McVittie. “He’s probably desperate to mate with a pretty faerie.”

  The centaur reared back. “I’ll have you know that this stallion is in demand.”

  “Right.” I picked up my pace down the cobbled road and paused to let a troop of foot-high hobgoblins pass.

  Green waistcoats and breeches covered their walnut-colored skin, and their mahogany hair glinted in the sunlight. The last of the creatures, who had hair like spun silver, bowed as he passed.

  I walked along a row of small cottages with McVittie on my shoulder, each with thin front gardens, and stopped at a familiar-looking one that was overgrown with weeds.

  “We’ve reached our destination, so bugger off,” said the cat.

  Coltrane stood on the roadside, watching us walk down a path of cracked pave stones.

  The wooden door was ajar, and stale air wafted out. I turned to McVittie. “Does she usually leave her door open?”

  “Mistress Catha is too paranoid to give neighbors a chance to steal her valuables,” he replied.

  “Hello?” I shouted in the gap between the door and its frame.

  There was no answer.

  “Why don’t you just walk in and see?” asked Coltrane from the roadside.

  “That’s not a bad idea.” McVittie tapped me on the collarbone.

  The pulse in my neck fluttered, and I inhaled a breath that caught at the tops of my lungs. “Maybe she left the door open while picking herbs.”

  “Do you see her anywhere in the garden?” asked McVittie.

  The lack of a hunched figure rifling through the overgrown plants was my answer. “Alright, then,” I whispered. “On a count of three.”

  “One,” said the cat. “Two… Three.”

  I pushed the door open with my foot and stepped aside to avoid a potential thrown curse. It was what the detectives did in the movies, and I’d always thought it a very smart precaution. Since no one rushed out at us, I took a tentative step inside.

  Faint light from the fat, earwax candle provided illumination over a smashed table, an upturned armchair with its stuffing spilling out like snakes, and planks of wood strewn over the floor. A palpitation reverberated across my ribcage, and all the moisture left my mouth.

  “She must have left in a hurry,” I said, hoping McVittie would add something helpful.

  “Close the door,” said the cat.

  My heart thumped a steady beat as I staggered to the doorway. Coltrane stood at the roadside, craning his neck for a glimpse at the hovel’s interior, but I shut the door before he could get a proper look.

  The cat jumped off my shoulder and landed on the floor with a crouch. “Stick your hand in the candle wax.”

  “What?”

  “Hurry!”

  I raced to the corner of the room, where the candle stood in the corner. Ignoring the revulsion rippling through my insides, I turned my head away and sank my fingers into the warm wax.

  My fingers brushed against something solid. “What’s that?”

  “Pull her out!” hissed the cat.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I plunged my other hand into the depths of the candle, grabbed the hag, and yanked.

  Her weight, which was surprisingly heavy for what looked like a little old lady, pummeled into my stomach like a boulder. I overbal
anced, and we both fell to the ground.

  “Mistress Catha!” McVittie rushed to the hag’s side. “What happened?”

  As I knelt, her eyelids opened, revealing empty pits. Terror lanced through my gut, and I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a cry.

  “I knew you would visit me one last time,” the hag rasped.

  “Who did this to you?” I tried to keep the tremble out of my voice. “McVittie, fetch a healer.”

  “It’s too late,” said the cat.

  The hag’s head lolled to one side. “It was Nevermore.”

  Fury burned through my veins, splintering my fear. How many people was she going to ruin to get those princes? “That fucking Lady Gala!”

  “No,” she croaked. “The father.”

  McVittie and I exchanged puzzled glances. Why would the Duke of Nevermore hurt a humble hag when everyone already knew the secret of how Lady Gala and her friends stole Helen’s magic?

  I gulped. “Mistress Cath—”

  “He is the darkest practitioner of all. He used his mate’s magic…” She coughed.

  My mouth dropped open. “He killed the Duchess of Nevermore?”

  The hag nodded. “To power a spell of absolute loyalty.”

  “What?”

  “He wants his daughter to become the queen.” Harsh, hacking coughs burst from her lips. “Then, he will rule the Island from behind the curtain.”

  My heart pounded in time with my frantic pulse. This was no longer a rivalry between two girls over four handsome princes. Even though Lady Gala had stolen Helen’s magic, she had left the other faerie alive. But the duke had no such mercy and was willing to sacrifice his own mate to fulfill his ambitions.

  “You’re in the worst trouble of your life,” said McVittie, as though coming to the same conclusion.

  “How do I defeat him and his daughter?” I asked the hag.

  Her lips parted into a dry chuckle. “Be there when nature takes its course.”

  I glanced at McVittie, who raised an upturned paw in the cat equivalent of a shrug. Then I turned to Mistress Catha to ask what she meant, but the hag had already stopped breathing.

  McVittie lowered his head. “The poor thing clung to life to pass on that vital information. At least we know who else is in this battle for the throne.”

  My throat thickened. I swallowed down a lump and nodded.

  The cat returned my nod, his eyes blazing with determination. “I know exactly how you’re going to avenge her death.”

  Chapter 6

  McVittie asked me to return Mistress Catha to the candle, which he explained would eventually convert her decomposing body into wax and provide light and wisdom for the next hag to occupy the cottage. It was an effort, but I managed to heft her body into the corner, where the wax opened up and consumed her still form. I stared down at my oily hands, wondering if I would ever feel clean.

  “Sorry,” I said to McVittie.

  “She was a good hag,” said the cat. “Always ready to help a person who needed guidance, no matter how dangerous the consequences.”

  I bowed my head and stared down at the floor. She had gone to all that effort to create an elixir that would return her to the spring of her youth, yet the Duke of Nevermore had cut her down.

  “Why do you think he did it?” I asked McVittie. “Revenge?”

  “It seems a lot of effort for a secret that’s already been spilled,” he replied. “But I’d bet my whiskers he didn’t want anyone knowing how he used the duchess’s magic. It’s one thing to murder one’s mate but another to use her death to take control of the throne.”

  After pushing the stuffing back into the armchair and piling up the planks to resemble a bench, I walked out of the dingy hovel and out into the sunshine. Now, the herb garden overgrown with weeds looked sinister—a sign that its owner had died, and no one had bothered to check on her.

  The morning sun warmed my face, but nothing could warm my cold heart, which settled into my stomach like a boulder of ice. Poor Mistress Catha. She hadn’t deserved to have her eyes plucked out and left for dead.

  McVittie and I walked to the end of the path and continued down the road, which wound around the mountain. All around us, hags hobbled in and out of their cottages, tending to their gardens, carrying buckets of well water, all oblivious to Mistress Catha’s plight. I would have said something, but I was still in disguise and pretending to be dead.

  The clip-clop of horse hooves dogged our steps, and with each passing moment, my anger mounted until heat flared from my skin, and I whirled around and met the centaur’s curious, blue eyes.

  “Why are you following us?” I snapped.

  “I’ve been thinking.” Coltrane rubbed his hairy chin.

  “Do it somewhere else,” snapped McVittie.

  “No, listen.” The centaur placed a hand on my arm.

  I shook it off. “Bugger off and find someone else to haunt.”

  “You’re the fifth one,” he whispered. “The one who’s supposed to be dead.”

  The rest of my insides froze, and I stumbled over a cobblestone. What the bloody hell did he want from me? The answer had better not be anything along the lines of tug-a-lug, because I was in no mood for centaur high jinks. This entire fated mates business was serious enough to get a person brutally killed.

  A denial rolled to the tip of my tongue, but Coltrane spoke first. “It’s alright. I’m not going to tell. We actually have something in common.”

  “Like what?” I folded my arms across my chest.

  He shook his head. “You don’t trust me yet, and what I have planned could mean freedom for the centaurs.”

  My gaze darted down to McVittie’s, who tilted his head to the side in a sort-of shrug. It seemed that he didn’t know what on earth was going on, either.

  Coltrane glanced from side to side as though checking that no-one overheard us. We stood at the end of the village with the forest on our left and a precipice on our right. He waited for a horse and cart to pass before speaking.

  “You want to get your princes back.” He held up a large palm. “There’s no need to answer, but trust me when I say our interests run in the same direction.”

  “Alright, then,” said McVittie. “I’m listening.”

  I glanced down at the cat. “What? Why?”

  “I smell no deception on this centaur.” He turned from me to Coltrane. “You’re not going to work against us, will you?”

  He shook his blond head. “I’d like to help if I can.”

  My shoulders slumped, and I rolled my eyes up to the cloudless sky for inspiration. I trusted McVittie and his feline sense of smell, but Coltrane? He was dodgier than a hexagonal money bead and always sniffing about for sexual gratification.

  I blew out a breath. If I had to be honest with myself, the Fated probably saw me as the same. A lustful creature with desires that outstripped theirs. It was perhaps hypocritical for me to dismiss Coltrane because he was horny, and no girl in her right mind would endanger herself for sex with a centaur, but maybe McVittie was right.

  “Alright, then,” I said. “How can you help us?”

  Coltrane chuckled. “If you ever need a garment that will wow any male on the Isle of Fae, I possess sackfuls of its active ingredient.”

  “Are you talking about Emporium?” I asked.

  His face dropped. “You know of it?”

  I nodded, remembering how I’d encountered Prince August while still lingering under its effects. His only reaction was to take the box containing my garment and give it to Lady Aster. “It only works if the male already likes you.”

  Coltrane scratched his chin. “The wardrobe mistress I supplied said it was a miracle worker.”

  “Maybe for other faeries, but it’s going to take more than a dress to fix my problems.” I raised a shoulder.

  “Want to make yourself useful?” asked McVittie. “Then take us to the Mound and find us a friendly blacksmith.”

  We entered the Mound at the C
ourage level, and Coltrane galloped through the flesh market, which was a mix of butchers and auction houses. Faeries of all types stood on auction blocks being sold for slavery and goodness-knows-what. The coppery scent of blood mingled with the stench of rotting meat and despair, making my heart shrivel further into my stomach.

  I wrapped my arms tighter around Coltrane’s waist for warmth. The world of the fae was more brutal than I had initially thought. If I ever succeeded in winning back my princes and gaining any kind of rulership over the faeries, I would change things, so the powerful no longer oppressed the weak.

  To reach another level, we had to stand on a floating platform that took us over several residential districts and one that consisted of lakes. Eventually, we reached the familiar marketplace where I had met the blacksmiths, and Coltrane took us to the tents at the far end.

  As McVittie and I stepped through the white flaps, I glanced over at the forge, its burning coals the only source of illumination. The dry heat was exactly how I would imagine the kind of sauna showcased in the closing credits of Lumberjacks of Switzerland.

  The thin blacksmith stood behind a desk, sporting a pair of spectacles. The front of his leather apron hung down from his bare chest, giving him the look of a man who needed a few extra meals.

  He glanced up from his papers. “Can I help you, My Lady?”

  “Do you have tools to dominate a more powerful faerie.” I gave him a saucy wink. “Like, in bed?”

  The blacksmith narrowed his eyes. “If you’re looking to capture an important fae with your wiles—”

  “No!” I raised both palms and hoped he didn’t hear the lie in my next words. “He’s a friend who likes it a bit rough.”

  The blacksmith glanced from McVittie to me, his gaze lingering on my artificially darkened wings. “I don’t make that sort of thing.”

  “Not even cock rings?” I asked.

  He gave his head a vigorous shake.

  I clenched my teeth. Could the blacksmith tell that I was wearing a disguise? The last time I’d visited, he had no qualms about offering me sex toys of dubious safety. “Because a friend of mine said she got a ring from you. Iron encased in silk to give the gentleman longer-lasting pleasure.”