She wasn’t crazy. Just heartbroken and hopeful.
“That’s not all,” Bernadette continued. “It says, ‘Considering your utter defiance for all proposals, you are hereby ordered to attend The Monsters Ball.’”
Phillipa and her mother gasped in unison. It was the first time they had agreed on anything in far too long. It was on the tip of Phillipa’s tongue to protest, to remind them of poor Wesley one more time, but she knew it would not help.
“You cannot go to that ball,” Mother rose from her seat. She began pacing the parlor. “You’ll be ruined. Ruined!”
“The Queen has ordered Phillipa to attend.” Bernadette gave her sister a smug smile. “She cannot defy Her Majesty.”
Her younger sister was enjoying this far too much. She’d always been in a one-sided competition with Phillipa. Not sharing a Season with Bernadette had been a relief.
She needed answers about what happened to Wesley. Her own family had been no help, only encouraging her to move on. His family had not provided much information, either.
They simply had told her that they hadn’t heard from him since he’d disappeared that night.
But no one had confirmed he was dead. There had been no services to mourn him. No answers to Phillipa’s questions. Only that they were very concerned, and they would let her know if there was any word. For a few days, she’d stayed in the house they were meant to share for the rest of their lives, but without Wesley, the house was overwhelming, and she was not prepared to receive the visitors who wanted to offer their condolences on his disappearance.
Again, she would send a letter to his family, requesting an update. This time she would stress the urgency of the matter. But for the first time since Wesley’s disappearance, she had a sense of purpose.
Phillipa tipped her chin up. “If Her Majesty wants me at the Monsters Ball, then I will be in attendance.”
“You can’t—” Mother cried.
“Phillipa!” Margaret pleaded. “Think about what you’re saying.”
She slipped the letter carefully into her pocket, ignoring the protests. She needed air. She needed peace from the only place that had granted it to her since Wesley’s disappearance.
Her garden.
Once she reached her outdoor haven, she sank to her knees, relishing the cool feeling as the damp earth seeped into her dress. Margaret would lovingly scold her when she came back to the house dirty, but Mother and Bernadette wouldn’t be so kind about her soiled dress or the dirt that would inevitably lodge itself under her fingernails. Emotion rushed through her, but she wouldn’t cry. Weakness was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Acanthus and Delphiniums bloomed around her, but even their beauty couldn’t hide her concern. Her brow furrowed as she studied the rock formation that had been carefully laid at the edge of the path. Common smooth stones, topaz, and tourmaline had become their own language, and a message delivery system even more powerful than the letter in her pocket from the Queen herself.
Fae lived in the woods that bordered the garden. Fae who had become dear friends of hers. They’d sat with her while she’d cried under the trees they called home, and taught her everything she knew about gardening and the beautiful stones they used as currency and medicine.
And they’d been under attack by a ruthless wolven that had declared himself king of the forest. Phillipa felt so helpless every time she heard the news of another attack and had daydreamed many times of confronting this wolven, to make him pay for his heartlessness.
Now, she would be ready if the opportunity arose.
The formation warned that a wolven had been seen in the area.
Phillipa steeled herself, scanning the garden to make sure she was alone. As far as she knew, the wolven had never come this close to the garden. Most of the attacks had taken place deep in the forest, a place that the fae urged her not to go. It wasn’t safe for anyone.
This news made the invite even more crucial. She picked up two of the prettiest stones—one clear and one mauve, and rubbed them together. Most mere mortals wouldn’t hear the sound, but the last thing she hoped to attract was a mortal.
She needed magic.
A breeze blew through the garden, and the hidden door in the bark of the tree at the end of the path opened. A faerie fluttered out, and as much as Phillipa was relieved to see her friend, her confidante and her guide in this new world, something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Ainslee landed in Phillipa’s open palm. The fairy was as tall as the human’s forearm and as light as a whisper, with energy that never stayed still. Her wings, sparkling pink and iridescent under the best of circumstances were drab and brown, drooping, and camouflaged to the color of the bark of her home. Her skin was the color of bathwater instead of the pearlescent that it usually was on a bright, sunny day.
Phillipa gasped at her friend’s appearance. “Are you well, Ainslee? Did something happen to you?”
“As well as I can be. There was another attack last night. Three fae did not survive. Two more are fighting for their lives,” she said.
“No!” Phillipa exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?”
“You should go back to your home. It’s not safe for you to be here, Phillipa. The Wolven King is getting bolder. Fae are an easy target, and our magic cannot hold him off. We may flee. If we are not here, there’s no telling who he might attack next.”
“No! You must stay,” Phillipa said quickly, and guilt rushed in when her friend’s appearance darkened to the color of mud. “This is your forest. This horrible wolven, who’s arrived and declared himself king, has no right to drive you away.”
“I agree, but the Wolven King, unfortunately, thinks otherwise.” Ainslee’s wings fluttered and she did a perfunctory check of the flowers, which nevertheless rose to greet her, no matter how dire her appearance. “There are only so many more fae we can let him sacrifice.”
“Why fae?” A giant wolven—at least by Ainslee’s possibly unreliable account—couldn’t possibly sustain himself with the tiny creatures. It would much more efficient if he attacked larger animals, even humans, unless he was lame. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Some of the elders theorize that he wants our magic. That he needs our powers for something he cannot achieve himself.” She shook her head with disgust.
Phillipa had heard all the old tales of how fae magic could be borrowed to solve a host of human problems, but the wolven wasn’t interested in giving it back. He was stealing, and he had to be stopped. “I have a solution.”
“Just give him our magic?” Ainslee scoffed, and folded her tiny arms over her chest. “That’s what the elders suggest. I, for one, refuse. This…beast…doesn’t deserve our power. It’s the first time in history that some of us are willing to defy our elders. This wolven will tear us apart if he doesn’t kill us all first.”
“That will not happen.”
“Then what is your solution?” Ainslee flew closer. “Poison? Perhaps a trap? Dark magic? Those are the things I proposed. But the more he strikes fear in the heart of the woodland fae, the weaker our magic becomes. We’re using so much energy simply to hide from him. Hiding! The shame. But those who’ve tried to stop him have paid with their lives. He’s drained them down to nothing. He’s too big, too strong for us to fight. Too feral.”