Tessa
The next few days passed without any sign of the king or his soldiers. I couldn’t decide if that should soothe my worry or increase it even more. He did have other things on his mind, of course. Once he’d chosen his new mortal bride, he’d likely slam down the gauntlet.
The morning of the Festival of Light, I awoke to the sound of laughter and cheer, brilliant sunshine beaming in through the downstairs windows. They bathed the floors a cheery yellow that matched Mother’s whistled tune. Unlike me, Val, and Nellie, she practically buzzed with excitement. She and the others had spent years planning this day, hoping to present the king with two dozen potential girls. One of whom would become the next queen. In name only, of course. King Oberon never gave his wives any power.
I plopped into a seat beside the window and snatched my book from the small wicker table beside it. The spine creaked as I opened it, my head filling with the scent of parchment, ink, and the power of words.
Mother stopped her bustling to give me a frank look. “Don’t tell me you’re going to spendthismorning with your nose in a book?”
“I start every day reading, Mother. At least ten pages. More, if I can. Today isn’t any different.”
Mother tsked as I turned my eyes back onto the page. I was up to the part of the story I always liked. The heroine had overcome her fear, and—
“Tessa.” The rough parchment scraped free of my fingers as Mother ripped the book from my hands. With a stern look, she snapped it shut. “Today is the Festival of Light. You must get ready, same as every other girl the right age.”
“Even though he gives every queen immortality during the wedding ceremony, it is not worth it. Val and Nellie have no interest in becoming the king’s bride either. And I’m sure there are others. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mother, but the younger generation has realized our fae overlords are monsters.”
“Tessa, my love.” Her voice was full of concern and pity. The opposite of the anger I’d expected. It wasn’t often one of us spoke ill of the king. It was considered distasteful. And dangerous. Even when they were nowhere near, we always feared they would hear us. “Do you think the rest of us haven’t all had the very same thoughts you’re having?”
“I find it impossible to believe the woman who eagerly meets her servant duties every day, with a smile and no word against it, has ever questioned the fae. Even after Father—” I cut myself off, choking on the words.
“Oh, Tessa.” She grasped my hand in hers and squeezed tight. “What I’m about to tell you…it can’t leave these four walls.”
Curiosity gnawed at my already twisted gut. Mother had never spoken to me like this, her voice hushed and full of secrets. Surely she didn’t have a story to tell. She and my father had agreed, twenty-five years ago, to produce two heirs to present to the fae king. They’d wanted to sacrifice their own children to keep our world ticking along the way it always had. And then when Father had changed his mind, when he’d rebelled…she’d stood aside and done nothing when Oberon put his head on a spike in the village square.
So what if she’d hadthoughts? They’d pale in comparison to her deeds.
“All right, Mother. Tell me your thoughts, but don’t think anything you have to say will convince me to get excited about this damn Festival of Light and the poor girl who will be forced to be the king’s silent wife for seventy-five years.”
One of the curious aspects of theOidhe,the deal between mortals and fae, was this: The queen could never speak to anyone unless given permission, which she could not ask for. Even at court, during their raging balls full of drink, dancing, and lust, she never uttered a single word out loud. Or so the tales said—we weren’t allowed in the fae city.
Oberon demanded silence and subservience. The queen was to produce offspring and shut up. Then, when a new bride came along, she was banished to the Tower of Crones, where all the old brides lived. That was the mortal queen’s role.
No, thank you.
As my mother’s hand tightened around mine, her fingers trembled. “I once considered crossing that bridge and joining the light fae rebels.”
Shock slammed into me. I sat up straight and clutched her hand right back. “You can’t mean that.”
“I did,” she said with a firm nod, her voice barely a whisper.
Taken aback, I searched her gaze. Those clear brown eyes I’d recognize anywhere looked the same as they had every day of my life, but it still felt as though I was staring at a stranger. My mother, the woman who had raised meforthe Festival of Light, who had labored daily in the fields without a word of complaint, and who had sung the king’s praises after my father’s death…a rebel? Had the sun finally set in the sky? Because that was more likely than this.
“You better believe I did, Tessa.” With a sigh, she released my hand and stood, her frame backlit by the blazing sun outside the window. “I grew up listening to my grandmother’s stories about the previous Festival of Light. She was too old to be presented as an option for him, of course. The king never chooses a bride over the age of twenty-seven. But her sister, Marissa, was twenty. She’d hoped and dreamed and prayed for the king’s attention. She wanted it. The promise of immortality is a powerful temptation. But she also had a friend, one just like you. Hannah, a girl who wanted to live the simple life here, surrounded by her friends and her family. Guess who got picked.”
I swallowed hard.
“Marissa was devastated. Not because she didn’t catch the eye of the king but because she knew she’d never see her friend again.” My mother’s breath rattled in her lungs. “She missed her horribly. So, Marissa sneaked into the castle to find her one night, to make sure she was happy. But when she did, Hannah acted as though she didn’t know her. And then the king had Marissa beheaded in the square.”
My back slammed into the chair as I slumped. I’d never met Marissa, my great-aunt, and no one had ever told me why, even though she would have been less than a hundred when I’d been born. The truth was worse than I’d thought.
“No one ever said. Gramma didn’t tell me that story.”
“You were a child,” she said in a low voice.
I shook my head, a newfound fury burning through me. “Surely you know that’s terrible, Mother? You must have, or else you wouldn’t have wanted to join the rebels. What made you change your mind? Why didn’t you do anything after Father died? What happened to turn you into…this?”
She folded her arms. “A mother who cares for her children, you mean?”