Page 42 of Fae Trials

Flora grabbed my wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Gathering my strength for tomorrow.” I frowned. “Why?”

“Has it not occurred to you that your soup might be poisoned?” she hissed. “The trial doesn’t officially begin until the morning. Anything the Fated do to you between now and then is valid!”

I glanced up and met the round eyes of a pixie hovering over the table, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O.’

“Is there something in my soup?” I asked.

“Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t!” She winked and flew around the fire pit.

“Shit.” I dropped my spoon into the white liquid. “Was that a confession?”

“Let’s find something to eat at the dorms.” Helen stood. “At least food over there will be safe. No one knows who’s going to eat what.”

A cold stream of air wrapped around my neck like a garrote, and I raised my head to glower at the table occupied by the Fated. Lady Gala stared back, her teeth bared, and the others mirrored her expression.

I clenched my fists and snarled. That dark faerie cursed me for a reason. If it was to infiltrate the Royal Court and fuck things up, I was more than ready.

We left the castle and walked across the courtyard to the remedial building, where a quartet of grooms circled a black horse outside the stables next door. The horse’s moonlight-colored mane shook as it thrashed and kicked within its restraints, splashing water from its wings.

“Why’s that horse so upset?” I asked.

“It’s a kelpie,” Flora replied. “My father used to break them.”

“But aren’t they shape-shifters?”

“Not if you capture them with an iron bridle,” she replied. “It’s a difficult feat, considering iron kills most faeries and makes the rest of us weak.”

“Was your father the faerie?”

“Yes,” she said with a sad sigh. “He got himself killed, breaking one of those animals, and my mother sent me here for a better life.”

My gaze darted to the snorting creature, whose violent thrashing made me cringe. Why on earth would anyone go to such an effort when they didn’t want to be tamed?

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“So am I,” she said.

Helen opened the door, and we walked into the stone entrance hall and turned left to a wooden staircase. “There’s a common room area on the next floor, and our dormitories are also upstairs.”

The remedial common room reminded me a little of home, except the room was ten times the size of our living room with a twenty-four-inch flat-screen television, playing some kind of news channel. Overstuffed sofas were arranged around the television, providing a cozy watching area with side tables for food and drinks. I licked my lips. If Sicily and I had a room this large, we could make a fortune from admissions to watch our DVDs.

My heart sank at the thought of my missing sister. I turned away from the TV to the kitchenette area.

“What do you fancy?” asked Flora. “Bangers and mash? Welsh rarebit?”

I tried not to picture a skinned and roasted jackrabbit. The creatures were annoying and foul-mouthed, but they didn’t deserve to be used as food. “What?”

Helen placed a hand over her mouth. “It took me several weeks to understand that these were real dishes.”

Flora wrinkled her nose. “I don’t expect that you ate human food up in Medietas Manor.”

“Please stop,” I said.

“What?” said Flora.

“Making Helen feel bad because she isn’t a half-blood.”