10. Finders Keepers
Chapter 10
Finders Keepers
SONGBIRD
T he next morning, I tiptoe into the common area, my eyes sticky with sleep.
“Hungover, moth?” The most striking woman I’ve ever seen greets me from the kitchenette. She whistles a soft tune as she fills a boiler. “I thought commoners from Tundra knew how to handle their cider.”
“N-No. I just had trouble sleeping.” I gawk at the beautiful stranger.
The locs of her sculpted side ponytail are twisted and wrapped around themselves, and their incandescent glow is richer than the blood running through my veins and deeper than flames.
Dark freckles soften her otherwise angular features, with two golden hoops hanging from her delicate ears. Her otherworldly gaze meets mine, and the silver flecks in her irises shimmer with hues of midnight amethysts and polished moonstones.
The golden hilt of a small dirk is hoisted in the dip of her matching bralette, the tip of the blade pointing at her bare navel. Daggers are strapped over her tight black leather pants, and her elegant hands and bare feet show off a regal shade of gold nail polish.
The sum of it all gives her a god-like quality, and my spine straightens, the urge to blurt out effusive compliments almost too strong to suppress. I catch myself wondering what her dark skin would feel like, and a strange lull settles in my belly.
“I’m Elizabeth Snow.”
Her brows raise. “I know.”
I’m not usually attracted to women, so I suspect this one is the most powerful Spring Fae I’ve ever encountered. Her bite of power makes me feel all queasy inside, and I smile dreamily at her with my lips parted.
Iris joins us in the common area, breaking the strange vibe.
“Morning, Little Flower,” the woman greets her.
“Devi!”
Violet “Devi” Eros. Granddaughter of Oberon Eros himself. Oberon has been ruling over the Secret Springs for over a thousand years. Even the old Winter King is only seven hundred years old, and soon to crumble to ashes if my father is right.
Given his age, Freya Heart is actually his third wife—and not Devi’s grandmother. With Freya being Iris’s aunt and married to Devi's grandfather, Devi and Iris must know each other pretty well.
The two women embrace each other warmly, and Devi presses a quick kiss to Iris’s lips. “Congrats on making it in.”
Willow inches into the room, her hands flying to her hair as she pats it down in a self-conscious manner. “Blessed Flame. You’re Devi Eros.”
“And you’re Willow Summers, the boss’ precious daughter.”
Devi breaks the tie between Iris and Willow with that one sentence, reminding us in no uncertain terms who owns this school.
The boiler whistles, and she takes it off the cooktop to fill the teapot. “I’m your Keeper. From now on, I want you to think of yourselves as my sweet baby ducklings, and me as your demented prison mama.”
Iris snickers at that, but Devi shakes her head. “I’m not kidding. It’s my last year here, and I will not have a trio of horny, impressionable teenagers derail it. Your parents didn’t send you here to get pregnant, so drink your contraceptive tea every morning.” She dumps a spoonful of tea leaves from a bright orange box into an infuser. “Even the virgin,” Devi adds with a pointed look.
By Thanatos. It’s only been hours, and Zeke already blabbed? I’ll kill him.
Blush sears my cheeks as Devi retrieves four cups from the cupboard.
“You’re still underage, so it’s my responsibility to keep you honest. No, you can’t sneak in a few sips of Nether cider, and yes, you’re actually meant to study. Leave the mindless partying to the third years. Those bastards have earned it.”
Fae drink wine and beer from infancy—alcohol isn’t meant to affect our bodies to the same extent as the mortals—but Nether cider and other stronger elixirs are prohibited until we turn eighteen, the age of majority in Faerie.
“But you’re infamous for breaking the rules,” Iris argues.
“Breaking some rules will get you expelled, while breaking others will earn you a bad-ass reputation. It’s not my job to help you distinguish between the two, so tread carefully. Knowing which rules to break and when and where to do so is an art. Unless you can back up your bouts of rebellion with some serious wits and power, I don’t recommend walking down this path,” Devi muses.
“Bullshit!” Iris grumbles.
“Little Flower, how many women have been graduate students in the last decade?”
Iris crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t remember.”
“You’re the only one,” Willow says under her breath.
“Good girl. Now, why is that?” Devi asks sharply.
Fire burns within Willow’s gaze. “Because equality between men and women is a myth. We judge the mortals for imprisoning their women in hideous corsets. We think ourselves superior because they prevent females from voting and building their own wealth, but deep down, we’re not much better. Marriage and motherhood is still thrust upon us at an earlier age, and females are ten times more likely to be challenged and kept off their rightful thrones than men when they are marked by the gods to rule.”
Devi arches a brow, clearly impressed. “Exactly. Why do you think they made me Keeper of this dorm when I’m the most famous rule breaker this school has ever allowed to graduate? Doesn’t make much sense, does it?” She smacks her lips together, giving us a moment to chew on the question. “Because I’m the only woman who made it into a graduate program, that’s why. Until you turn eighteen, your parents basically own you. They can legally beat you or marry you off to someone you hate. So, no drinking until you’re of age, as mentioned. No cheating on examinations, no traveling through the sceawere unless your itinerary is sanctioned by a faculty member. You are to exert discretion about what you’ll learn here. Enchantments, spells, other court’s traditions or private affairs, and so on. So don’t think of dazzling your cousins over break with juicy, sordid details.”
Devi pauses, watching us closely. “Curfew is at ten, and I expect everyone in their beds by midnight. A few special celebrations are exceptions to that, like the admission trials yesterday, and it’ll be made clear that curfew will not be enforced on those nights. If I come here in the middle of the night and find you gone, I will rat you out faster than you can invoke the name of my grandsire.
“No act of violence will be tolerated. You can’t enchant your enemies for fun or use your magic against them unless it’s in self-defense. We’re not here to shred each other to pieces.” Her fist curls over the edge of the counter, and a tense breath rushes past her clenched teeth. “And I warn you against spreading your legs for anything with a hot mouth and perfect abs. Times have changed, but not enough for us females to assume our indiscretions are viewed in the same light as men’s. They can afford to plow their way to the Eternal Chalice, whereas we have to exercise restraint. If you sample every royal cock there is, it’ll quickly become a very…incestuous situation.” She bites her bottom lip, balancing herself from her heels to her toes. An odd tension lingers in the air as she holds my gaze. “And if you’re same-sex oriented, you’re in luck, because no one cares. Just don’t go screaming from the rooftops that you’re shagging your roommates, and you’ll be fine.”
A fierce blush creeps on my cheeks at the reminder of how I ogled her earlier.
“Keep your secrets close and your sins closer. Gold and jewels have no value here, but secrets do… A badly kept secret could keep you—or your competitor—from becoming queen. Gossiping away your ammunition is insipid, so don’t.” Devi’s eyes dart to Iris, and I might be reading too much into it, but something in her gaze suggests an admonishment, as Iris’s teeth grind in a very unladylike fashion in response.
“What did I forget? Oh, yes. You’ve already met your villains. It’s customary for the fourth years to initiate the rookies. They’ll give you ridiculous, dangerous, or downright mental challenges to plot and execute in the next few months and tally your points to pit you against one another. Don’t accidentally kill yourself for glory, alright? And whatever you do, never give away your true name.”
“But I heard you smashed the initiation record,” Iris says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Well, yes. I’m Devi Eros.” Devi flips the twisted locks of her flaming red ponytail behind her head with a cheeky smile, as if her name explains it all.
Given the admiration written in Willow’s wide, adoring gaze and the flush on her cheeks, it probably does.
“Now, the bibliotheca and dining hall are in the main building, on the second and third floors. Classrooms are on the floors above. I trust you know how to count, so I won’t be showing you around. Don’t give me a reason to remember your name, and you’ll graduate.” She narrows her eyes at each of us in turn. “But if you truly want to become queen, in your own right, and not only through marriage, make sure no one around these parts ever forgets it.”
A Faeling flies in from the window, his magic allowing him to pass through the solid glass. “Mistress. You’re late for… you know.”
The little creature flutters around for a moment, dressed in old-fashioned purple clothes. The outfit is tailored to fit his tiny frame, complete with a crisp collar and a waistcoat. His delicate wings shimmer as he hovers just above my eye level, creating a gentle hum in the air. The old Winter King has a Faeling. I was unlucky enough to be in his way one day and received a chiding I’ll never forget.
But this one isn’t irate at all and throws us a timid wave. “Hello.”
They say Faelings are born to serve. They die if their master dies, and they wither when kept apart for too long. Their personalities develop to account for the flaws in their master’s character, so they can counterbalance it. The fact that he seems to be a nervous ball of anxiety and a sweetheart should serve as a warning that Devi is neither of those things.
“Thanks, Percy.”
Devi strolls out without further instructions or a word of goodbye, and the door closes behind her without a sound.
“She’s…intense,” Willow breathes, clutching her necklace.
“She’s right. It’s not called the Royal Academy for nothing. Everyone here wants to rule, and those who don’t end up with a crown will always wonder what could have been,” Iris says before walking back into the room she shares with Willow and slamming the door shut.
“Oh my Eros! Did you see her?” Willow braces herself on the small kitchen island, as if she can barely keep herself upright.
“I know. She thought I was into her because I stared so much. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. Everyone does it. My brother once said that meeting Devi for the first time was like being kicked in the groin while a nymph goes down on you. He was right. I still have goosebumps. Look.”
“He said that, eh?”
The soft glow that had been hovering inside my ribcage vanishes as Devi’s magic stops affecting me. The departure of that strange, lusty thrall leaves me cold, disoriented, and annoyed. That last bit of information stings in particular. I don’t want any more reasons to think about Aidan’s cock, especially not in relation to Devi—or nymphs sucking him off. So much for me being the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Letters are sprawled over the coffee table, and I walk to the living room area to pick up the three out of the bunch that have my name on them. They look drab compared to the ones addressed to my roommates. One of the letters meant for Willow, written on gold-dusted paper, boasts the seal of the Summer Queen—a crown circled in flames.
“I’m supposed to make out with Devi for the challenge. Publicly.” Willow shakes out her hands. “But that’s so—I’d simply die.”
I examine my letters. One bears my father’s seal and is written on typical Winter Court staff blue paper. Another bears a moth seal and is folded in an overly fancy manner, just the way my cousin Marjorie would do it. But the third remains a mystery.
“They tasked me with finding out Aidan’s full initials,” I say, tearing open the blank seal.
Willow gasps. “Even if I knew them, I would never share my brother’s initials. Do you know why Diana would choose that?”
I weigh my words carefully. “She wants me to fail. She said so.”
Willow furrows her brow, her expression turning serious. “Reds are vicious, but don’t worry too much about it. It’s just a stupid initiation thing, anyway.”
“Exactly.” My gaze darts to Willow’s bedroom. “What did Iris get?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
I unfold the letter, my eyes quickly scanning the page, and my cheeks warm.
Dearest Songbird,
I hope you had a restful night, though I have to admit I couldn’t sleep a wink. Your voice, your smile, the taste of your kiss… they’ve kept me awake, until I just had to pick up a quill.
Since we won’t be able to see much of each other, I figured I should write to persuade you that I’m not some flimsy, good-weathered stalker—scratch that, admirer. I meant every single word I said, and I won’t let something as mundane as a bogus engagement come between us.
Miss you already,
Wonder Boy
The handwriting is not at all what I would expect the calligraphy of a Fae prince to be, and my heart tumbles past my feet when I realize Willow is standing on her tip-toes to take a peek. “Who’s got you blushing like this?” she asks.
I press the note to my chest. “No one.”
“Wonder boy… Beth Snow, don’t tell me you’ve got a beau pining over you at home?”
I nod sheepishly. My cheeks burn at the falsehood, but Willow doesn’t seem to recognize her brother’s hand, and a wave of relief washes over me.
Her eyes widen. “Oh, I love a tragic romance. Was he very crestfallen when you broke it off?”
“He hasn’t truly gotten his head around it yet.”
“A fighter. I like that.”
“I tried to discourage him,” I say quickly.
“But did you mean it?”
“No,” I admit with a twinge of shame. “Not really.”
“Then you can’t fault him for not giving up. By the Flame, have you ever thought about how twisted our society truly is? On one hand, women are supposed to play hard to get and make a guy work for it, but we’re also expected to marry someone our parents chose for us—the richest man who’ll take us and is most likely to achieve greatness. The whole thing is disgusting.”
“I agree.”
We exchange a quick smile. If only she knew… She’s about to add something, but a knock at the door startles us. Willow skips over to open it, and my lips part in surprise as I see my father standing in the doorway. I never expected him to drop by.
His gray hair is slicked back, and he’s traded his usual uniform for his fanciest suit. But the knot of his tie shows a bit of wear and tear, and the sleeves are slightly too short.
“Papa!” I scurry over to the door. “This is Willow Sum?—”
“Princess, it’s an honor to meet you,” he says, bowing at the waist in an overly formal manner for the setting. Such formalities are probably expected of him during official ceremonies, but here, it feels downright ridiculous. “I’m Paular Snow, but everyone calls me Paul.”
I mask a cringe with my hand. “Come on, Papa. I’ll show you my room.”
But Willow is a true princess and knows how to handle such gestures. She smiles and offers him her knuckles to kiss. “I’m glad to meet you. Beth is talented and smart, and that reflects well on you, Sir Paul.” She gives us a gracious nod. “No need to cower in your room, Beth. I’ll leave you two to talk.”
“You’re too kind,” he replies, his face brightening.
Willow closes her bedroom door quietly behind her, and Papa relaxes a bit. “She calls you Beth already?” He looks down at me with a soft smile, his mouth slightly agape as he takes in my pristine Royal Academy uniform. “Oh, Lizzie. I’m so proud of you. I knew you weren’t born with your mother’s face and that god-gifted ice magic for nothing…”
I trace the golden lines in the cushions of the sofa as Papa walks to the windows, gazing out at the ocean. The unshed tears of joy in his eyes rattle me. He’s not much of a crier.
“Your mother would be so glad to see how far you’ve come…” he trails off.
My breath catches in my throat. Papa almost never talks of my mother, a real shame considering she died when I was a toddler. I have no memories of her and barely enough stories of their time together to fill a piece of parchment.
He clears his throat, erasing the emotion from his voice, and turns to face me again. “You seem surprised to see me. Didn’t you get my note?”
I show off his sealed letter. “I haven’t opened it yet.”
His eyes sparkle with pride and something else—something I’m all too familiar with. Expectations. “Making it into the Royal Academy is no small feat. You’re on the path to greatness, my girl.”
I try to smile but end up just nodding. “Thank you, Papa.”
He walks over and sits beside me, his gaze intent and serious. “But it’s just the beginning, Lizzie. You’ve got so much potential, so much talent. You passed trials most of us wouldn’t dream of taking on. You succeeded where tons of high-born royals have failed. I know you can achieve anything you set your mind to, but you have to give it your all. No slacking, no distractions.”
“I know, Papa. I won’t let you down.” My voice wavers slightly, weighed down by an anchor of secrets, but I manage to hold his gaze.
“Good. I’ve sacrificed a lot to get you here, and I want you to have everything I never did. You have the chance to be a queen someday, and no matter what happens with Ezekiel’s father, your new status will ensure a better future for Marjorie and Kiro as well. They send you each a kiss.”
The mention of my rowdy cousins brings tears to my eyes. I miss them so much already.
Papa places a hand on my shoulder, his touch both comforting and heavy. “I know it won’t be easy, Lizzie. But remember, I’ll always be here to support you. I just want you to succeed. To be happy.”
“I will,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Tell Marge she can finally have my bed. And that overcoat she liked.”
Papa thinks I’m this perfect, golden child, but I cheated. It kills me to lie to him—to everyone—and endure this charade. But he’s right. It’s not just my life that’ll be forever changed by this opportunity, but that of our entire family.
He studies my face. “Are you sure everything’s alright? You’re quiet when you should be ecstatic. Did something happen between you and Ezekiel?”
I swallow hard, the urge to confess ebbing out as soon as it surfaces. I can’t tell him. Or anyone. Not ever. “It’s...a big change.”
“Is that all?”
I nod quickly to disperse his suspicions. “It’s been a lot to take in, but I’ll manage, I promise.”
“Alright.” He pats my hand. “Just remember, I’m always here for you, no matter what.” He stands up and glances around the room one last time before heading toward the door. “I’ll let you get back to it. Just work hard, Lizzie. You’re destined for great things.”
As soon as he’s gone, I let out a long, shaky breath.
“That didn’t last long,” Willow muses, and from the mischievous look on her face, I know she was eavesdropping.
“My father is nothing if not efficient. I’m surprised he came at all.”
She bites her bottom lip. “You’ve made him proud.”
“For now.”
His love too often takes the shape of a hoop he needs me to jump through, but I keep that part to myself.
Willow squints at me, and after a long pause, she finally clasps my hand. “It’s decided. I’m taking you under my wing, Beth Snow.”
“Why?”
Her smile widens. “I think you’ve got something special. Plus, my father can be such a small-minded pain in the ass. I’m sorry to say he petitioned for you to be excluded from the school the second you exited the maze.”
A flare of anger frosts my chest. If the Summer King despises the thought of me attending his fancy, elite school, I wonder how he'd react knowing his own precious son broke the rules to get me in—and seems determined to seduce me. Hells, Aidan probably wants me because he’s consciously—or unconsciously—driven to defy his father’s authority.
Willow squeezes my upper arm. “If I can help you shine, and it drives him up the wall, that’s a bonus.”
I can’t help but chuckle, Willow’s admission confirming my hunch that the Summer heirs like to rebel. “Sounds like you’ve got a plan.”
“More like a mission,” Willow says with a wink. “You have a lot to catch up on.”
Her enthusiasm is infectious, and despite the whirlwind of emotions the day has brought, a spark of excitement ignites in my ribcage. Maybe Willow can become a true friend, and having a clever, good-natured princess as an ally is not as dangerous as falling for her devil of a brother.
Dearest Stalker,
I got your charming—scratch that, overconfident—note. But in spite of your ego, I will concentrate on my studies.
Best.
Beth
Songbird,
How was your first day? In the spirit of honoring your wishes, I feel obligated to warn you about Evelyn’s love for pop quizzes. And Idris’ obsession for footnotes.
You’re welcome.
Wonder Boy
My first day went well enough, but I’m onto you, Stalker. I’ve researched the spell you use to alter your handwriting and decided to try it on for size. Do you like my new hand? And last but not least, are you really trying to buy my affections with random pointers on the teachers?
-S
If it’s the way to your heart, why not? Most importantly: is it working?
-WB
Keep it up, and we’ll see.
-S