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My life has been defined by bells. The first time, I got whipped in the square for stealing while the old brass bells tolled like laughter. The bells were on their final note the morning I found my mother gone. And when Desmond kissed me by the celestine fountain, the bells kept count.
They rang now, reminding me I was late. Already, the trumpets sang from the heart of the island, their low sound reaching the fish market at the docks. I tripped over cobblestones in my rush to get home before the ceremony began.
Splinters from the wooden ladder dug into my hands as I struggled to keep a few squashes tucked under my arms while I scaled the walls of close-knit homes. Rampant weeds clawed at the stone and scratched my cheeks, sending sharp bolts of pain with each movement and tugging at my grip. Some of the squashes fell, landing with a thud on the ground. I stared down. I hadn’t the time to go back for them. Daven would see it and know I’d been thieving from his gardens again.
I clutched the remaining vegetables and sprinted across the roof, flinging myself over the other side. Discomfort rippled through my heels as they collided with stone on the next roof, but I bit my lip and hurdled again. Twice more I did this, until I reached the familiar grey-speckled slab of my home.
I stole a peek behind me toward the heart of the sandy island, where caravans of camels packed the outlying streets with their noses pointed inward like they knew what greatness would descend upon us today. For one day a year, one beautiful hour, the magnificent fae appeared. The ache inside me to turn and find them sank deep, and my betraying feet angled in the direction of the governor’s house where they would be. Had the three fae ambassadors arrived already? I looked up to the pluming clouds like pillars of sand in the sky, thick enough that I couldn’t see through.
The skies could have been clear and it wouldn’t matter. No one ever saw the fae ambassadors arrive until they stood at the grand balcony of the center square, overlooking the mortals. I ought to be there already.
It took all my focus to quench my thirst for the sight of the fae for a little while longer, but the Queen’s Day Choosing Ceremony was the only event Daven might leave his gardens for. That man’s diligence to his crops might have been strong enough to cloud his love for the fae. I leapt over the final roof with what vegetables remained in my grasp.
Thoughts of Daven and his pitchfork fled my mind as soon as I climbed down the iron trellis and pushed through the door. Cal stood in the foyer with his arms crossed and his mouth set firm.
“I’m going to kill you.”
I arranged the squashes on the ground and spread my arms wide like a prized treasure, but Cal only gave them a passing glance.
“You could have left without me,” I said as I dusted myself off.
Sweet little Malcom stood by the door holding a wraparound dress for me. He wore one shining, emerald earring in his left ear, while Cal wore the other. That left the nose ring for me. It sat in Malcom’s tiny palm, waiting for me to put it on.
Cal tapped his foot, sneaking peeks outside. “Next time I will.”
“Next year I won’t be eligible for selection, and I won’t care.”
It was a lie, and Cal knew that, but he was kind enough not to say so. I’d always care about the fae. I’d always want a glimpse of them, even if this was the last year I was eligible to be chosen as their new high queen. The desire to be connected to them ran so deep, it might as well have been in my blood.
I shivered with nerves. I’d see them in a minute. My fingers fumbled to slip the ring in my nose and tie the garment over my clothes, hiding my faded purple tunic beneath the fiery silk. Both my brothers wore shades of orange, too, Cal with his stiff blazer and Malcom with his pointed shoes and ruffled top. We’d show up to the ceremony late looking like a scorching fire.
Cal’s foot-tapping accelerated. “You act like you don’t care now.” He nudged my sandals closer with an impatient kick. “I can just see it—you’re going to be selected as the next Mortal Queen from the five islands, and you’ll be forced to stand in front of the fae with wild hair that more closely resembles a wolf than a girl.”
“A very pretty wolf,” Malcom said. Our little peacemaker. His large brown eyes were filled with none of Cal’s worry.
I straightened Malcom’s collar. “I could be a wolf. Makes me sound dangerous.” But I raked my fingers through my hair all the same, and tried brushing smut from my hand before realizing it was paint from this morning.
“Thea.” Cal held the door open and inched out. Our father’s figure appeared from farther down the hall, tall and narrow, unlike a gnarled tree but with a morality just as crooked. Cal mumbled something about us being the only family still in our home followed by something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m the only one with good sense.”
Father took in the sight of us.
“You’re late.” Father’s voice was warm as fresh tartlets and smooth as the gown beneath my fingers. But his eyes, pale slits, were his downfall, pools of ice that refused to hold warmth. He leaned his body against the far wall with one foot crossed in front of the other.
I tugged on the straps of my golden sandals and coiled them up my calf before tying a knot. The slit in my dress allowed the shoes to peek out. “I know, it’s my—”
The sound of silvers clinking together froze my tongue.
Father grinned. He held a burlap sack, swelling at the edges, and dropped it atop my squash. Coins trickled out and rolled across the floor. “We’ll eat well tonight.” Father’s voice seeped triumph.
The silk trickled to my toes as I stood and stared at the money. Even on this island, where everyone had wealth overflowing their purses, that was a lot. And for us, seemingly the only ones struggling for funds, that would last years. For a moment—fleeting, no doubt—we were rich.
Whatever bet he’d made, he’d won this time.
“A hoard such as this makes whatever Passions would earn look weak,” Father stated, biting on a coin. I braced myself for what always followed his off-handed remarks about Passioning.
Sure enough, sweet Malcom tugged on my hand. The pang that shot through my heart was the same as always as I looked at him. “Can you not Passion?”
The words were stones cutting through my insides. “I have to.” I want to, I’d never say. But the thought rested near the surface, and someday he’d see it. Choosing my Passion tomorrow and studying painting would be the first time life allowed me a chance to sculpt my own path through the five islands, and one day Malcom could follow.
