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I nodded. It had been my mother’s favorite color. “Black.”
He pinched the corners of his mouth but set the other masks back in his satchel. “As you wish.” His hands grazed my hair as he lifted the mask to my face. It felt very much like putting on a shield. Like this was my weapon, my guard against the world, yet I was so vulnerable beneath. It had no strings to tie but sat on the bridge of my nose lightly without falling off. When he let go, it molded to my features perfectly.
Then it heated slightly and felt curiously like it was settling into my skin.
My hand flew to my face, but the edges of the mask were still there. “Can I take it off?”
“If you desire. It will feel as natural as if it were your own skin, but you can remove it whenever you wish. Again,” he said with emphasis, “you should never remove your mask in the presence of anyone.”
The dark fae kept his voice low and trailed his attention over the curves of my mask. “How interesting.” His words were a whisper filled with curiosity. Now that the mask was on, he studied me freely, but it was the mask he was looking at and not me. “Black is an odd choice.”
I didn’t care to unveil that I’d chosen it solely because it was my lost mother’s color. “Does it matter which I picked?”
The silver fae was ferociously scribbling on unfurled parchment. Now I knew they were pulling items from somewhere unseen.
“Each color reveals a trait of its wearer. White speaks of inner beauty. Silver”—he indicated his own mask—“of knowledge. Red is for reckless bravery. Gold for vanity. All virtues common for a queen. But black? Black is for mischief. I’ve been making the masks for Mortal Queens for hundreds of years, and you are the first to select black.”
He tipped his head. “It also means fear. I wonder which one you are.”
Afraid. Very afraid. It was a healthy fear, the type that realized these creatures were unlike anything I knew and I’d be counted as weak against them. Among the anticipation and desire for a taste of their world, that fear kept me grounded.
“She’s strong,” Malcom’s young voice chimed in. He looked up proudly. “My sister will be a great queen.”
I smiled, but there were tears in my eyes.
“Her earrings,” the silver fae pressed. “We must go.”
The dark fae almost seemed apologetic as he fetched something new from his satchel. “You might want to let go of the boy’s hand, lest you crush it.”
My eyes widened in understanding. I let go, but Malcom held on. “I’m strong too,” he whispered.
The fae held an earring to my ear. I clenched my free hand at the sharp pain as he pressed the needle through the soft flesh. The gold-crusted earring hung from my ear with a small chain at the bottom, only three links long. Pain throbbed at the spot.
Then he pulled another earring from the bag. I was beginning to hate that satchel. At my expression, he pressed his lips together. “You must wear seven,” he said. “To show your status.”
He wore five in his own ear. I’d outrank him by two earrings. That meant nothing to me. The pain came again as he inserted the second. He punctured my ear four more times, until inserting the final ring into the hole already punched through my lobe. Malcom squeezed my hand tighter with each stab. By the time all seven were in, tears freely fell down my cheeks and marks were left in my palm from my nails. I exhaled. “Is that all?”
“Yes, my Queen.”
The title was enough to make me forget the pain. Queen.
“You will receive a proper tattooed crown at the coronation. One that will never fall nor fade,” the silver fae said. I looked at Gaia’s tattoo. Her eyes fell to the floor once more. What did that white mask stand for? Inner beauty? It certainly wasn’t bravery.
“The last thing.” The silver fae brought the parchment to me and handed over a quill with a feather as black as the ink. She pointed a thin finger to the line at the bottom. I scanned the document as well as I could, but the swirly writing was not easily read. “It’s directions for the pension. You must sign it to someone here on the island.”
Her words gave me pause. “Do they have to be on the center island?”
She nodded. “We only deal with the center island.”
I lowered the quill. “Can I sign it to a child? Or to someone born on the island but pursuing a Passion?”
“No. An adult, living on this island alone.”
My fingers trembled with the decision. I couldn’t give it directly to Malcom. Eliza wasn’t of age yet. My father would bet it all away. Cal was pursuing his Passion on one of the other five islands tomorrow.
The decision was impossible, and I prayed my brother wouldn’t hate me for the one I made. I wrote a name and signed my own below it.
She glanced over it. “Very well. Are we ready?” Each of the ambassadors looked at me expectantly. Malcom’s hand tightened harder than it had when my ears were pierced. His lip quivered.
