Beauty (A Faery Story 3)

Bron started the tea and gathered the bread and cheese they had left. It seemed a shame to waste it all on the mayor, who didn’t look like a man who had missed many meals.

“How is the crop looking this year?” Micha was asking Gillian.

“Better than even last year. Danu has blessed us.”

“The king will be happy to hear it. He’s requesting an extra twenty percent this year.”

Bron nearly dropped the teapot. An extra twenty percent after he already took half? It was outrageous.

Gillian’s response was measured. “An extra twenty percent, did you say? I worry that sending so much to the palace will mean our own people will starve.”

The mayor laughed. “Don’t you worry your pretty head now. We’ll be fine. The king has declared rations for all citizens. And he’s redefined citizenship. The king and queen will always take care of the sidhe.”

Bron forced herself to pour the hot water into the pot. So he’d done it. Torin had finally declared that only sidhe were true Seelie. The brownies and the trolls, the dryads and leprechauns, would be declared Unseelie and therefore undesirable. They would receive no rations. Any land they possessed would be confiscated. They had no protections.

She passed the guard in the hall. He didn’t see her or he surely would have tempered his expression. When the mayor mentioned getting rid of the riffraff, the guard’s face became fierce, a dark, vengeful look passing over his handsome countenance.

An ally?

She couldn’t be sure, and she certainly couldn’t walk up to him and say, hey, I’m the supposedly dead princess of the Seelie Fae. Wanna start a revolution? Nope. That would fall under the heading of “stupid things to do.” But if the mayor’s guard could be swayed to her side, there was no time like the present to begin the process.

She gave him what she hoped was her kindest smile and passed him a sandwich of soft bread and tangy cheese.

The guard’s eyes lit, and then he frowned. “Best not, Miss.”

He really was hungry. It no longer mattered what damn side he was on. Bron couldn’t help but feel for the man. She’d been hungry. She’d felt it gnaw at her stomach and prayed for anything to end the slow torture of starvation.

“Please. We have more than enough, and the mayor won’t notice.” She pressed the sandwich into his hand. “I won’t be able to enjoy a thing if I know you’re out here with your stomach rumbling.”

The guard smiled, the look softening his face. “My thanks to you, Miss. It’s said around town that you and your sister are kind ones.” He leaned over and whispered. “Tell the brownies to hide. Leave their homes. They need to go underground. He’s going to come for them.”

He stood back up, his face red as a beet as though he knew he’d just committed treason.

Bron nodded and put a hand on his. “I thank you, sir.”

Her h

eart pounding, she walked into the parlor. She prayed her rage didn’t show on her face.

“There she is.” The mayor looked up, satisfaction written on every line of his face. “Beautiful Isolde.”

Bron was glad the man didn’t know her real name. She would hate to hear it on his lips. She set the tray on the table, grateful that unwed women were supposed to be shy. He would think the fact that she wasn’t looking at him was charming.

“Come and sit with me, dear.”

Panic threatened to overtake her. Gillian shifted uncomfortably, her eyes going to the window where the silhouettes of the two guards Micha had left outside stood, their pikes held high. Bron had dreams at night of Gillian on the end of one of those hated pikes.

She sat down, trying to keep plenty of distance between them.

“Gillian, dear, might I have a word alone with your sister?” The words practically slithered out of his mouth.

Gillian sat straight up, and Bron could see she’d reached the end of her patience. She had to stop her.

“Please, Gilly. I’ll be fine. I can handle it. After all, being a good hostess is all a part of my job, right?” She placed careful emphasis on the word “job” since Gillian had just given her a lecture on what her true job was. Staying alive.

Her jaw tightened, but Bron breathed easier as Gillian got up. “I suppose I can go and find something a bit stronger than tea if Your Honor would prefer it.”

The mayor winked. “I think we might be needing that. Find something for a celebration, dear.”