Harper
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“Your sister is a disgrace.” The harsh words were thrown down the table by my father, Lord Augustus Fairisles. He slammed a crumpled letter against the wooden surface, sending a light wind through the room, tousling the hair of my sisters and mother as we sat quietly. I eyed my elder sister to my left, her hands wringing in her lap. Yet, Victoria let no sign of guilt show on her face as my father continued, “The Queen has learned that she engaged her passions with the Beckett girl outside of the Wellspring.”
We’d come down to breakfast on our first morning back in the Faerie capital of Thornwick to find our father seated at the head of our long dining table, staring down at a royal message, hands in his white hair. I, of course, already knew what the letter said - my sister had given up her magical virtue before the Rite - a high crime for all women of noble birth in Faerie.
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That wasn’t to say that virginity was sacred to the fae - we were elemental after all, and carnal desire was as natural as anything else. But our duty, as keepers of magic, was to keep its ancient flow alive. The Rite was performed yearly, a night on which young fae were matched and tasked with indulging in their passion, their bodies intertwining as a sacrifice to ancient forces who fueled the magic in our world.
Father scoffed, “To think, I paid handsomely for your governess to bring you up to respect our traditions.” He pointed a finger at the three of us, my two sisters and I seated in a row down the long table. His eyes focused on me. “Harper, educate your sister, since she seems to have forgotten. What happens to families who are dishonored by Queen Lucretia?”
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I swallowed the lump in my throat, lowering my eyes, “Their magic is revoked.”
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“Ah, correct, my darling!” Father pointed his finger to the youngest amongst us. “And, Joselyn, what will happen if our magic is revoked?”
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My sister’s small voice wavered, “We will be ruined, papa. The Queen…” Josie swallowed, “she will choose another family. We will be cast out.”
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Father fixed his gaze upon Victoria once more. “You have risked your entire family, your sisters. You have nearly doomed us all. I am inclined to agree with her majesty, that my own daughter should be banished, exiled, forgotten.” My mother stirred, as if she may speak in my sister’s defense, but he silenced her with a hand. “But, in her incredible benevolence, our Queen believes this situation can be fixed. By Harper.”
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My head snapped up, finally locking eyes with my father. We were an echo of each other, our skin an iridescent peach, our eyes a matching sky blue, our noses flat and cheeks round. His white hair, usually combed neatly, was in a disarray - my matching white strands were pinned neatly in a coif atop my head. But truly, inside, we could not be more different. I knew what I was - a wild faerie, born to be in the woodlands around Thornwick rather than chained to its epicenter. My father seemed born for society, gladly giving up his freedom for this.
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Power.
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The air shimmered between us, light and wind dancing in the air as we faced off. “No, papa. You cannot mean it.” My eyes darted to my mother, who kept her own gaze down, away from me. Mary St.Clare, now Mary Fairisles, was a quiet faerie. She had no magic, had no money or prospects. The St.Clares had once been an important family in the ton, but had faced similar dishonor. She knew the cost of the Queen’s disapproval - the loss of her own magic when her father had been disgraced was the very proof - and so, she kept silent, kept her eyes pinned on her empty plate before her, did not dare to look to find the betrayal etched on my face.
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“Father, you said I had until 100. You promised I would have my youth, my freedom—”
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“Enough. I will not have my daughters subjected to their own mother’s fate.” My father’s voice silenced me, the breeze becoming a mighty gust of wind that blew the curtains, rattled the glass panes of the window and table settings. None of us so much as flinched, except Victoria, who squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t make this needlessly difficult, child.”
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“Father, this isn’t fair.” Victoria’s voice was tired. “Harper shouldn’t have to pay for my…indiscretions.”
“She will fix this, or we will all pay the price. If I could perform the Rite in her stead, believe me, I would.” My father shook his head. “But no one can save us now, except your sisters. Would you have me send Joselyn out into the world instead, Victoria?” My sister shook her head viciously, and my stomach turned at the thought. Joselyn was a mere twenty and one years - still practically a child. At thirty and eight, I was not much older, but perfectly of age in our court.
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I breathed deeply, willing cool air to fill my lungs. I knew the day of my entrance into society would come, that I would have to leave behind my wildness, but I had expected another 60 years of faerie revelry. I longed for morning flights over the rolling green hills, moonlight dances on the spongey, mossy earth of Bramblewood Forest.
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But my father, as much as it pained me to admit it, was right. Only I could feed the wellspring in my sister’s stead. If I did not save my family from ruin, I would lose the magic I so adored. My wings would no longer carry me into the clouds, the light would not bend for me into pretty rainbows, the wind would not listen to my calls. I needed magic - I needed the exhilaration, the sparkle, the feeling. Perhaps the goddess and Wellspring would pity me, selecting for me a mate who would not require a lifelong bond; someone who would release me to my freedom after our night of passion.
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But I knew my father.
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He would scheme and plot — would try to find a lifelong partner to advance his station, his coffers, his political opportunity at court. Even if I managed to snag a high lord or lady who would not require a marriage contract before performing the Rite, my father would do whatever was necessary to sway them into one.
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I’d be doomed to my mother’s life, running a household in this cramped city. I’d exchange morning flights for morning feedings, raising little faelings to fall into the same cycle of magical give and take.
I stared at the crumbled letter in my father’s hand. I would lose either way–if I refused to fulfill this duty, magic would be stripped from us all. My mother’s life was a sparkling hell. The loss of magic was another prison entirely. I could not live without the way it brushed against my skin as I soared above the clouds, the way light filled me from head to toe, the way it colored my world.
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My gaze flicked to my younger sister, registered the fear in her eyes. Her future hung in the balance, same as mine.
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“There must be something I can do,” Victoria pled, “this is my wrongdoing - let me beseech Her Majesty, explain—”
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“I’ll do it.” I cut her off, placing my hand on her knee under the table. She trembled beneath my palm. I steeled myself, willing a smile to reassure my sister. “I will do it. It is my duty.”
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I heard my mother breathe a sigh of relief, finally raising her gaze to mine. A soft smile, a knowing look, played on her face. She knew me so well, knew the only reason I was doing this - not for love of Victoria, or my father, or this family name - I would do anything, sacrifice anything, for magic. To spare Josie a life without it. “We’ll head to the modiste this morning for new gowns. The Claymoore ball is in three days time - not a conventional coming out, but desperate times.”
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My father gestured to the footman around the room, and breakfast began - trays of fruits, eggs, and meats filled the table, and my mother chittered on nervously with Josie, filling the awkward silence. I watched Victoria sidelong as she pushed food around on her plate.
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“What will happen now? With Gianna?” I whispered to her. Her eyes didn’t leave her eggs. “Will you two wed?”
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“Father has forbidden I be seen with her the rest of the season for fear of angering the Queen.” She sighed, “But I wish…I hope to find her in the country in the summer. Perhaps away from the gaze of the Queen, we can explore…what more we could have. Her mother has sent her away to their estate to wait out the season.”
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My hand found Victoria’s knee once more, giving a squeeze. She finally lifted her eyes to mine, smiling weakly. My elder sister was nearly 100 years my senior, and we had never been as close as I had been to young Josie, but in this we shared kinship - a desire to choose. Choice was never an option we’d been afforded.
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Such was the life of the High Ladies of the Wylde.
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