Page 30 of The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods 1)

Raising one hand, I create an invisible shield above us. With the other, I draw moisture in the room into clouds inside the high ceiling. Fog swirls around us, warm and wet. The first raindrops fall on the stones near us, followed by more on the leaves of the hothouse plants.

Alice gasps, marveling at the magic as it showers the room in a gentle rain. It patters against my small overhead ward, streaming over the edges and falling to the ground around us. The smell of a forest storm, rich with earth and life, envelops us.

After a moment, Alice turns back to me. Her breath comes too quickly. She’s as scared as she is in awe. “How?” she asks softly.

“I am Fae,” I say. “The elements bend to my will.”

“Can you all do that?”

I nod slowly. “Most.”

Alice glances down at the watering can and then laughs. “Why is this even in here?”

I find myself smiling as I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“I doubt you came to water the plants for me.” She studies me. “Why are you here?”

I pause before I answer. Why am I here? What did I hope to accomplish with the meeting? “I don’t know that either.”

Her frown becomes thoughtful. “Please don’t ask me to go home again. I haven’t even worked off these dresses yet.”

“Short of physically removing you from the grounds, I honestly don’t know how to persuade you to leave.”

Her lips twitch with a suppressed smile.

“May I ask you about your childhood?” I ask before I can think better of it.

Surprised, Alice cocks her head to the side as she looks up at me. “Why?”

“If we are going to coexist peacefully, it seems we should make an effort to be cordial and get to know one another.”

“All right,” she says slowly, clearly suspicious there is more to the question than I’m letting on. “I was born in Kellington. My parents died in a carriage accident when I was nine. My maternal grandmother already lived with us, so she became our guardian. She passed away shortly after Gustin came of age, and then I became his burden. There isn’t much more to tell.”

And though I don’t have my mother’s talent at reading human lies, I notice the way her eyes dart from mine—she’s reluctant to divulge the entire truth.

“What about before your parents died?”

She shakes her head, looking away. “I don’t remember much.”

My intuition pricks, and it becomes hard to breathe.

“Have you ever been in Faerie before?” I demand.

Alice turns her eyes back, no longer hiding from me. Her brow creases as she shakes her head.

“No.” She leans moderately closer as she gives me a self-deprecating look. “Everyone knows only the foolish venture past the bridge.”

I laugh in response, but the air catches in my throat because I don’t sense a lie this time. As far as Alice knows, she’s telling the truth.

Yet I believe this is the girl—I feel it.

But how is it possible? As far as anyone knows, our Alice is dead.