8. Love is Blurry

Chapter 8

Love is Blurry

LORI

A fter the welcome speech, we all walk back to the Spring quarters, and Seth takes me aside. "How did you know? About Iris?" He drags me to the corridor between his bedroom and the dressing room with a sad frown on his face and closes the door behind us. "The official investigation states that she fell down the tower by accident"—a resentful grimace twists his features—"but I just know she was pushed."

The cold tingles from before return full-force. There's something about that tower that's not right. "Pushed by whom? The king?"

He shakes his head. "I was just a kid then. I was playing with the breeze, practicing how to turn myself into a cloud, and before I knew it, Iris was dead. My mother always said that Elio wanted Iris all to himself. His paranoia that someone would steal her away prompted him to shutter her from the world. The day of her death, Elio was furious. Iris had thrown a lavish party without his assent, and they fought up on that tower, but my mother could never actually prove that he killed her. He claimed not to have pushed her, and since Fae can't lie—and Elio being the oh-so-great Winter King—no one was willing to dig deeper."

A cold shiver runs through me. "That's horrible. I'm so sorry." I rub the space between my brows and concentrate on the problem at hand. "How am I supposed to get picked during a blind date?"

Seth presses his palm to his handsome face, looking as defeated as I feel. "They fucked us, I agree."

"Can't we get an edge, here? Maybe I could watch some footage from the old pageants?"

"The previous year's games are not viewable after the fact. It'd be…awkward, to say the least. Don't worry, the candidates from Spring, Summer, and the Red Forest don't watch the Yule pageant, either, so I expect only the Winter seeds will have an edge since they all get to watch the pageant on TV."

All of my ideas run into dead ends, and my chest contracts. "Come on!" I punctuate the word with a soft punch to his breast bone. "You've been part of this circus for years, right? There must be something useful you remember about him."

Seth taps his nose in a repetitive manner, deep in thought. "Elio's a total bore. He likes poetry and sad music."

"Very helpful. Poetry and sad music… You'd make a world-class spy."

The Winter King authored a famous poetry book, so Seth's intel is perhaps the most well-known fact about Elio Lightbringer. My eyes narrow, all the urgency and nerves begging me to pick at the Fae prince for his flagrant ignorance. "Tell me, Seth. How far did your best protégée make it last year?"

He grits his teeth together, busted like a kid in the pantry, his hand deep in peanut butter. "Alright. My seeds never get past the first round."

"Funny how you forgot to mention that," I quip.

"We're not exactly on good terms, Elio and I. I didn't want to discourage you before we even got started, but you're a game changer, I'm sure of it."

"Not if he never sees me." I twist my hair in a bun above my head. Glossy waves and pretty make-up can't help me now.

"That's not all. I have an ace up my sleeve." Seth winces like he wasn't planning on sharing so many details. "This year, I convinced my mother to attend the Yule brunch in Snowhaven. She hasn't set foot in Wintermere in ages, so Elio will want to keep a few Spring seeds around for that not to insult her. Just make sure he remembers you, and we'll be fine."

The tight knot in my gut eases at the news. Politics could serve me well here. "Tell me more about Iris, then."

A loud knock startles us both. "Number sixteen. You're up. We have to get you ready."

The voice belongs to the Faeling, Byron, and Seth swings open the door with an asinine smile plastered on his face. "We're ready, B. Lori, here, was just powdering her nose."

"I'm not sure what good that will do." Byron marks down something on his clipboard. "Keep the hood and cloak, but you can remove the mask once you're inside the date pod, if you want. The partition walls separating the king from the brides are made of ice, making anything beyond them too blurry to see."

"It's my turn already? How long are these dates, anyway?" It's barely been half an hour since we left the courtyard.

"Up to ten minutes. The king will walk out when he's had enough, so we're lining up the contestants in advance."

"Oh, really? As long as it pleases his Majesty, " I say, unable to keep it in.

"Your quarters are the farthest away from the pods, so we have to hurry." The Faeling hikes his round glasses up his tiny nose and squints at me. "Come with me, please."

Daisy—number twenty—skips in front of me. "What were you and Seth whispering about?"

"None of your business."

Byron takes a shortcut through the maze to a large greenhouse. Triangular pieces of glass form the roof of a polygon-shaped dome. The edges of the building are made of the same material, but it's frosted over to conceal what's going on inside.

The Faeling flies up to the nearest side and presses his palm to it. The glass becomes pliable under his touch, the way a mirror would. "Here for sixteen."

"I'd wish you luck, but I don't mean it," Daisy chants behind me.

I slide through the liquid glass and tiptoe inside the makeshift room. The small space is fashioned to look exactly like a reality show, with a velvet loveseat and cushions in the middle.

Three ice walls enclose the pod, the entire room no bigger than a walk-in closet. I press my ear to the partition and slow my breathing. It's clearly meant to be soundproof, but a few muffled words echo from the pod next to me. I can't see anything beyond the wall except for two blurry shadows.

I'm next.

An eyeball-shaped camera lays on the small table next to the loveseat, and I lean forward to examine it. The ball is tucked inside a square receptacle, paper-thin wings curled around its shape. The lenses' cover mimics a closed lid pulled over a sleeping eye.

My heart booms in my chest as I consider the opaque blue ice separating the two pods again. What am I doing here? Seth chose me because of my looks. It was a foolproof plan considering my striking resemblance to the Winter King's lost love. The king would be intrigued by his dead wife's doppelg?nger, but he certainly won't care for some socially awkward orphan whose only two talents are hide-and-seek and skewering monsters.

The camera buzzes to life on the table and blinks at me a few times. A little antenna slithers out of it, and the harsh glare coming from the sun overhead tapers down into a pleasant glow.

I have to persuade a Fae king to keep me around in less than ten minutes, or my brother will be hanged. And if I fail, his soul will be marked, collected, and sorted like nothing more than an old, useless library book by the very man on the other side of the wall.

Ten minutes to save his life.

"Hello?" the king calls to the room.

Starting now!

"Hi," I answer quickly, my eyes darting to the glass ceiling.

How should I play this? Bubbly and confident, or timid and well-read? From Seth's quick pep talk, I'm leaning toward the latter. I might not be into poetry or Fae music, but I spent my fair share of time in a library.

"What's your name?" The voice on the other side of the wall is both melodic and deep—perfectly masculine in every way, but not at all hoarse or sinister like I expected.

"Mm, Lori."

"I'm Elio."

"I know." My brain runs through different repartees so fast, second-guessing every single sentence that comes to mind, until I blurt out, "It's easy for me. There's only one guy to keep track of."

He doesn't answer or laugh—nothing.

Elio… I've never heard the name uttered without an ominous ring to it, but it's beautiful, really. Not at all fit for the King of Death.

"Elio means sun. Your parents had a fun sense of humor," I babble, unable to stand the silence any longer.

"I was born to the Sun Court. As it turns out, light and ice have much more in common than you'd think."

"I didn't know that," I say quickly. My blood runs a little hot, and I sink my nails inside my palms. How did Seth forget to mention that about him?

"Does my pedigree anger you, Lori? Do you have an axe to grind with the Sun Court?" Elio asks with humor.

"No. I just meant—my sponsor didn't mention it."

Silence, again. The unabashed glare of the eye unnerves me, and I touch the arch of my brow over the cheap plastic mask.

"You're not from Faerie, are you?" he asks.

My chest deflates, and I shake my head, grateful for the lifeline. "No, I'm from the new world."

"And why did you agree to come here?"

I hug a cushion to my lap. It's just small talk. I can do this. "I had to come…for my family."

"For money and long-lasting youth, right?" Elio says in a muted tone.

"Yeah," I lie.

"Don't fret, you're not the only one. You've all been enticed by the riches of my kingdom. The precious jewels from my mines and my invaluable frost apples. It's refreshing to hear you say it. I distrust the brides that proclaim to be after true love, because they certainly won't find it here."

I frown at that. "Isn't marriage supposed to be based on love?"

"Typically, yes."

"And what makes you so untypical? Besides the endless string of dead wives, that is."

The silence stretches and expands, and my heart beats in my throat. "Are you still there?"

Silence.

Fuck-fuck-fuck. "Sorry, that was rude—I just wanted to break the ice?—"

A pun? Really? My brain melts from the shame, and I bury my face in the cushion not to scream.

"No, it's the truth. Never apologize for the truth," Elio whispers.

A faint thud on the other side of the wall goes straight to my spine, and I grab my forehead. "Hello?"

He's gone. I've done it. I've ruined the entire mission with one stupid sentence. Why in the seven hells did I say that? The man marries—and very likely kills his wife—every year. It was incredibly stupid of me to point it out.

Byron releases me from the ice trap, and I wait for Daisy to be done so the Faeling can escort us back together. When the blonde finally joins me on the snowy path, the Faeling buzzes forward in front of us.

"How did yours go?" she chimes in a fake, sugary tone.

I glower at the blonde, about ready to slap the satisfied smile off her smug face.

"That bad, eh?" She skips up ahead, her steps a little lighter than before. "I'm glad to hear it."

My brows raise. "I hope your date sucked as well."

We exchange a glance, and—to my extreme surprise—erupt into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. My belly clenches as I try to get a hold of myself, but the situation is just so bizarre, I can't stop.

Byron's spine stiffens, and he flies further ahead.

Daisy stops walking as she muffles an unladylike snort with her hands. "This pageant is pretty fucked up, isn't it?" she whispers.

I nod emphatically at her assessment. We're never going to be friends, but we're more alike than I thought. "Absolutely. Do you even want to marry that guy?"

Her nose wrinkles in outrage. "No. You?"

"No!" Our hilarity doubles after that, and Byron shakes his head all the way to the dorms, our reputation as ditsy, harebrained Spring seeds solidified.

There's nothing funny about my spectacular failure. I've let Ayaan, Nell, and Cece down with my big mouth, but it's better to laugh in the face of death than to admit defeat.