Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,129
anything out of true kindness.
I look over to see Vi frowning at my outfit. “What in God’s name are you wearing?”
“Vi!” Zinnia snaps. “Don’t be rude. It’s . . .” Her forehead wrinkles as she appraises the heavy folds of my bright green dress. “Well, there are a lot of ribbons.”
I snort-laugh. “It’s hideous.”
Vi shoots me a conspiratorial grin. “Good thing I packed my old wedding dress. This beauty brought me three strapping boys, and I believe it will give you the same luck.” She winks. “I might have sewn some salt and rowan berries into the lining, and there’s an iron hunting knife hidden in the corset, just in case.”
She doesn’t say what the just in case is, and I don’t ask. In this wild land of beasts and magic, there’s always a just in case.
54
Outside my prison tower awaits a perfectly cloudless sky of blue, a delicate breeze tempering the heat and carrying the scent of lilac, gardenia, honeysuckle, and sweet pea. There’s something bitterly absurd about the beauty, considering today is the absolute worst day of my life.
The ceremony is set up along the cliffside. Fae from every court are already seated in white chairs, wearing the most fashionable outfits as they await the farce. Zinnia and Vi walk with me, both women bravely staring down the exotic crowd of every type of Fae imaginable. Spring Court soldiers shadow us, in case I try to run.
The hush of the crowd goes quiet. My mother strolls over, waving off the guards. Her attention flicks to my change of dress before landing on Zinnia. “I can take it from here.”
My mother might be used to getting her way with courtiers, but she’s never dealt with the likes of Zinnia and Vi. Vi lifts a fierce eyebrow, while Zinnia simply dons that syrupy smile she gets right before raising hell. “Bless your heart. You truly believe we wouldn’t insist on walking our daughter down this aisle.”
A muscle flickers in my mother’s temple. “Insist?”
“That’s right,” Aunt Vi says, patting the fluffy plume of her lace skirt. “Unless you and your unnatural brethren want to meet Betsy and her iron.”
Sweet-honey iced-tea, my aunt brought her beloved shotgun to the wedding.
The skin around my mother’s eyes tightens, but she nods. “We can all escort her.”
With that settled, we begin our merry little trek down the aisle of chairs and gawking faces. There’s no music, no fanfare like in a human wedding as the dewy grass slips between my toes, my bare feet crushing the strewn yellow daffodil petals. Butterflies flutter around my dress—a late-eighties masterpiece, with poufy sleeves and bows at the hem—but otherwise, my mother has kept the theatrics to a minimum.
When we’re halfway there, Aunt Zinnia inhales sharply. “That looks like . . . Helen.”
Helen, her missing daughter? I follow her stricken gaze to Freesia. Hellebore’s sister wears a deep black mini-dress with combat boots, arms crossed, black lips blowing bubble after bubble.
Of course, it’s not her. Other than her age and the color of her hair, they look nothing alike. But there must be something in her demeanor that Zinnia recognized.
Vi squeezes her sister’s hand. “They do look similar. Right down to the sulky stare and pouty lip.”
Zinnia gives a bittersweet laugh. “My Helen had teenage rebellion down to an art form. Didn’t help that you snuck her your cigarettes and spoiled her with the newest everything.”
It’s no secret that Vi loved Zinnia’s daughter like her own. Vi had always wanted a daughter, according to Zinnia. With Helen, she got her girl, and she used to spend every dime she made buying Helen whatever she wanted.
Vi continues staring at Freesia, her normally stern lips lifting into a smile. “I think that girl would have given Helen a run for her money. They are so similar to us, aren’t they? She’s just like a normal teenage human girl, right down to her sass and terrible fashion choices.”
Any other time, I would see this as a step forward for my aunt and her hatred of the Fae.
A guard nears, spurring us to keep walking. A bitter hatred clogs my throat as I see Hellebore waiting at the end of the aisle. He’s devastatingly gorgeous in a salmon and gold ensemble, his honey-gold hair swept to the side, pointed ears capped with gold.
“They said Lucifer was the most beautiful angel of them all,” Vi whispers in my ear.
“He’s not the devil, Vi,” Zinnia barks, but I’m not so sure.