Page 32 of Faking with the Fae King

“It’s gnome magic,” Naomi says. “They have complete control over everything underground.”

If there’s one good thing about it, at least it means Meloria no longer has this thing in the bag. She knows it, too, her mouth twisting like she sucked on a lemon.

A spurt of glee goes through me. If that’s a character flaw, it’s one I don’t want to fix. Even if I lose today, I sure as hell don’t want Meloria to win.

But none of this helps my cause. I don’t have gnome magic, either.

The remaining young woman turns her sad-looking eyes upon me. “Would you like to go next?” Her voice is so tremulous I want to wrap her in a hug and tell her everything’s going to be alright.

“No, please go.” I smile brightly, and her expression lightens a little. As she turns away, I whisper to Naomi, “What kind of fae is she?”

When my friend shrugs, Varyn leans in between the two of us and murmurs, “She’s a wood nymph. One bound to a weeping willow, I’d say.”

“Oh!” That’s the kind of leaves her hair’s made of!

She drifts over to one of the maple trees and plucks a fresh helicopter seed from among its leaves. Bringing it toher mouth, she sings to it, a soft susurrus of a sound, like a breeze through branches. It grows and grows until it’s as big as she is. The wood nymph clings to its stem, holding its propellers over her head like a helium balloon, and like a balloon, it lifts with the next gust of wind. Spinning, she sails over the flowers in a gentle glide to touch down lightly on the far side.

That’s it. All three of them have potentially won.

Severin stares at me with laser focus. I don’t need telepathy to know what he’s trying to tell me: It’s my turn to complete what everyone else obviously considers the easiest of trials.

My teeth dig into my lip, my stomach tightening into a knot.

There’s still one eensy problem.

I’ve got zero way across.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Hannah

I remain standing frozen, doing my best impersonation of stone. Maybe if everything goes sideways with all of this, I’ve got a career as a human statue in Time’s Square.

Varyn clears his throat. “It’s your turn.”

“Yep. Sure is.” I nod my head, wiping sweaty palms on my thighs. “Totally my turn.”

I spin toward Naomi, widening my eyes in secret friend speak for “what the hell do I do?”

She gives me a sheepish grimace-smile—she’s got no clue either. “I could teleport you?”

“Absolutely not,” Varyn says. “The trials don’t allow for outside assistance from other people.”

“Is Hannah allowed to use tools?” Naomi points toward the wood nymph. “She used a tool.”

“Yes. Hannah may use anything she has to hand.”

“What about a riding lawn mower?” I say. “You could teleport one here. If I cut a path through the flowers, they can’t touch my dress.”

“I’m not sure destroying flowers would be considered very graceful,” the fae says.

Damn, he’s got a point.

“What if I forged a path? I’m far more graceful than any noisy mower.” Finn springs forward, leaping at the front of the flower field. He works furiously for several minutes but clears only a square foot of space.

“Will you stop faffing about and go already?” Meloria yells.

“Faffing! How dare she say I’m faffing!” Finn barks, his orange head popping up to glare at the shadow fae. “This is hard work.”

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