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Mallory.

CONVERSATION WITH THE FAERIE QUEEN, 3
    â€œThis is a risky path that you recommend, child, and requires so much time that it frightens me. Only yesterday you said you would be done in a few weeks. And now you say it will take years?”
    â€œYes, Your Majesty. I am sorry. I did not fully understand the girl when I made that first rash estimate. But you told me it was safe for a few more years?”
    â€œYes. I did. And it is. But—”
    â€œShe is our best option. She and no other. She is the one we need. She is! Just not yet.”
    â€œI see. I should have expected it would not all go exactly as we had planned. I should even have expected she would not be so easily led; she is a daughter of Mayer, after all.”
    â€œI am sorry, Your Majesty. I will not fail you. I promise. It will just take me more time. More time as her friend.”
    â€œI understand. Do not be sad, child. I am proud of you. It seems you have adjusted well to the initial difficulties of which you told me, and come up with another plan. And of course, I too understand what it is to make initial errors in judgment. As you know. It was my own mistake that brought us to this precipice.”
    â€œYes, Your Majesty. Phoebe—the girl—we are best friends now. That is what humans call it: best friends. With time I will be able to make her do exactly as we wish. But Your Majesty! I have tired you. Would you rest now? I can come back.”
    â€œI am only a little tired. I am not so sick yet, my child. Very well. You may have the time you say you require. It will not, after all, be the longest time that a faerie has ever masqueraded as a human.”
    â€œThank you, Your Majesty. This is just a delay. I won’t fail you or our people, I won’t. You may rely on me. In the end I will do exactly as I have promised.”

chapter 5
    â€œOh, no! It looks too utterly slutty!” called Phoebe to Mallory, who was just outside the dressing room.
    â€œAre you sure?” said Mallory. “I don’t trust you.”
    â€œSee for yourself.” Phoebe opened the dressing room door so Mallory could slip inside. After only a glance, Mallory laughed.
    â€œI know!” said Phoebe. “So much for push-up bras. And stop laughing, you—you perfect C-cup, you. It’s just so not fair.”
    It was more than four years later—four good, solid years of best-friendship later. It was the middle of January and the girls were in their junior year of high school. Mallory was seventeen and Phoebe had just turned eighteen and they were at the lingerie store in pursuit of the perfect bra for Phoebe. They had taken possession of a large dressing room, but were getting, in Phoebe’s view, absolutely nowhere.
    â€œNo, no,” said Mallory, sobering. “Don’t give up.”
    â€œI’ve already had on a dozen. The problem is that I’m between sizes. Just like the salesclerk said.”
    â€œThe problem isn’t you. It’s that thing you picked out. It’s got way too much padding. Look, Phoebe, there are so many styles and we’re just wandering around grabbing random bras off the rack. It’s crazy. Let’s ask that salesclerk for help.”
    Phoebe shook her head stubbornly. “No. I don’t want her in here with her tape measure and glasses and her professional knowledge of—of—”
    â€œOf exactly what bras she has in stock?”
    â€œOf mammary inadequacy!”
    Mallory snickered, and a second later, so did Phoebe.
    â€œTry putting on a shirt,” Mallory suggested. “See how it looks underneath. It’s not like you’re going to go parading around just in the bra.”
    Phoebe sighed, but obediently reached for her shirt and put it on. She scrutinized her image in the three-way mirror. “No. They’re in a weird position. Like I had surgery that went all wrong.” She met her friend’s eyes in the mirror.