Page 114 of Kiss the Fae

Starlight pours onto me, the canopy seeming to swell overhead. I lug myself out of the chute and slump onto a patch of dandelion puffs. The pappus umbrellas scatter, spraying the terrain. I follow their progress and hobble to a standing position, my forearms wiping grime and sweat from my face.

The Wild Peak dominates the view ahead. I hoot, the manic sound blasting to the clouds.

Then my relief dies. The hodgepodge I’d noticed comes into stark relief.

Bridges. Dozens of stone bridges converge over the wide, screaming mouth of the valley. Unlike the network of ramps when the hornets charged at me, this puzzle consists of multiple levels, some lined in rows, others intersecting. Several gangplanks are L shaped. A few hover over one another, forming parallel stacks bolstered by trestles.

The signpost had listed a place called The Lost Bridges. It’s an aerial maze extending hundreds of feet over The Solitary Forest. It’s also the only way to cross the divide.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I hiss.

“You’ve always had such a mutinous tongue.”

I whirl on the Fae who looms within grabbing distance. He wears a long, hazelnut coat with decorative plumes at the collar, the unlaced garment drooping lazily from his shoulders. A shirt opens itself to the wind, and billowing trousers tap his hips, the material plunging into high boots. Purple welts sag under his eyes.

“Cerulean,” I stammer. “What—”

“—am I doing here?” His lilt is waspish, as though pushed through a grater. “I told you it would get worse.”

Figures materialize across the scene. They sprout wings and jackrabbit ears, ram and antelope horns, cloven hooves and feline pupils. The congregation lurks at the fringes, leaning against rowan trunks that shed layers of bark.

The Fae have gathered to watch the spectacle. They perch on various bridges and crowd The Wild Peak.

Moth idles alone, glancing around the column of a tree. Foreboding creases her face as it hops between me and Cerulean.

You cannot assume I’ll stand aside and watch you suffer!

Our argument at The Fauna Tower returns to me. The double meaning becomes clear, the hidden warning he’d tried to deliver.

I’ve got to solve this bridge maze in less than an hour.

But to do that, I’ll have to get past him.

30

Friend. Villain. Lover.

All four guises converge into a smirk that doesn’t reach his irises. Is he tormenting himself or toying with me? Is he being real or not?

The worst-case scenario rams its fist into my stomach. This is Faerie, and he’s the most powerful of these monsters. Was every passionate moment with him nothing but a ruse?

Gone is the Fae who fucked his way into my heart, who whispered secrets with me, who watched me come around his thrusts. Gone is the Fae who played his flute for animals, who admitted he’s afraid of cages, who claimed to love me. Gone is the Fae I’ve befriended. Gone is the Fae I want.

In his place? The trickster I met by my family’s wagon.

Cerulean saunters my way, his coat scratching the ground. “What’s this?” he inquires, his speech carrying over the range. “Have I made you speechless, squeamish, shaken?” He clucks in disappointment. “What a shame, pet. Your tongue has been such a charmer until now.”

I choke the handle of my whip. “You want charm? Ask a little closer.”

He continues to prowl around me, but his blue mouth twitches, his tone suggestive. “Beware, precious Lark. I can do many things up close, as well as from afar. I’d ask which is your fancy, but I already know.”

“Do me a favor,” I reply, tracking his movements. “How’s about you go to hell, and get out of my way? I’ve got a mountaintop to hike.”

“Oh, but that’s a request I can’t indulge.” Cerulean pauses, whisks a quill from the breeze, and flaps his palm back and forth, the slate plume swaying with his motions. “Unless you would care to make another deal. Your sacrifice for my demise, perhaps? Let me win, and you may have command of my will. Give the mountain its restoration, and I’ll cater to your every whim.”

“In the afterlife?” I mock. “I think not. Twisting your words isn’t gonna blow my skirt up.”

Cerulean flicks the back of his wrist, and the feather evaporates. “Indeed. I needn’t manipulate words to accomplish that.”

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