Page 120 of Kiss the Fae

I could be right. I could be wrong.

What I’m not wrong about is that cord. It can only support one of us.

I slide my gaze over to Cerulean’s and give him a weak smile. His eyes flare wide. “No!” His lilt cracks, piercing the dawning sky. “No, Lark! I promise, I’ve got you! I’ve got you!”

My words tremble. “You’ve always had me.”

And that’s why I let go.

31

His face shrinks above me, his mouth parting on a silent bellow. I think he’s calling my name, but the wind snatches the rupture of his voice and stuffs it inside a whooshing howl of air. The current surges up my calves and shoves my skirt into the hemisphere, the garment funneling around me.

I can’t see the world, but I feel it slicing along my skin, the velocity cleaving me into shards. The atmosphere thickens, blasting against my body, threatening to snap my bones. My mouth parts, a scream pealing from my mouth—but I can’t hear that, either. All I hear is the flailing wind, a shrill protest of noise.

Well, then. At least my whip will be waiting for me at the bottom.

The pressure has twisted me onto my back. My skirt shudders, blocking my view. Part of me wishes I could whirl the other way, see where I’m going, feel the descent.

And then a force does capsize me. Another muted cry barrels from my throat as something—someone—lands on top of me and then inverts our positions by flipping me onto my belly. I bat away the dress and collide with wild blue eyes.

Cerulean plummets beneath me, suspended on his back while clasping my hips. He clutches me, and I do the same, digging my fingernails into his sides. White tresses lash and sting my neck, and his obsidian-blue hair fans around his head.

The air frays his tattered wings. They convulse, wrestling against the momentum.

He jumped to buffet my fall. He jumped, intending tobreakmy fall, although that’s impossible.

Cerulean glances over his shoulder to check the gulf. The crowning trees grow larger, florets of green consuming the backdrop and veering toward us. He hugs me to him, and I hook my arms around his neck, burrowing my face into the crook. This is it, this is all we can do because even if time has run out, there’s still a moment left to make a choice and hold on tight.

Suddenly, the air congeals. It solidifies, cushioning the drop so that we’re coasting to the bottom. Feathers funnel around us, severed from his wings and floating in a gentle spiral.

Oaks and evergreens part to reveal a small stone hill thatched in grass. We drift to the ground and then tumble across the undergrowth. I grunt, flopping over in a heap. The world jolts to a standstill, and the roaring wind goes quiet, caught in an invisible seal.

Woozy, dizzy, I shake myself. Pebbles scrape my knees, and my arm smarts from where the raven Fae’s talons sheared through my skin, angry lines streaking across my bicep. The gashes aren’t as bad as I’d thought, shallow enough to staunch the blood. Instead of nestled within the trees, the incline looms over The Solitary Forest, higher above the woodland than anticipated.

Cerulean’s crumpled under me, his body contorted like a marionette. His javelin is nowhere in sight, likely jettisoned on the bridge where he’d attacked the phoenix. His ragged coat and shirt sprawl around him, the split V exposing purple contusions and crusts of red across his torso. But his abdomen rises and falls…he’s breathing. Fables, he’s breathing!

I hitch a teary breath. His eyes flutter open, hazy and stunned, because we’re alive.

We’re alive.

We hurl ourselves at one another. I whimper into his chest, and he sucks in terrified gulps of air, and we cling to each other.

Whatever saved our asses, it’s…not done.

The hill breaks into a seizure, chunks of soil and stone uprooting from someplace below. Cerulean and I split apart as the incline erupts from its base. Around the landmass, the earth collapses. Fissures ricochet across the grass, sediments of rock and clumps of dirt avalanching.

With a yawning stretch, the hill rises. And it rises, and it rises. It cleaves itself from the floor and bursts into the sky, muscles of stone broadening, the crest expanding like a pillar.

Wrapped around one another, Cerulean and I crane our heads. We fire past every summit of The Solitary Mountain, every ramp and bridge and ladder, every torch and signpost, every rowan and lanky tree, every dwelling.

The Fauna Tower. The Night Aviary.

The Horizon that Never Lies. The Lost Bridges.

The hill shoots past them, its shoulders rippling into a plain that sprouts soil and grass. When the vertex quakes to a halt, silence echoes through the panorama. We flounder to our feet, swaying atop a zenith that surpasses The Wild Peak. It’s vast enough to accommodate thousands of dwellers and, at its center, a rowan tree garnished with strands of glowing dust. The sun pours rose gold and periwinkle over the precipice, enveloping us in warmth.

“It’s th-the top,” I stutter.

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