Page 56 of Kiss the Fae

The avian tilts and veers down. My stomach hitches as we skim a few trees, and the animal lands fluidly on a grassy peak bordered by lanky spear trees. Atop this cliff, a tower rises into the constellations. The edifice balances precariously on an overhanging promontory blanketed in a compact flat of green, where a person might sit if they’re feeling adventurous.

I’ve spotted this tower several times already. We’ve landed adjacent to the promontory, on the structure’s opposite side, where the landscape broadens into a meadow of trees. “Where are we?”

“A ruler needs a place to rule from, does he not?” Cerulean breathes into my back. “Or you might call it The Fauna Tower.”

I saw that name on the last signpost. My eyes scroll up the cylindrical fortification. Based on what I’ve seen, the dwellings of this mountain seem to favor rounded edges and heights that reach for the hemisphere. This one vaults upward, wrought of smooth stone and topped with a spire covered in ropes of ivy. Rows of arched windows cut into the upper levels, and additional strands of ivy line the vaulted frames. Like in Moth’s cottage, tissue-like curtains rather than glass fill the gaps.

Animals roam the meadow. An antelope grazes in the foremost lawn, the bovid’s bright golden horns spearing the air. Dappling the bushes, emerald hummingbirds glint as if cut from the same jewel, their forms glassy yet fluffy. Nesting on the cliff nodules and tallest trees, several hawks brandish longer beaks than the ones in my world, and rails of teal vanes sprout along their crowns. A cardinal twitches into flight, its tail sprinkling gilded particles like pixie dust; the bird veers from the meadow toward a multilevel park of lush fronds and trellises that burrows into the rear summit.

Grunts, chirrups, honks, snorts, and squeaks mingle together, the din familiar but also like nothing I’ve heard before, the fauna noises tinkling, rumbling, chasmal as horns, or fizzing around the edges. Some make the ground quaver, while others soar into the ether.

Otherworldly yet earthly. That’s what these dwellers are.

I squint, noticing a few hiccups that remind me of the animals back home. A canary hobbles across the ground instead of lurching into the branches, its left wing misshapen. A mountain goat hikes across a ridge engraved into the bluff, its horns whittled down to stumps, as though they’d been singed.

“They’re hurt!” I exclaim, but Cerulean snatches my waist before I can jump to the ground and examine them.

“Victims of your human uprising,” he explains, his tone acidic. “They’ve healed, though not without their scars and disabilities.”

He swings off the owl, accepts my whip from its beak, and tosses it to me. I catch it with one hand and hitch it to my hip buckle.

I dismount and stare at the animals. My gut cramps like it always does when I come across creatures who’ve been harmed for reasons other than food or clothing. Mystical or not, The Trapping caused the fauna pain. I want to offer my help, to make up for what happened. However, with this abundant environment of ponds and thickets, they seem to be well taken care of.

Cerulean kneels. A pika scurries in his direction, its fur matted in places, burned clear off in others. The creature hops onto his foot while the goat prances to his side. The Fae ruffles the pika’s little head and then scratches behind the goat’s ear, grinning at the animals’ pleasure while they nudge him back, giving him similar attention. It’s not a coddling display—more like a shared greeting, a kinship between equals who trust one another.

I gawk, watching him pet each dweller that flocks, canters, slinks, hops, and waddles over. His grin widens, affectionate, loving, happy to see them, like they’re a family.

Not…what I expected.

Once the fauna retreat, Cerulean rises and bows to the owl in a gesture of appreciation. Gratitude is another impression that comes to mind. Funny, since his kind usually doesn’t care for that sort of thing.

The avian vaults into the air, its body contorting back to its original form while flapping to the tower’s ivy spire, where it keeps vigil. That Fable about the Nightingale searching for its mate wasn’t exaggerating. The Book of Fables says Fae fauna have the ability to shift sizes, and so I marvel at the transformation.

Reluctantly, I wheel my gaze to Cerulean, who’s leaning haphazardly against a torch pole. “This is a refuge?” I ask.

“A haven,” he corrects. “We are residents of The Dark Fables, after all.”

I can’t believe what I’m about to verify. “So you built this for ’em?”

“Their former injuries mean they can’t navigate the mountain on their own any longer. As it happens, this tower and its acreage are more their right than mine. Mystical fauna roamed here for centuries before the dawn of Solitary Faeries. It’s the least I owe them for sharing their mountain.” Cerulean tilts his head, sneering, “What’s that look on your face? Why, it resembles admiration.”

Blow me over. Let it be known, this Fae has a selfless bone in his body.

I’d tell him about the Fable Dusk Sanctuary, but that would require bonding with him. In spite of my—yeah—admiration for what he’s done here, I’m not about to sing his praises.

I detour, moseying across the grass and inspecting the animals at closer range, but not so close that I unnerve them. “This where you live.”

“I live here when I need to rule the sky.” From the sideline, his voice dips into a mock-conspiratorial whisper. “I live amongst the fauna when I’ve only to rule myself.”

“Got a preference?”

“I don’t lament my privileges, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I quite favor being in charge rather than in a cage. There are many corrupt perks to be had.”

“What a relief that you’ve made the best of it,” I gibe. “Otherwise, my heart would bleed for your sacrifice.”

“Is that a fact? Would you cry for me, too? Mortals are fond of crying.”

What an asshole. “You think you know everything about us, but you don’t.”

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