Page 60 of Kiss the Fae

Moth pauses her retreat. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

“For Fable’s sake,” I groan. “You’re one defensive nugget.”

“I’m not defensive, I’m hostile. Your people made sure of that.”

“Meaning, you weren’t hostile before The Trapping?”

Moth crosses her thimble-sized arms. “I love tending to the fauna.”

An awkward smile slants across my face. “I get that.”

“How would yougetanything about me?”

What’s the point? She wouldn’t believe me if I told her, and I reckon it’s not worth the effort. What do I expect? She’s been raised to scorn humans, same as we’ve been raised to rue the day Faeries were born.

Moth hesitates, sifting through the residue of our conversation. She opens her mouth to squawk something else, but instead she turns up her backside and batters her way through the curtain.

I unstrap my pack to make sure the feather and waterskin are accounted for. Reassured, I abandon the bed, pace toward the window, and grip the sill. I’m marooned for a full day, until the passing of Middle Moon. If I’d clung to my rope better, I could have avoided bunking here.

Dawn crawls over the range, the window offering a view of the multilevel park, where wild grunts and chirps resound among the hedges. The crush of greenery quivers here and there to indicate a wandering animal. A roar rumbles from the trellis paths, and it sounds like…a very big cat.

I crane my neck, hoping to spot the source. Eventually, I give up, smiling wanly at a chartreuse mallard with paddle-sized feet splashing through a rivulet.

How far is this spot from the mountaintop? Astride the owl, I’d committed to memory as much of the vista’s terrain as I could, all the while swept away by the sensation of flight. Still, I can’t pinpoint this area’s location in relationship to the peak.

Beyond the tower, I spot that circular building perched on an adjacent peak. The structure’s entwined offshoots rise in a vertical grid, forming the building’s shape. The gaps appear open, lacking reflections of light or any hints of glass. Instead, foliage flounces from the rifts, as it does at the crown.

And is that a bridge leading to it? Where does it start?

Returning to the bed, I collapse on the mattress, realization slapping me across the face. I should have plummeted into that valley. If it weren’t for the nightingale and the owl, I’d have lost this battle for my sisters.

I’m not gonna credit Cerulean. But in a roundabout way—guess that’s the only way in Faerie—I’d done myself a service by not taking advantage of his name. It ensured my own survival from The Mistral Ropes.

But I almost died.

My palms shake. The numbing shock begins to thaw as I curl up and cover my wilting face, my body shuddering.

As my eyelids drift shut, I remember the sensation of flying. Though it hadn’t been me soaring, because I’m no bird, much less a drifting cloud. I’m just a girl who’ll fall the moment her foot slips, the moment she reaches out for things she can’t have.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time…

17

Nine Years Ago

In the field at night, I dash after the melody of birdsong. It’s a whistling lullaby, curling its finger across the wind and beckoning me in its direction. The moon swells like a great big puddle in the black sky, and the elderberry bushes rustle—shh, shh, shh—their leafy fingers snagging on my nightgown. My bare toes kick up moist, sable clumps of dirt.

I’d snuck out again with my sisters. For fun, we’d been playing a wildlife game of hide-and-seek, complete with our favorite animal masks. But we’d gotten separated, which happens sometimes. That’s when I’d heard the nightingale.

I try to sing back, but my gritty voice makes me sound like a crow that hasn’t slept. I shouldn’t be chasing after the bird’s ballad. Being alone without Juniper and Cove is scary Fae business, especially with The Trapping freshly over. Even though the villagers have captured the Faeries who tried to save their fauna, some of the Folk might be spoiling for vengeance. Papa’s warned us about this a thousand-and-three times, but it’s so hard to obey.

Plus, I’m no babe in a bassinet. I’m ten years old. That’s two whole digits.

On the other hand, wherever they are, I bet Juniper is vexed by now, and Cove is crying. I don’t like to think of Cove crying, so I’ll leave in a minute. Just a minute, and everything will be all right, and we’ll finish our game.

If we don’t, I’ll have another nightmare about those poor, mystical animals I can’t save. I’m too little and don’t have special powers, so I’ve been blubbering myself to sleep most nights. The villagers say they’re doing this to protect us, but I don’t understand it. Thinking about those creatures, all I want is to rescue them, because how different can they be?

And what’s so bad about being different?

---