Page 78 of Kiss the Fae

I follow his extended finger to the sun crawling over the range, a compass melting the landscape with warmth and swabbing the terrain in a rosy palette. “The horizon?”

“The Horizon that Never Lies,” he says. “From here, you see the vista’s true form, a tapestry woven by the sylphs—your Fables call them spirits of the air. If you have an inquiry, the Horizon will convey the truth plainly—ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, my Lark.”

“What? I didn’t—”

“You were about to. The truth comes with a price. The Horizon will only answer your question if you offer it something, and it will only answer a question about the offering you’ve given. Though be wary, that’s not what we’re here to do. I’m merely introducing you to this setting for good measure.”

“Seems like something I shouldn’t know if I want to conquer this mountain. Why bother tossing me that breadcrumb?”

“Because it’s impressive.”

“No. It’s because you doubt I’ve got anything the Horizon would value.” And if so, he’s probably correct, but my heart pounds all the same. “What’s this got to do with the girl who helped you escape?”

“Nothing and something. If I’m going to impart a truth, I’d best do it here with the Horizon as my witness. Are you going to turn around?”

“Are you getting to the point?”

“Oh trust me, I’m getting to many points,” he bites out sweetly. “First this: I’m not afraid to search for her. Indeed, I’ve dreamed of it, but as I informed you, I’ve lacked the time to act. I’ve been busy targeting other mortals.”

“To make them run this labyrinth for revenge.”

“For longevity.” Cerulean’s silhouette is reflected on the grass, a dark specter traced by the sun’s glare.

Dread climbs up the back of my skull. After The Trapping, the villagers believed they’d botched their mission. But what if they hadn’t?

“Are you saying…,” I trail off, stricken. “Are you saying we succeeded? That we weakened the mountain?”

Cerulean looms. “We’ve been rectifying the damage.”

Fables! The Fae are in danger of fading. But what does he mean, rectifying the damage?

“Your people took a rather large chunk out of mine. You kept our striplings behind iron bars until they died alone, their tears not yet dry. You poached and mangled our fauna,” he says. “Hence, what you took from the mountain, you’re destined to give back. We seek penance not merely for retribution, as you’ve been led to believe.”

His arm slides around my midriff, pinning me to his torso. “After becoming ruler of the sky, I made a vow to avenge the fallen Faeries who weren’t as fortunate as my brothers and I, as well as loss of our fauna—the loss of my wild family. I carved open one of the iron scars given to me by the humans, offered my blood, and asked the Horizon for guidance.

“My visit yielded an unlikely lifeline. There is a chance to restore the fallen. Not the Folk who died, because tragically, they cannot come back.” The pressure of his voice mounts, then ejects with force. “But the fauna can.”

I blink. They…they can what?

Cerulean continues. “For every human nuisance we eradicate, a creature who was vanquished shall be granted a second bout of life. Be aware, it’s not a resurrection. Call it an extension. For as animals are connected to nature, the lost will return through the earth, springing from the cliffs, the roots, the waters. They’ll be whole again. Thus, our land shall flourish, and we’ll live on.

“However, our task must be achieved to completion or it’s forfeit. And rather than outright eliminating the victims, we must offer a challenge—a bargain, as is our timeless custom. You might call it a game.”

“The mountain,” I realize.

“The mountain,” he echoes. “Either the mortal accepts, or they die without preamble. In the former case, it cements the deal and the path toward restoration. In the latter case, we end the human’s life and must seek out another sacrifice. Given that many have surprised us by choosing their immediate demise, it’s taken us longer than anticipated to account for the lost fauna. They won’t return unless that bountiful number is reached before the mountain withers. We have until the thirteenth year.”

It’s been nine since The Trapping. Not much time by Fae standards.

Cerulean reveals that when he learned about this, he told Puck and Elixir, arming them with the meat to revive their own territories. That’s the reason they have Juniper and Cove.

I shiver in the cage of his embrace. “That’s why you lure humans one by one. You’re ticking off the body count.”

“Sometimes, they’re bewitched by my flute, Puck’s cello, or Elixir’s harp. Sometimes, they wander past the Triad on their own.”

Like me. That’s why I’m really here, why he’s trying to wreck me—to recover one of the fallen, to keep Faerie from fading. Since Solitaries are neutral and have no allies, this crusade is all on them.

For his wild family and the longevity of his kin, he needs me to lose. That means his brothers need my sisters to fail as well.

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