Page 25 of Defy the Fae

The steps to being vicious are to observe, then to listen, then to manipulate. That’s how you get your targets to spill information they don’t want to confide. Always, that’s the trickster’s way.

“There’s time,” Juniper insists. “We still have time to break through the Fable’s hidden message and find the second way. Jumping into warfare will make that impossible. No matter how far they push us, we might only have one chance. And when you’re hunting with only one shot—”

“Better make sure it’s clean,” Puck finishes while gazing down at her. “Bloody true.”

Elixir’s still fuming about our plans. Pacing himself is hardly his nature. I can’t begin to count how often Puck and I had to stop him from going on a murder spree against the mortals who took part in The Trapping. Even though restoring the fauna requires sacrificing humans through games, it had sometimes taken half a dozen forest roots and just as many slaps of wind to hold Elixir back.

It’s understandable. He lost his parents the night we escaped.

Nevertheless, Cove whispers into Elixir’s ear, which causes the vengeance to dim from his eyes. His jaw hardens, but he gives a clipped nod. “So be it.”

We agree, and I send an invitation through the wind. There are no roots, nor waterways in this location, so Puck and Elixir lack the means to dispatch their own missives. My element is the one outlet available from this bridge, and although we don’t know where the enemy resides, the wind will find them.

It will know where to look.

Similarly, it will know how to travel and make itself accessible. Communication in Faerie is simple yet complex. If need to be, the wind can meld with the roots, and from there with the water. The essence of my dispatch can morph itself from one element to the next, enabling it to migrate between regions.

No matter where the recipient dwells, the invitation will be comprehensible. And receiving a response shouldn’t take long. Faeries are often too curious, too intrigued by surprises.

In the meantime, another concern has been plaguing my mind. Wordlessly, I seek out Elixir’s attention and wait for him to seize on it. His features smooth out once he hears the delay in my respiration, his gaze fastens to a spot just below my eyes, and his baritone loses its serrated edge. “The raven lives.”

My joints buckle, and a huff of relief flees my lungs. The group lets out a collective exhale, though it’s swiftly replaced by apprehension.

“But will the raven try again?” I speculate.

“Doubtful,” Elixir says. “Whatever they did to him was temporary.”

Fury stirs up like debris within me. Be that as it may, I set my palm on his shoulder. “Well done.”

My brother wavers. “It was not only me. I had help after you left.”

He must mean Cove, who kept us company at the raven’s side before I departed from The Deep and flew home with my father. I glance Cove’s way, but the woman shakes her head, and her eyes stray to a point behind us.

Whatever she sees, it triggers a pleased light in Puck’s eyes. Likewise, Juniper beams at the approaching sight.

At the sound of hooves, I turn as a towering centaur breaks through the mist. Beneath a horned helmet, his dark visage is as timeless as the earth itself. His olive irises match his mane, tail, and coat, and the orbs shine with friendship when fixing on Juniper.

“Always an honor, moppet,” Cypress greets.

“The honor’s mine, friend,” she replies.

He grins, then his irises spark like embers when they land on Puck. “Satyr.”

“Centaur,” Puck quips.

A faithful sort of kinship brims between them, one that’s distinct from my camaraderie with Moth, heightened in some enigmatic way. It takes a moment for the equine to look away and turn his attention on me. “When a call comes from the infamous Three, it must be answered.”

I incline my head. “Cypress.”

“Cerulean,” he replies.

“According to my brother, you helped him tend to the raven after I was gone. I should be the one who bows to you.”

“Nonsense. A ruler does not bow.”

“Haven’t you heard? I forfeited that title.”

“Also, nonsense. Once a ruler, always a ruler.”

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