Page 139 of Defy the Fae

A great rustle of plumes cuts in as Cerulean appears beside me with Lark. Puck and Juniper funnel in next to us, along with Cypress’s clomping hooves, Moth’s flutter, Coral’s solid footfalls, Foxglove’s light steps, and Tinder’s nimble gait.

The striplings emit petrified noises. Cove musters a step forward, intending to approach them. But her father gets there first.

My senses eke out the remnants of perception while Cove fills in the gaps. While Faeries and humans watch, Thorne weaves through the masses and kneels before the pair.

“What are your names?” he asks.

“L-Leif,” the boy bleats.

“I’m Aster of the woodland,” the filly declares.

“Leif and Aster of the woodland,” Cove’s father repeats. “Did you know in the ancient language of humans, Leif means ‘descendent’, and Aster means ‘star’?” He pauses. “Of what came before and what might be.”

The children remain quiet. I expect they’re blinking, wondering how to respond.

“Well, now,” Thorne says with a somber grin. “That was just about the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. But don’t worry. It’s over tonight, and no one will hurt you. Maybe you’d like to introduce yourselves?”

The pair swaps timid but curious glances. They peel themselves apart.

Cautiously, the boy extends his trembling palm. “Hi.”

The filly hesitates, then takes his proffered hand. “Hello.”

The moment shudders like a latch breaking open. The horde recovers from their unified daze, Faeries and humans ushering closer. Footfalls blur as everyone converges, mortals weakened by their wounds, immortals by the iron stifling their motions.

First, Cerulean glides through the tangle and joins the pair with Thorne. Lark is next, then Puck and Juniper. Cove loops her arm through mine as we take our places with them, followed by our friends and allies. We bridge the distance, spread into a ring around the children, and on Cerulean’s lead, we lower our weapons. They settle on the grass by our feet, the scent of blood adhering to the armory.

As our band straightens, we wait. If need be, we shall arm ourselves again.

Make your choice.

Because we have made ours.

Uncertainty and distrust swoop through the field. The crowd wavers. I see what they see—beings of humanity and Faerie aligning.

Fauna from both worlds integrate themselves. Mortal horses calm down and swish their tails. Among them, Tímien paraglides alongside the nightingale who had been guarding Juniper in the oak. The birds land in their large forms while Sylvan stomps her hooves beside us, and Lotus entwines himself around Cove’s arms.

It is a constellation of diverse warriors, of magic and nature melding into a single force. As one, we prove this kinship is possible.

But can we prove it shall last? Can we demonstrate eternal unity? Will anyone forgive what their enemies have done?

With time, perhaps. Lots of time. It worked for Cove and me, for her sisters and my brothers.

None of the bodies slumped and strewn across the field make a sound. The fallen have been killed, denied the chance to heal. Yet many lives remain.

It would be easy for someone to venture a word. But how swiftly a landscape can shift from upheaval to stillness, so much clamor reduced to a single breath. None of us have words left. At least, not on this eventide.

Speechlessness consumes the field. Death and loss have depleted us.

So instead, one human female grunts, “Oh, for shit’s sake. Lay them down, you idiots.”

“That’s the blacksmith,” Cove speaks into my ear.

That female had been responsible for creating the iron-tipped weapons. In my former life, I would have incinerated her for that crime against my kin. Now I understand this woman’s skill had protected Cove in The Deep, and it’s a means of defense that I would have taken advantage of as a mortal.

Cove resumes describing the pieces I cannot decipher on my own. Presumably, the blacksmith holds weight in the town. The mob folds, including the hunters who’d snared Puck as a stripling, and the glassblower who once kept Cerulean caged in a forge. Each of them relinquishes their defenses and snuffs out the iron torches.

That these humans make the ultimate second move stumps our Fae enemies. A portion of my subjects scowl in annoyance. They consider this gesture the equivalent of a favor or a deal, while the rest dare a fresh glimpse at me, Puck, and Cerulean.

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