Page 142 of Defy the Fae

Indeed. We bridge the gaps, assemble the pieces. The ancient Unseelie witch had never trusted the scribes and their Book of Fables. She must have placed a spell on the Solitary wild to help her kin, a safety net in case the book did more harm than good: Should the Solitaries and their fauna perish from human hands, and the land is hence threatened, the way to save it is by human sacrifice.

Whereas the Seelie witch must have added a second way in the book. The hidden clue that Juniper discovered.

“Shit,” Lark exclaims. “So we’ve got the source now. We just need the actual method of unity.”

After a pause, Thorne’s voice alights. “I think you’ve got it.”

Puck hesitates, then his tone slackens as he whispers, “Holy fuck.”

“A new story,” I prompt Juniper.

A second later, her breath hitches. “The journal.”

Yes. We have won this guessing game.

We know what must be done.

We have our second way.

31

We stand with this knowledge. No one dares mutter another word, lest the transcendent spell breaks.

Moth, Foxglove, and Coral stagger into our circle, having heard our conversation. Cypress clomps into the ring with a barely conscious Tinder slumped on his back, the lad’s severed fingers consuming his consciousness. The rest of our allies funnel in behind them, along with batches of other Solitaries who’d combatted against us. Anxious footfalls and hooves merge with tentative ones.

Swiftly, our fellowship expands like a lung. While our dead fade and the mortals watch their fallen burn, the rest of us hover on a precipice.

I twist my head toward Cove. Her expression gleams with optimism.

To be sure, I address the crowd while keeping my eyes anchored to her. “Does anyone have the strength to manifest?”

After an exhausted moment in which no one replies, a small voice squeezes its way in. “I do.”

The young centaur’s response drifts from the outskirts of our huddle. Her tone is haunted yet determined. I picture her head raising despite some new trenches forming across her brow. She has aged a great deal today.

I remember that feeling after The Trapping. I remember so much hate.

With this filly, I sense only faith. No sign of blame fills her inflection.

Cypress’s baritone stretches toward the female. “You were ordered to stay away from the fighting.”

“I was feeling rebellious,” the stripling answers. “Maybe I was inspired. It isn’t the first time lately that a female has defied a Fae.”

Beside me, Cove’s profile flushes with mirth. She folds in her lips to keep from chuckling, whereas Lark snorts and Juniper huffs in amusement.

I feel my brothers withholding grins. A grumble sits in my throat, but the filly is right.

Cypress grunts, “For your transgressions, you will answer to me later.” Then his tone lightens. “For now, you have a mission.”

“Yes, sir,” she says with elated pride.

“Bring us the Book of Fables,” I tell her.

“And my journal,” Juniper adds. “And a pencil.”

“Um, why not a quill?” Moth wonders.

Thorne, Lark, Cove, and Puck reply in unison. “Editing.”

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