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One who rules the sky. A Fae with obsidian-blue hair and darkly hued lips. A monster who wields a javelin and plays a devious flute. One who rules the woodland. A Fae who sprouts antlers from a thicket of red waves, his limbs tapering to a pair of cloven hooves. A monster who wields a longbow and strums a lusty cello. One who rules the river. A Fae with an onyx mane and gold serpentine eyes so harsh they’ll blind you at close range. A monster who wields forked daggers and plucks a vengeful harp.
Don’t answer the wind, the trees, or the water. Or they’ll hear you.
This is the sweet and salty truth. I don’t love anything as much as I love my family—sisters, father, and animals alike.
“In that case, you can read my middle finger just as many times.”
Read between the lines. Stay vigilant of twisted words and promises they won’t keep. And no matter what, be polite. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m gonna have trouble with that last one.
“I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but: What you speak, you cannot unspeak.” And the Lark said, “Will somebody snatch these two so I can have a break?” “The Fable?” I balk. “I wasn’t serious. I was improvising.” “Be it a joke, a lark, or a farce, it’s all the same.”
His expression strikes a balance between flippant and imperious, his irises mapping a lustrous path across my throat, then soaring to my face. Meanwhile, I struggle not to kick, bite, or scratch.
Cove’s a problem. She wants to speak up because she’s the best of our trio, the most honest, and the most obedient, which makes her a shitty liar.
Mutinous Lark
For your trespass, be our sacrifice—to surrender, to serve, and to satisfy. Under the vicious stars, three sisters must play three games. Mutinous Lark, your task is painfully simple. Don’t look down. Watch your step. Fear the wind. Follow the wind. Lose your path. Find your way. Welcome to The Solitary Mountain.
Rule one: Each sister will enter one of the Solitary landscapes. Rule two: My sisters and I can’t reveal our games to each other. Rule three: All of us win—or none of us win.
Never heard anything close to the Fae tongue. It’s as if somebody sprinkled crystals on their lips.
“A lark,” he observes. “The rare bird that sings while flying, rather than while perched and idle like the rest of its kin. Hence, a human with a sky-worthy signature and hair as white as a cloud—a stray, unattainable thing. Is that what you are? A stray?”
We live amongst demons like you, yet we’re still standing, we’re still living, and we’re doing it fully. Sure, you might be the flashier ones. But are you the braver ones?”
hate him. I hate him so much, I want it written on my tombstone. My disgust is absolute, full-bodied to the point of painful, roasting me from the inside out. Yet unexpectedly and inexplicably, the hurt becomes mournful. An unbidden wistfulness stings my throat and extinguishes the heat. For the life of me, I can’t justify that.
Loss and longing. That’s how it is to look at Cerulean.
Me, loss. Him, longing. The yearning for something long deprived. That, and the bereavement. The sadness of both.
Which is scarier? Fear, desire, or regret? To be hurt, to be fucked, or to be shamed?
“Do not,” he enunciates into my face, “tell me about being trapped.” “Do not,” I spit back, “tell me what to do.”
I’ve never said that. But it’s true. I miss him. I miss that masked boy, the exception to my rule, the Fae who’d turned my hate into something precious. Something lost.
He spreads our arms, splays our fingers, and turns my palms up beneath his, so that I feel whether the breeze has a heart. Our faces tilt, lips stalling a hair’s breadth apart, near enough to bite and draw blood. We stay like that, holding, holding. His intakes become my outtakes, and his shadow becomes my outline.
“Why do you spurn me to viciousness as much as admiration? Why do your words insult yet invigorate me?” “Why can’t I feel just one thing around you?” I ask. “Why do I feel many things around you?” he replies. “Why do I hear a hundred different words in a single one?” “Why does a single word inspire a hundred different reactions?” “Why the fuck did you block the path?” “Why am I tempted to reveal it?”
Safe is Cove. Smart is Juniper. Stupid is me.
Just like that, I make a forbidden friend. Just like that, he pulls a fatal trick. Just like that, he steals my heart.
And that’s why I continue weeping into my pillow for weeks. Because it’s my fault, because I did that to him. Because that’s how Fables end, with a lesson learned and a heart broken.
How I love nothing more than favors, flutes, and fuckery,” Cerulean says unapologetically, making my fists curl. “Regardless, nights such as these are more diverting.”
night without coughing. Then it swooped off into the wild, maybe to save others,” I say. “That’s where I get my name from. Since I didn’t have one when Papa found me, he suggested that I name myself. So I chose Lark, to thank the bird for giving me hope.”
“Call me the elegant trickster. Call Puck the mischievous trickster. Call Elixir the vengeful trickster. The question is, which is more vicious? Think carefully. Very, very carefully.”
“Your eyes are the pale gray of a storm. Your laughter is a swift current of air that I can’t stop hearing, no matter the hour. Your voice is mist, intangible yet penetrating, filtering into my dreams and raiding my slumber. Your name is an addiction, soaking itself into my tongue, nesting itself into my throat, so that every other word I speak threatens to slip, to utter that name.”
At last, the Fae ruler is powerless, and the mortal captive is priceless. That’s how it feels while he touches me.
“How can the events of childhood lead to this?” he wonders. “How can a brief meeting leave such a scar, an imprint, a yearning? Had it been love, at that fledgling age? Maybe it was a certain slant of love. A precious one—far too precious to last, and too fragile for our own good.
Any love worth sharing’s gotta have jagged edges, especially if it’s forbidden.
You’re worth…” He sucks in a tremulous breath. “…every crack in my soul. You’re worth the loss and longing.”
We’re mortality and magic. We’re lovers and mates. We’re human and Fae. We’re happy.
