Kiss the Fae (Dark Fables: Vicious Faeries Book 1)

by Natalia Jaster

  “Go,” he insists, arguing over her protests and my curses. “Enough, both of you. I haven’t died in the past hour, and Tímien is here. I need to…speak with Lark for a moment.”

  “Is that all I’m worth?” I try to joke, worried that he’s being stupid. “We can talk after—”

  “Here. Now.”

  Dammit, Cerulean. Moth and I share hesitant looks and then glance at Tímien, who waits cautiously but patiently. He raised Cerulean, and I trust the owl, so that’ll have to do.

  “Three minutes,” I say.

  “Seven,” Cerulean bargains.

  Moth points at him. “If you’re not back in seven minutes, I’m calling in The Watch of Nightingales.” To me, she shrugs. “You didn’t see him after The Trapping. This is nothing. He’ll live, so long as you get him home in—”

  “I heard you the first time,” Cerulean says with haughty affection. “Off you go, meddler.”

  On a huff, she slingshots into the clouds and zips toward The Fauna Tower.

  Once sensing he’ll be safe, the wildlife leaves next. The fleet of hawks, bats, and hummingbirds swarm into the blazing sun. The cougar slinks around Cerulean’s limbs, gracefully defiant of her missing paw, then joins the mammals prowling down the slope. I wonder if the feline will cross paths with the other cat that fought me on the bridge.

  The second they’re gone, Cerulean buckles. Tímien hoots, flapping his quills with concern, but I catch his son, and we hunker to the grass. The sun illuminates his sickly pallor and every gorge that stings my flesh. I straddle his lap, reminding myself that we’re not entirely abandoned. Tímien resides on the fringes, in case we have to leave sooner rather than later.

  Strapped together beneath the windswept rowan tree, we hold each other for a while. Dust glimmers from the boughs. I run my fingers across the tattered filaments of Cerulean’s wings, my touch dragging his eyes closed.

  At last, he regains the strength to speak without heaving. “Amazed, awestruck, aghast,” he murmurs against my throat, his breath sketching my pulse. “Oh, the irony.” He angles his face to meet mine and tucks a lock of white behind my ear. “That a human comprehends their fauna better than they do. That a human would recognize the fauna as rulers, while the Fae remained blind to such an obvious fact. That a human would prove her kind possesses a greater understanding of animals—ours and yours—than we’ve given mortals credit for.”

  “Welllll, we might learn a thing or two from you,” I joke, even though it’s the truth. “Neither of our cultures have exactly demonstrated tolerance for each other, but you’ve shown that magic doesn’t always make an evil soul.”

  “Perhaps the Fable we’ve created for ourselves is a spark. Perhaps our story marks a beginning, whether or not our bond ends happily. Perhaps the change alone was worth it, however long it takes from here.”

  Seems we all lost our way for a while and forgot the saying, For the eternal wild. Maybe we can help each other remember what it meant.

  Faeries call humans inferior for not having magic, saying we’ve got no real connection to nature, nor any respect for it. After The Trapping, that conviction was reinforced—magnified, in fact.

  Humans call the Fae corrupt, saying they’re abominations of nature because of magic. We assumed as much about the Fae fauna, too. If we took a damn second to sit at one another’s table, to share a meal, to learn about our cultures, and to see how we live amongst the wild, we’d realize our relationships to the earth are similar. No matter what, every being comes from the sky, the roots, and the water. Each of us dwells among animals, and we’re all are creatures of the land.

  That’s the bridge. That’s magic. That’s reality.

  If we worked to understand that, maybe we’d find a balance in our worlds. We could live in harmony, without hate or hierarchies.

  What if Cerulean’s right? What if our story incites a shift, however slow? Was it worth it? Was this worth that change?

  “No doubt about it in my mind,” I say while threaded around him.

  “I echo that sentiment,” he replies, the feathered tip of his blue hair resting on my shoulder.

  “But what about reviving the fallen animals?” I ask. “What about the mountain? Any chance for peace is moot, otherwise.”

  Cerulean hedges, glances briefly at Tímien, and translates something in the owl’s manner. “The fauna will confer with us, not merely with themselves. Until now, failing in this task hadn’t become a feasible possibility. Fear will amplify my kin’s motivation, not reduce it. Survival is the chief priority.” He consults the horizon, then turns back to me. “Yet after everything you’ve exhibited to them, and the inquiries you’ve raised, they might be pacified. What came out today might forestall them long enough to hatch a resolution. I’ll be there to advocate for it. As a Solitary commoner, I have the time.”

  Cerulean hadn’t included me as part of the forthcoming negotiation. I know why, and it’s got zilch to do with a lack of debate skills. He wants me to be there, but he’s not expecting it, because he knows what my choice will be.

  As much as I hate it, I agree with him. Though I’m not ready to acknowledge it aloud.

  We compare theories about how to breach the divide and align our worlds. It’s not limited to The Solitary Mountain. There’s a forest and river to consider.

  But Cerulean rebuffs my argument that his brothers are no longer rulers, either. Thing is, the fauna cultures of the Solitary wild are distinct. Although united, the sacred relationships between Faeries, animals, and their landscapes vary.

  Ultimately, one of the few parallels includes how to shore up the environments. That means Puck and Elixir are still in charge.

  As for my sisters? Cerulean’s not of the forest or river, so he’s powerless within those boundaries. Whatever sacrifices occur there, whatever games they involve, and whatever rules they include are under his brothers’ command. The only similarity is either both of my sisters win—or neither of them wins.

  Plus, those games have already begun. Juniper and Cove are in the thick of it. I might be exempt because I’m mated with Cerulean, but my sisters don’t have that advantage. Not that they’d want to be linked to two those pieces of shit.

  A defiant thought kindles in the pit of my stomach. What if I—

  “Lark,” Cerulean warns.

  “What?” I snap. “I wasn’t—”

  “I have every confidence in your prowess. However, traipsing into either territory will intensify the Fae’s contempt and compromise your sisters’ ability to win, because they’ll be too busy striving to protect you. Putting it mildly, the entire scenario will infuriate Puck and Elixir to the point where Juniper and Cove will be at eminent risk, more than they already are. That means if they lose, they’ll die quicker and more painfully. Do not underestimate my brothers.”

  “Don’t underestimate my sisters.”

  “Did you hear what you just said?”

  I pause, grinding my molars. “I…fuck this! You helped me, and I made it through! Why can’t I help them? I won’t let them go, and if you cared for me one iota, you wouldn’t let anything happen to them, either.”

  Cerulean’s eyes flash a vibrant, violent blue. “Don’t you dare question my feelings for you. Don’t you dare question what I’d do to defend you or your own. My brothers and I are matched in strength and cunning. There’s no guarantee I’d win a battle, but I will engage by your side if you wish me to.

  “That said, we knew the rules on this mountain. I knew what loopholes to breach, but I do recall pointing out that you made the final move. You cannot predict that banding with your family will inadvertently prevent them from doing the same.”

  “Fine, we can’t break the rules without knowing them first. But you weren’t able to guarantee I’d win on my own if you helped, yet that didn’t stop you.”

  “False. I knew you’d succeed on your own because I know you.”

  “And I know my sisters.”

  “But you’re not p
rivy to the conditions of the woodland or river, nor do I have that luxury. Trust this: My brothers won’t divulge their secrets to me after hearing about your victory, particularly the part where I sided with you, and most especially not after learning we’re mates. When I tried to let you go, my plan had been to coerce or barter with them for your sisters. Careful plotting aside, it might have been achievable.

  “Unfortunately, I was so frantic to safe you I grew careless, forgetting all three of you were expected to win. I overlooked the very ethereal, very brutal, very nature of Faerie—that what’s dealt is dealt. Our rules may have twists, but they must be followed through. Even if we could persuade Puck and Elixir, nature does not negotiate.”

  By the land or my hand.

  Cerulean had said that in the beginning. If the lands’ rulers don’t vanquish the players, the land itself might. That’s an unpredictable force beyond any of us, at once benevolent and ruthless. If Cerulean and I flout the rules and blast into those realms, nature could retaliate by throttling my sisters before we’d reach them.

  A whip and javelin can best their enemies. But they can’t fight nature.

  I hem and haw, my protests rising by a dozen octaves, but none of my ideas hold ground. My knuckles curl. I’ve never felt this helpless, not least while tumbling from a fucking bridge.

  Eventually, I deflate. Cerulean gathers me close, tucking me into his chest, which helps and doesn’t help.

  We’ve tackled the vital bits but for one exception. We haven’t talked about us. We haven’t, because he already knows, same as I do.

  A gust of wind strokes the rowan leaves, dust glowing from the offshoots. From beyond, the sun’s rays pour onto our laps.

  I gulp, clasping his neck tighter. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Nor do I wish to let you go.” He plants his forehead against mine, his eyelids welding shut. “But you must.”

  My head nods, while my heart shouts. I don’t want this mountain to fade and take him from me. I don’t want to stand aside and do nothing to save him, the fauna, and Moth. And I don’t want to see an entire domain of lives perish, despite what many of them have done.

  But if I stay, where does that leave Papa Thorne? What happens when my sisters come home? How would Juniper and Cove feel, learning I chose the Fae over them?

  I could never be without my papa, nor desert him. As for my sisters, we grew up unwanted by our parents and swore not to abandon each other. I won’t go back on that promise, not when we’re fighting so hard for our future together.

  And I won’t cast off our sanctuary. It’d be easy to live with the wild here, but I love my avian family, and the creatures of Middle Country need my help.

  And somebody has to work for change between humans and Faeries. On the mortal side, somebody has to be that spark for peace. I can’t do that from here.

  Cerulean knows this. Of all people, he understands this. He believes his kin will find a way to survive without harming humans, so I have to believe that, too. We have our roles to play, in our own worlds. And in that way, we’ll be working as one.

  I huddle into him, my limbs astride his waist as he crushes me to his chest and inhales my scent. Seems we’ve exchanged one cage for another. It took us nine years to find each other, thirteen days to bond, and one hour to lose everything all over again.

  Far as we’re concerned, being mates doesn’t yield any perks but one. Being of different cultures, we lack an intrinsic connection, so the divide enables us to separate. I’d say that numbs the grief, but I’d be lying. Although I can make the choice to become one of them and solidify the bond, I won’t do it for all the same reasons.

  But also, for one other reason. “I like who I am,” I say, fresh tears leaking down my face.

  Cerulean brushes my mouth with his. “I like who are you, too.”

  That guts me the most. He gets this without needing extra words, treasures me as I am.

  Thing is, I want to keep my humanity. I worked my tail off to know myself, to build my life. Like hell am I about to forfeit that.

  “My mutinous one,” Cerulean murmurs, his voice cracking against the seam of my lips. “How you’ve consumed me. I’ll miss your tongue lashings, your sassy rebuttals, your stunning courage. I’ll miss roaming the wild with you, tasting your body, hearing your laugh. I’ve missed you for nine years, and I’ll miss you until my last breath.”

  A sob tumbles from my lips. “A kiss for a kiss.”

  He snatches the words from me, swallowing them whole. His mouth slants over mine in a passionate, windswept clutch. I keen into the kiss and fling myself at his chest, my thighs clenching his waist, my fingers vaulting through his hair.

  Cerulean’s tongue forages between my lips, coaxing our tongues into a sweet and sensual rhythm. I relish the scent of musk and tempests, taste blackthorn wine and rainfall. His palms clasp the back of my head, deepening our kiss, his tongue lunging into mine.

  I seize the memories—meeting him, playing games with him, losing him, rebelling against him, talking with him, arguing with him, kissing him, fucking him, loving him.

  Because I do. I love him.

  That’s all I can do, feel the love. That alone is gonna have to sustain me.

  Three times, we’ve changed our lives with a kiss. When we met, when we loved, and now as we say good-bye.

  Our limbs and arms tangle. His heart rams into my breasts, and my lips seal over his. Our tongues roll, hot and sweet and—

  Cerulean rips his mouth away. His swollen blue lips hang open, sucking oxygen into his lungs. “Perhaps I have the stamina for one final heroic act before I resume my feral, fiendish, ferocious ways.” He tips his head, and a visible current waves across the range, fluid and streaked at the edges.

  Moments later, a winged form slides across the welkin and lands. I jolt, whipping toward the nightingale chick, who perches alongside the owl and is no longer thimble-sized. The hatchling of gemstone brown and dazzling turquoise has shifted to equal Tímien’s girth.

  Foreboding twists me around. “Cerulean, no.”

  “She will carry you to the Triad.”

  “No, Cerulean. You’re—”

  “I’ll be fine. I have a majestic ride home awaiting me.” He presses his shaky palm to the slashes across my arm, a faint glow radiating from beneath. “There. However drained—and temporarily unattractive—I might be at the moment, there’s always a trace of magic to be had. You needn’t worry about infection but go home and have your father mend that arm at once. Deny me, and I shall grow rather petulant.”

  “No,” I whimper, clutching his cheeks. “Not yet.”

  “Lark.” His pleading tone cuts me to the quick. “Please.”

  Please. The word stays my tongue.

  “Listen to me,” he seethes, his fingers tracing my jaw. “I’ll leave first, so you might rest assured that I’ll be tended to. It will be my privilege, for I want my last vision of you to be here, at the top of the world, conquering my whole universe. Do me this honor, which I’ve yet to earn.”

  Damn him. With a cry, I lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips—the kind we shared when I was ten years old, except this one’s less pure. It’s greedy, anguished, joyous, bitter, grateful, and mournful.

  It might not be innocent, but it’s a lot more of everything else.

  I break away and choke out, “Go.”

  And he does, rising to accept Tímien’s wing and a seat upon his father’s back. And then they’re off, sailing into the horizon. And then Cerulean glances over his shoulder, watching me stand alone on this mountain, the wind catching my hair and turning me into a cloud—an impossible thing to hold.

  33

  When Papa Thorne answers the door, I buckle at the sight of him. He catches me, and we slump onto the front porch, spilling into a pile of arms and legs gilded in the wary sunlight. Our bodies shake, me collapsing further, him cradling my weight.

  “Lark,” he sobs. “Oh, my girl, my girl. Oh, Lark.”

&
nbsp; “Papa,” I bawl. “Papa.”

  My nails dig into his back, my head sinks into his chest, and my tears soak his shirt. I savor the fragrance of home on his skin, of bread and rosemary and candle wax. He rocks me for an eternity while the wind brushes through our hair.

  Inside the cottage, everything’s the same yet different. The kitchen where I’d chased Juniper around the dining table. The chair where Cove had sat, watching us with a timid smile. The living room where Papa would recite to us from the Book of Fables, and Juniper would fill in the gaps for him.

  Out back, our resident falcon releases a long wailing call. The vocalization leaches more tears to the surface. I’ve missed it here so much.

  Papa dresses the gashes on my arm and swaddles me into the blanket that Juniper and I used to share when we were little. I curl up on the couch by the unlit fireplace, my eyes as raw as his own, while he brews me a cup of tea, then kneels at my side. He looks a thousand years old, his dark skin pallid, crust lining his mouth, and purple blooming beneath his lower eyelids.

  When was the last time he slept?

  A banquet litters the dining table and counters. Sourdough and rye loaves, potato pies, vegetable stews, game platters, cornbread muffins, and jarred preserves. This being a small town, Papa tells me the villagers heard about my, Juniper, and Cove’s disappearance. Farmers, merchants, and peasants showed up in no time, bearing comfort food and sympathy. Some fished for gossip, seeking to validate or quell their own fears.

  Knowing Papa would offer himself to the Solitaries in exchange for us, Juniper, Cove, and I hadn’t confessed our dealings with the Folk to him—not until writing that good-bye letter. Even then, we left out the details of why we had to leave, saying only that we’d been called to Faerie. By that point, we knew it would be out of his hands.

  But through a stream of visitors, Papa found out about the poacher chase, which a few people had apparently seen from afar. They’d witnessed me galloping toward the Solitary wild, with my sisters following shortly after. Conclusions were drawn, and our absence confirmed the speculations. Since then, the visits have become routine, though Papa’s barely touched their offerings.