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This is but the first volume. And life is long. But more than that, life is abundant, regardless of how much time one has.

Because it is crisp up here, I bundle Cove tighter in the blanket Cerulean has provided.

Cove huddles deeper into me. “I wonder what features the child will get from their parents. Aren’t you rapt to know if you’ll have a daughter or son?”

Juniper’s vibrant eyes glint behind her spectacles, which she removes as she sinks further against Puck. “We’ll wait and see.”

I sense my brother ducking his head and grinning like an asshole with a secret. He knows. Somehow, he knows the answer, yet it doesn’t matter.

They will be half-human, half-Fae. We suspect the child will have an extended life like their parents—like Cerulean and Lark, and Cove and myself. Because of the brew I’d made her, my lady can have an immortal existence with me. But instead, she has already chosen to last only as long as her sisters, and I have made the choice to fade with her.

But that will be a long time from now. A very long one.

“What happens next?” I muse.

All heads swivel toward me. Feeling the cumulative weight of their stares, I glower. I haven’t said much thus far, but still. So dramatic of them.

Nor do I mean the obvious. A truce has been reached. In a fortnight, both sides of Faerie will meet at The Triad with representatives of Reverie Hollow to establish an equilibrium.

Until then, we have sworn neutrality, since an official pledge on paper may take longer than we expect. Yet to be worthy of verbal oaths and ink on parchment, this is hardly a shock. The humans have grievances, and Faeries are as stubborn as they are vindictive, for I should know.

But we are learning. Not only have the mortals seen what all forms of nature can do if not safeguarded, but the Solitaries have learned the consequences of viciousness.

Peace will take time. It will take practice. And at least we’re willing.

There is hope.

If two striplings from opposing worlds can choose to rescue each other instead of destroying one another, the rest of us should be capable. Speaking of Leif and Aster, I’ve heard rumors about them meeting often at The Triad.

Cerulean lounges in his seat. “We’ll continue to mend.”

“We’ll keep living,” Puck says.

I think about that. “And we remember.”

We remember what was and what can be. Everyone sits with this knowledge, a great calm sifting through the promontory while the flames pour warmth across the lawn.

Cypress whispers, “For the eternal wild.”

The night has only begun. The centaur withdraws with Moth, Tinder, Foxglove, and Coral into the wildlife park. They slip past the gate, eager to meander with the fauna.

Thorne has spent these months dividing his visit. He has spent time with Cove and me in The Deep, then in the forest with Puck and Juniper, and since then in the mountain with Cerulean and Lark. While the man has enjoyed helping nurture the park’s haven, he has a sanctuary of his own to manage.

Although Thorne had appointed mortal apprentices to the haven, he refuses to neglect it any longer. Also, he has pledged to speak on behalf of the wildlife in his world, intent on convincing the town to restrict trade poachers within their borders. After all that has occurred, he is optimistic about succeeding.

His daughters will live in Faerie with us, in the homes we’ve made with each other. But they shall visit their father often to help tend to the haven and advocate for mortal fauna, for there exists more than one place the sisters call their own.

Rising by the fire, Thorne gathers them close. “My girls.”

I have never heard so much depth in so few words.

Tímien and Lark’s nightingale fly us to the mortal realm, the raptors landing before the structure where the sisters grew up. Cerulean descends last, his wings flaring wide and tossing the wind against the treetops.

A horse whom the sisters have dubbed Whinny Badass neighs from an adjacent stable. Birds chirp and caw from the rear of the house. Creek water rushes through the property from nearby, and the scent of aged wood and cinnamon wafts from the structure.

Cove tucks her mouth against my ear and describes the scene. Timber walls, a front porch, and an overhand with an attic bedroom where she and her sisters used to sleep. She paints a picture of the Fable Dusk Sanctuary and the caravan where she, Juniper, and Lark would recite Fables to each other.

We pause in front of the house. I feel my brothers absorbing the sights with curiosity and intrigue.