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Careful not to rouse Lark, I grab my javelin from its stand, pluck the case holding my flute, and harness both. With the flute strapped to my back and javelin affixed to my hip, I exit the bedroom. After padding down the stairwell to the tower’s first level, I stride through the great room and into daylight.

An endless dome of blue and yellow greets me, along with the stuttering chirps of birds from the wildlife park. My father is no longer perched on his spire, so he must have migrated to the west end overlooking the park.

Instead of heading in that direction, I stalk east to the promontory fronting my home, where the lip of this zenith juts into the void. The wind is more active in this spot today, its thrust battering my hair.

Tufts of green fill the valley, the treetops concealing The Solitary Forest. Far below that, deep under the crusts of this earth, flows The Solitary Deep.

The question remains, have other animals of our world been manipulated? And by what fresh devilry can that have been achieved?

Even Elixir had been unable to shed light on the mystery, at a loss to recall a single brew capable of turning the fauna.

I brace my foot on a boulder, reach backward over my shoulder, withdraw my flute, and spin the instrument in my hands. My fingers poise over the keys, my lips purse against the plate, and a melody flutters out. A current catches the music, cascading it across the lawn as gently as a zephyr.

Until recently, the notes I used to play had been artful, spiteful, or sensual—or all three. This had been true particularly while luring a mortal to their doom, glamouring them across the threshold between their realm and ours. Even then, there had been an elegance to those knavish compositions.

Today, the tune is out of my previous character, yet I take to the notes like my wings take to the heavens, swiftly and naturally. The music encompasses memories of one face, one silver lining in my past.

I remember the last game played on this mountain, how I had tried to sabotage Lark’s efforts in the labyrinth. Instead, I’d come to her aid several times, mere seconds after hurling danger in her path.

Constantly, I made excuses. I’d dressed her wounds in Moth’s cabin, telling myself the mortal needed to be mended for practical reasons, for her to keep playing the game.

I had convinced myself that breaking Lark’s fall from The Mistral Ropes had been a debt owed, because she’d guessed my true name. With that moniker in her grip, she could have wielded power over me, but all she’d wanted was to be called by her own name, a request that stunned the shit out of me.

Names aren’t to be trifled with in Faerie. They’re sacred. And for Lark, her name had been more valuable than magic.

In that moment, I felt inadequate, humbled, and enthralled by this woman, more so than I’d already been.

Technically, I did owe her for that. Veritably, Lark’s actions had entitled her to my help at The Mistral Ropes.

But that’s not why I’d caught her when she plummeted.

All the times I dueled with myself. All the times I attempted to thwart Lark. All the times I undid my heinous efforts moments later.

All the times I wanted to massacre any mountain Faeries who came near her. All the times I sent a tempest toward those who had come close to harming Lark.

Gales had shoved Fae skulls into cliffs. Squalls had wrapped around throats. I had wanted to do worse, just as I had wanted to slay the poachers who chased Lark into Faerie in the first place.

From the minute this mutinous creature entered my world, I had been torn in half, unable to stop myself, unable to stomach Lark’s hurt, unable to let my actions stay their course. She’d penetrated my head, disarmed my soul, and gripped my heart.

I hadn’t understood why. Not until the masquerade.

Still, Lark had claimed me even before that. Slowly, and then suddenly, it happened.

I fell in love.

Then Lark won her game by nearly dropping to her death in The Lost Bridges. She had released my hand after I fought to hold onto her, while she dangled over the valley. And although I’d thrown myself after her, mindless to break her fall with my tattered wingspan—desperate to at least try—Lark had already saved herself.

She’d chosen to surrender her life, to spare mine so that I wouldn’t plunge with her. She did that for love.

Thathad been the ultimate sacrifice. That is why the cliff we landed on had grown. That is why she won.

Lark went home afterward. Then she came back to me. I didn’t deserve it, but she came back.

My fingers dance over the flute, the melody skipping across the lawn. Whatever it takes, I won’t let Lark’s choice be in vain, won’t let her suffer, won’t let anyone rob my mate of this life, of her happiness. I shall hold up this mountain with my bare hands before I let it crumble, if it means keeping her safely on top of it.

The air sways, bringing with it traces of her. My lips quirk as I blow. Perhaps I show off a little.

Lark’s shadow drapes across the grass. “Catchy tune.”