Page 45

We stride across the lawn and meet the others at the promontory’s ledge. White, gold, and teal celestials nip the sky. It’s a clear and windless night as two raptors soar in the distance, over the jagged teeth of the mountain.

I would call out to Moth, if she weren’t in severe need of rest. Whatever we’re about to learn, I’ll share later.

Puck, Juniper, Cove, and Elixir wait at the lip of the overhang. They turn and register my state of undress, along with Lark’s. Neither of us had bothered to heed Juniper’s order and cover ourselves further, apart from Lark slipping into a pair of skimpy undershorts beneath the oversized shirt.

Not to mention, my mate’s hair looks like it’s been through a monsoon, and I doubt my hair is any tamer.

Elixir listens to the minimal rustles of my pants and her shirt, draws his conclusion, and rolls his eyes. As if he’s any less chaste. The man can barely keep his temperature down, much less his feral appetites in check around Cove.

Speaking of the lady in question, she flushes a rosy tint but smiles at Lark, glad to witness her sister’s happiness.

Puck absorbs the sight of us with relish. “Look at you two, fresh from another merry round of perversion.”

“Fuck you,” I say with a grin.

“Tsk, tsk. Seems to me like your mate already took care of that.”

“Actually, we weren’t done,” Lark informs him.

Juniper plunks her crossbow on the grass. “Well, would you care to put your sex drives on hold for a rare second?”

“You’re one to talk,” her sister replies. “You’re the one humping a satyr.”

Junipers opens her mouth but gasps in surprise as her fingers shoot to her stomach. Her complexion blanches, the pasty hue clashing with the new brightness of her eyes.

Cove moves to brush back Juniper’s hair, but Puck gets there first and frames her shoulders. “You all right, luv?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s been nothing for months.”

“You don’t need to fuss. I’m fine.”

She doesn’t look fine. Lark and Cove want to question it as well but think better of the impulse. My mate once said her sister loathes people doting on her.

Elixir glances away, as if he can see rather than hear the exchange.

Briefly, Juniper leans into Puck’s touch. After that, she straightens, granting none of us the chance to gainsay her. The female shoulders the bag she’d brought and pushes forth with a stubborn but admirable tenacity.

“When was the Book of Fables written?” she begins, the question directed at all of us.

Lark sighs. “Tell me you didn’t assemble us here for another quiz.”

“Oh, honestly,” Juniper berates when no one else responds. “Doesn’t anybody but me pay attention to the book’s front matter?”

“Frankly, we wouldn’t dream of outdoing you, hon.”

Juniper addresses our group, the pace of her voice accelerating. “Don’t you see? We’ve never investigated what year it was created, when it’s such a simple task.” She rifles through her bag and pulls out the Book of Fables, then whips it open to an early page and stabs a finger into the parchment. “Look at the date.”

With the book spread before us and leveled in her palms, we crowd around the text. Elixir reaches out, sets his fingers atop the page, and traces the content, awareness flashing in his pupils.

I see the reason, as does Puck. It’s era of the ancients, including the Seelie and Unseelie witches of old.

Granted, this information is commonplace, seeing as the witches were the first Faeries to call the Solitary wild home. Also, they played vital roles in Elixir and Cove’s story, from curses to counter spells.

Yet Juniper watches us, as if this long-known fact is a revelation…or perhaps a glaring reminder. Oftentimes, the obvious gets neglected in favor of novelties and enigmas. One lives with certain fundamental truths for so long, they become obsolete. They fade into the background like wallpaper, present but no longer remarkable.

Cove turns to Elixir. “You’ve never told me what happened to your ancestor in her later life.”