Page 6

Puck raises his eyebrows and mouths to me,Fuck my lady.

“—and still arrive when expected. That is not the reason for my delay.”

“Oh, so you were brooding,” Puck assumes. “My mistake.”

“You insolent prick. I was brewing.”

That clips the humor in two. The veneer drops from Puck’s face. I straighten beside him while noting the bleak exhaustion dragging down Elixir’s broad shoulders.

He’s been working to replace the wealth of cures he lost during The Solitary Deep’s flood. Unfortunately, ten weeks is barely sufficient time for him to redeem a fraction of his stockpile.

Without those stores, we stand a greater risk of losing this fight. Despite the remedies available in centaur territory, Elixir’s hoard had been unique, to say the least. We need an assortment of cures, and we need mass quantities of them, should this clamor between the Solitaries amount to battle.

Considering we haven’t made progress on the mysterious second path to restoring the fauna—the elusive answer to an enigmatic Fable of old—bloodshed is becoming likelier.

My brothers’ features transform. The three of us exchange savage glances, plagued by the same fear.

Puck is built like a great stag, with his slab of muscles and earthen features. He can take down a redwood with a backhanded slap.

Elixir’s aquatic body is built to withstand tsunamis. He has the reflexes of a cobra and the venomous inclinations of a viper.

Yet their expressions have never looked this brutal. If anything, these Fae have become more vicious, as have I.

Because now we each have something more precious to lose.

Lark’s smile blows through my mind. I’m certain my brothers are doing this same, conjuring images of their mortal women.

We turn and align ourselves with the pinnacle’s ledge. While Puck and I watch the eventide clouds, I imagine Elixir listening to them shift, seeing them in his mind’s eye.

Shortly before meeting with our allies, we often convene here to share new information, which we pass on to Lark, Juniper, and Cove upon our returns. Meanwhile, the sisters tend to the fauna who have been misplaced or injured by the wild’s demise. Those numbers are increasing, a fact that boils my blood.

Based on the lingering silence, none of us wants to start. That’s because none of us have anything good to say.

Puck swears under his breath. “Fine. I’ll go first. We’re fucked.”

“I applaud your optimism,” I remark.

“Want to hold that against me?” he bites out. “Have it your way.”

“The mountain is crumbling,” I supply. “It’s happening quicker than I foresaw. On my way here, I stopped a boulder from crushing a herd of rams.”

“In addition to erratic drainage and overflows, the waterways in The Deep are becoming infested and undrinkable.” The scales of Elixir’s cheekbones flash. “There’s no pattern to it. Cove and I have sought to find one, to no avail.”

Puck knifes his fingers through his red waves. “The woodland’s soil is showing signs of rot. In fact, it’s so fucking rotten and so fucking random, I can’t predict which patches will stay safe for grazing and which won’t. Not to mention, I have spies on my ass, lurking just outside The Herd of Deer, and so help me, Cerulean, if you say—”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Then I will,” Elixir inserts. “You need to leave.”

“Piss off and fuck off, luv. I don’t need to be told the obvious.”

“Then why do I hear that twinge in your voice?”

Puck falls quiet. It’s true that Elixir isn’t saying anything our brother doesn’t already know and isn’t already plotting. When it comes to Juniper’s safety, Puck is always a hundred steps ahead.

Cypress has offered him and Juniper refuge in The Heart of Centaurs. Either Puck accepts that offer or finds sanctuary in the mountain or river.

None of these factors are problems. Something else is bothering our brother.