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Juniper winces. “Lark’s hurt—but she’ll be okay,” she rushes out when Cerulean vaults upright, his face a frantic mask. “She tried to jump from Cypress’s back while he was galloping through the forest. Lark didn’t want to leave you, but Cypress was going too fast. The landing wasn’t a smooth one. She broke her leg.”

Cerulean hisses, both from the pain of moving and worry for his mate. Juniper gives him a swift rundown. Elixir brewed Lark a remedy to heal the leg, but it takes a couple of days to simmer, plus another day or so to take effect.

In the meantime, while our brother’s toiling on that, Cypress is looking after Lark. Apparently, he blames himself for not keeping a hold on the spitfire, as if anyone can.

The news settles the weight on Cerulean’s shoulders. He wouldn’t have wanted Lark to endanger herself, but nothing else would have kept her away.

“Wait,” I say, registering the crossbow hitched to Juniper’s back. “You fucking came alone?”

She compresses her lips, as though I’m being fussy. “We don’t have time to discuss logistics.”

“Nonsense. You always have time for that.”

“Not tonight.”

She motions for Cerulean to get off his ass, then offers me her free arm. I grunt, wishing I didn’t need the help, but my legs feel like they’ve disintegrated. Not to mention, the iron is making me woozy.

The Evermore Blossom must have equipped Juniper with added strength. She links her arm around my waist and helps lug my weight off the floor, but then we stop, crouching and glancing expectantly at my brother. Still, he hasn’t budged.

His grim eyes click from Juniper to me. That look takes root, reminding me that although neither of us can lie, my brother is a master diverter. He can flip the truth inside out better than even I can.

And I know. I fucking know before his blue mouth pushes out the words. “I’ll have to respectfully decline.”

“What?” Juniper mutters under her breath. “Cerulean—”

“I’m too heavy.”

“And I have two arms. I’ll help you both.”

“No, Juniper,” he stresses. “I’m too heavy.”

Stupefied, she glances from him to me. I bunch my mouth, then force myself to draw out the rest. “His wings were cut. He can’t retract them.”

Her eyes widen. She swings her head back to Cerulean, noticing the crevices where dozens of feathers used to be.

The iron has weakened him too much, to the point where he can’t sheath his wings. The mass is impossible for him to carry on his own, and even with the Blossom’s enhancement, Juniper can’t take the brunt of two Faeries plus her weapon. As it is, it would require half a dozen centaurs to heft Cerulean’s drooping wingspan.

Earlier, he’d implied he could technically fly, that his wings weren’t torn beyond repair, that the only thing holding him back was the iron in his system.

But the prat never said he could get off the ground first.

Gliding and flapping while airborne are the easier parts for a mountain Fae. It’s launching and landing that takes stamina.

Juniper’s face tightens like it does whenever she’s struggling to rationalize a way out. But for all her foresight and knowledge, she hadn’t considered both Faeries lacking the vigor to hold themselves up. At least, not at the same time.

I’m shaking my head before Cerulean has a chance to piss me off further. “You immortal prick.”

Cerulean sighs. “I’ll survive.”

“Bloody true because you’re going. I’m staying.”

“Puck,” Juniper hazards.

I twist to her stricken features. “He’s my brother. What would you do?”

She wavers, thinking of her sisters. She’s about to answer when Cerulean’s whisper reaches us. “Puck,” he murmurs. “You’re a father.”

The words float across the cage and seep into my gut. My gaze fastens to Juniper, her irises flooded by so much green, so much life brimming there.