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“Oh trust me, I’m aware of that.” Cerulean spears an elegant hand through his hair. “But we might not have a chance without him, which means we’ll have to be careful where he’s concerned. Very, very, careful. Puck made a shrewd point: Elixir sees what none of us can see.”

“Is he a seer?” I inquire.

“Quite the reverse, actually.”

Done with riddles, Lark flings up her hands. “Oh, I give the fuck up.”

Cerulean cradles her tighter. “I’d be clearer, but I’m not allowed. None may divulge Elixir’s capabilities or limitations. One may only witness them for oneself. It’s a rule he lives by, so to speak.”

The magical members of the circle accept this, whereas Lark and I fester. Our conversation dissolves. The Faeries take note of the yearning look between me and my sister, and they excuse themselves.

Before disbanding, Cypress says, “For the eternal wild.”

We echo that sentiment to one another. The ancient saying has existed since before our time, an oath of loyalty and camaraderie, a well-wish between allies.

Tinder retires, but not before tossing Moth a sneer, which she mirrors.

With a scoff, the wee Fae pops into the air. She clips her head at me in acknowledgment, then addresses Lark and Cerulean. “I have animals to feed. See you at the tower.”

Because it’s unsafe to leave us completely alone, Cerulean and Cypress elect to stick close. They depart to a location amidst the firs where they can stand post, out of eyeshot and hearing range yet near enough to patrol the area.

Cerulean gives me a half-bow. “Lovely to meet my mate’s precious family.”

“Charmed,” I say, somewhat willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He kisses Lark’s temple. “Until later, my mutinous love.”

She fists his collar and purrs, “Rule or not, I’m going to give you so much shit tonight for your secrecy.”

“I look forward to it,” he flirts, then joins the centaur.

Only the horned owl and nightingale remain perched in a tree, keeping surveillance from a candlelit branch. Although the latter hasn’t revealed its name to anyone, Cerulean had introduced the former as his father, Tímien. This explains how the owl’s lone, aquamarine eye had reflected patience and devotion for the couple, particularly for his son.

At last, Lark and I are alone. I twist back to my sister, about to throttle her with questions when I stumble across that naughty sibling grin.

Fables almighty. Here it comes.

“Hot damn,” Lark exclaims, biting her tongue with glee. “You’ve been Pucked.”

In the past twenty-four hours, this isn’t the first time I’ve heard that term. I swear, Lark and the satyr might as well have been born in the same rowdy tavern.

I snatch a pebble and chuck it at her, the stone bouncing off her hip. “You couldn’t resist, could you?” In spite of myself, I huff. “And yes, I might have been. In a manner of speaking.”

To which Lark squeals, the giddy noise splintering through the fir trees. She scrambles to my side and clasps my hand, explicit thoughts hopping across her face. “Tell me everything,” she demands. “How is he in bed? Is he a good lover? What’s hisdicklike?”

“Lark!” I grouse, smacking her arm. “You would never answer that if I inquired about your—” I gesture to the spot where Cerulean had exited, “—your mate.”

“You’d never grill me about Cerulean that way. And no, I wouldn’t tell because while he’s candid about many things, my bloke is private about us. But Puck of the Filthy Mouth doesn’t strike me as someone who’d mind if you blabbed to your dear ol’ sister about the size and skills of his pecker.”

“You’re shameless.”

Lark nods with gusto. “You bet I am. Not sorry about it, but I hated the arrogant fucker when I met ’im. I reckon he told you about that?”

“He gave me a summary.”

“But if Puck’s achieved the impossible and wooed you, I’m willing to give ’im another once-over. Not that it’ll be hard. Nobody trumps Cerulean, but I’ve got two eyes: You’ve nabbed yourself one hunky satyr. And because I love you, it’s my duty to make sure you’re a well-satisfied woman.”

We might as well be tucked back in our wagon, sharing secrets, squabbling, and laughing. Although a million things have changed, this hasn’t.