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Fine. “Puck is rather…enthusiastic. We’re quite animated together and…,” discreetly, I scratch with the side of my neck, “…energetic.” I peek at my engrossed sister and feel a mortified grin sneak across my face. “Truly, I had no idea there was such variance to the act. And such vitality.” Getting ahold of myself, I square my shoulders. “I like sex. I like it very much…with him.”

Lark beams, a big, fatHell Yeahalighting her features—right before she tackles me. We roll over the grass, wrestling and tickling and chortling, her dress tangling with my skirt. For a moment, this is all that exists, all I need.

Flopping over and gasping with mirth, we lie on our sides and face one another.

“Let me look at you.” Lark bunches our hands between us. “I missed you like hell.”

“I missed you, too,” I say. “So much.”

Then she gets serious and asks something Papa Thorne isn’t here to ask. “Does he treat you right?”

“He does now.” And my face crumples. “He does.”

At the sight of my tears, Lark appears stricken. “Oh, hun.” Then she does something Cove isn’t here to do. She gathers me close, wringing her arms around me while my shoulders shake.

I inhale rainfall and crisp air. When I’ve wept myself dry, we whisper as if we’re still in our wagon, lanterns illuminating our shadows.

Lark tells me about her journey with Cerulean. She tells me about his wildlife park and their history together. She tells me about their bond, invoked through a single kiss when they were children—the purest of kisses.

I wince, reassessing my embraces with Puck. Why hadn’t that worked for us?

Lark reads my expression and tucks a lock of green behind my ear. “Hell, the Fables don’t cover everything. Papa Thorne would say just because it was the purest kiss, that doesn’t make it the most meaningful. The lip-locks I’ve had with Cerulean since? Those are raw, with all the crazy complications, all the good and bad between us. I like to think those matter more.” She thumbs my tears. “You hear me?”

My chin steadies. “I hear you.”

We sit upright and huddle together, our arms entwined as we watch the eddies flow. Late afternoon paints the woodland in teal and amber. A distant elk call rumbles across the landscape.

“And now?” Lark ponders.

“Now we get Cove back,” I say.

“Can’t breach her game without knowing its rules.”

“We won’t have to. She’s going to win.” For once, I hear what others hear: the smokiness in my voice, crackling like a pyre. “But just in case she doesn’t, we’ll hunt down those rules and get her back anyway.”

Also, I have an idea. Thank Fables Cypress had returned my supply pack. Extracting my notebook and pencil, I compose a message, one that our older sister will recognize, one she’ll understand.

Lark catches on and plants a hearty, wet kiss on my cheek. “I knew you were smart for a reason.”

After signing our names, Lark folds the paper into the shape of a boat. We set the missive into the creek and let it go, watching the vessel sail down the conduit and vanish around a bend.

All waterways converge in The Deep. If Cove’s alive, the boat will find its way to her.

When Lark’s ready to leave, all she needs to do is get to her feet. Cerulean appears like a shadow, his wings splayed as if he’d taken to the sky and been scanning the area from above.

I want to travel with them to mountain, but I’ve yet to see Sylvan. At first, Lark refuses to let me walk alone to Cypress, who has staked his vigil some thirty paces away. It takes three rounds of bickering before I persuade her and Cerulean that I’ll be fine walking the minuscule distance.

What I don’t say is that I need a moment to myself.

At last, the pair gives up. At Cerulean’s signal, the raptors dive off the branch and coast into the firmament. I had expected one of them to convey Lark, but Cerulean sweeps my laughing sister off her feet. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he pitches into the sky. Lark waves, the wind lashing behind them, their departure scattering needle leaves and hurling candlelight across the clearing.

For a while, I sit by the creek and reflect on my conversations with Cypress and my sister. Specifically, our discussions about Puck.

What do I want? What’s the wise choice? What do I feel?

It’s unfair to keep the centaur waiting too long. I slip on my socks and boots, then haul myself up. Several steps into the dense firs, something winks in my periphery. It hails from a different part of the estuary that winds from The Gang of Elks to other regions of this forest.

I consider flagging down Cypress, but the shimmer of light draws my attention to its source beyond the coppice. The illumination glitters into a single bead, reminiscent of a pearl…or a waterdrop.