To emphasize his point, the wind teases the hem of my dress. Son of a bitch. Heat scorches my cheeks.
“Very well,” he says with a noncommittal shrug. “Do you remember our bargain when you arrived? I’ve yet to redeem my free rule. Allow me to do so now. You may attempt to reach the top, however you’ll need to outrun me.”
Heartbreak, betrayal, and fury squat atop my ribs. I’d assumed as much, but still. He’s cashing in on his rule from the throne summit, using it to take me down. But it doesn’t make sense after what happened between us, after realizing we’re bonded, after recognizing each other from nine years ago. I won’t believe it!
“This isn’t you,” I whisper, lowering my voice so only he can hear. “I know it’s not you.”
Cerulean inches nearer, his eyes flickering with an unsteady light as he whispers back, “Let’s find out, shall we?”
He swings his arm toward The Lost Bridges.
I force myself to shake off the grief. I can’t afford to shatter at his feet.
My eyes dart across the tangle of bridges punching in and out of the mist, the elevation a threat to my equilibrium. I’ll have to fumble through this delirium, learning as I go.
A lone bridge stretches from the bluff’s rim, marking the entrance. The setting moon sprinkles The Wild Peak with twilit foils of white and blue.
Time shrinks to a pinprick. There’s nothing for it.
I remember being little, telling Cerulean togo.
I remember being older, Cerulean telling me togo.
Breaking into a run, I hotfoot across the first overpass. Planks croak underneath my pounding boots, spitting dust from between the cracks. Jeers scrape the air. The Fae’s catcalls lacerate the environment, attempting to throw me off balance.
The supports jostle from the impact of my run, the rails grunting. Several hundred feet of nothing extends beneath me, and the valley’s mashed treetops peek through the pool of smog. The altitude whisks up harsh currents of air, and a gale whooshes through me, splitting my hair into filaments. I should’ve knotted the damn mane before starting, the better to keep everything in sight and my wits about me.
The extension plunges into a swirl of fog, obscuring the other side. I don’t know where I’m going or if it’s the right way, but I accelerate my pace, plow into the vapors—and rush headlong into Cerulean.
I skid to a halt. My body teeters abreast of him, my skull inches from smacking into his. The haze ruffles his hair and the lapels of his wrinkled coat. “A mutinous maze for a mutinous mortal,” he murmurs.
That whisper undulates through the miasma, curling its digit under my chin. I recoil before it can make a dent in my concentration.
Instead of a cliffside landing, I’ve emerged on a completely different bridge. My head whips from side to side, processing the change of atmosphere. Similar intricate wood slabs march along this rampart, except significant gaps cut between them, and a track of ropes reinforces the whole thing.
Each end must lead to a new beginning. Problem is, I’m farther from the peak instead of closer, having landed on a scaffold beneath where I’d started.
I glance at Cerulean. Of course, I’d be racing this final stretch against him, that his last job would be to muddle and distract me. But hasn’t he done that enough?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I grate, my traitorous voice cracking.
Hearing that breach pinches his features with sadness. Hidden from our audience, the veneer drops like a curtain. “Oh, but I did.”
Yeah, he did. At the tower, he said it without saying it, cautioned me about this last leg. I study his face, the loss and longing cleaving through everything fake, every carefully placed emotion, every clever facade.
Cerulean always did look good in a mask.
A thousand stones crumble from my shoulders. He’s trying to help me, not stop me. He recouped that bargain from the summit not to sabotage me but to guard me on these bridges.
Although I’ve gotta win on my own, the closer I get to the peak, the more wrathful his kin will become, and the more likely they’ll intervene. Cerulean’s here to put on a show, to stick closely to me rather than stand by, in case I’m in danger.
That’s also why his voice traveled across the range earlier. He’s performing for the Fae, playing to their expectations.
At the tower, he could have spelled out what was going to happen today. Yet if he had, I wouldn’t have looked as flabbergasted to our audience. I role-played fine at the masquerade, but winning hadn’t been at stake that night.
Acting for these Fae during the climax of this game? While they’re sober and keener? Dicey at best.
I had to be surprised. It had to look real.
