And the Lark said, “We may fly separately, but let our direction be the same.”
My head snaps toward him. “I won, but I was never a sacrifice.”
Scoffs resound from the Faeries. “Liar,” the phoenix squawks.
“No, she’s not,” Moth mutters while squinting. From the looks of it, she’s finally getting the right ideas about why Cerulean’s flute never worked on me.
“No sacrifice,” a female blusters, her bobcat muzzle crinkling. “And what makes you presume that?”
“Because we’re bonded,” Cerulean supplies with a weak smirk.
The Fae gape, speechless. Beside Tímien, Moth’s jaw unhinges, probably because she hadn’t dared believe her intuition.
That’s why I’m not essential. My humanity aside, bonding with Cerulean renders me neutral in this land, straddling the line between mortals and immortals. As a result, my win won’t weaken the mountain or prevent the restoration of another animal.
All this time, I wasn’t a key player. Not in the way any of us thought.
That’s not all. I swap glances with Cerulean, who nods back with a sly grin of comprehension while the baffled Fae gawk between us.
“Even if I were a sacrifice, you don’t rule over me,” I tell him.
Pride animates Cerulean’s face. His chest lifts and recedes, inhaling and exhaling that statement for all it’s worth.
I direct the rest of my thoughts to the crowd. “And you can’t overrule ’im since you’re not his subjects, because he’s not in charge.”
Cerulean addresses them. “Because I don’t rule the sky.”
I follow his gaze toward the fauna. “They do.”
32
The magnitude of those words wipes noise from the range, creating a lull amongst the Solitaries. It’s a resounding hush, which the slightest draft fails to disturb.
Cerulean and I trade looks of fatigue and hope. Though there’s another magnetic, unspoken emotion mingling there, too.
His kin balk, struggling to process that we’re standing on the true summit; that I’m the one who got us here; that I’m Cerulean’s mate and, therefore, not a viable medium in the game; that I’m not crucial to restoring the fallen fauna and preserving their land; that he doesn’t rule me or them at all; that the animals surrounding us are the real monarchs, the true masters of The Solitary Mountain.
Nothing is as it seems in Faerie. And right now? I reckon from Cerulean’s expression how that fact’s never been truer.
A flurry of reactions brew through the peak, including denial, bafflement, disappointment, embarrassment, gratitude, and shame. Feet shuffle, heads duck, and complexions flush with astonishment or doubt.
There’s this and more. Finally, it ends with acceptance. The air whistles, the melody easing shoulders and relaxing jaws.
The Fae may not like a human bringing them to this conclusion, much less to this precipice, but they sure do pay tribute to the animals. Despite the worship and rituals, they’ve honored their fauna without realizing the extent of their roles. The Folk humble themselves, bowing their heads to the hovering avians and mammals mounted on the peak. Cerulean and I follow suit, sinking to our knees.
The cougar releases the phoenix with a warning grunt. The antelope, mountain goat, and ram stand proud. The birds and raptors float overhead, their wings catching the breeze.
Tímien cuts a regal figure, the draft rustling his tiered mantle of plumes. The avian regards the genuflection through that single aquamarine eye, his mien inscrutable, no different from when he presides over The Fauna Tower and The Parliament of Owls. Yet his gaze tracks over each face, acknowledging us directly, one by one.
The owl’s inspection ends with me and Cerulean. He contemplates us, then soars into the air and crimps into his smaller form. Circling us once, the bird lands on my shoulder.
I startle, a lump bulging in my throat. Earning his favor is a blessing that fuels my blood.
The endorsement draws the Fae’s attention. They rise and dissect the sight of me with their former ruler, who threads his tremulous fingers in mine.
A knowing grin swerves across Moth’s visage. “This human risked herself for Cerulean,” she announces.
It takes Cerulean a while to speak through his wounds, but he explains how I dropped from the bridge to spare him, listing the chain of events that led to this peak. “She once asked me who is the braver force—humans or Fae?” He tips his head at me. “I think it’s become one of my favorite questions.”
