Mutinous Lark, your task is painfully simple. Don’t look down. Watch your step. Fear the wind. Follow the wind. Lose your path. Find your way.
Welcome to The Solitary Mountain.
A set of rules follows those cryptic tidings.
Rule one: Each sister will enter one of the Solitary landscapes.
Rule two: My sisters and I can’t reveal our games to each other.
Rule three: All of us win—or none of us win.
“Fables curse them,” I seethe.
My sisters raise their heads, and we trade horrified glances. I can’t tell from Juniper’s crinkled brow what’s in store for her. Nor can I tell a thing from Cove’s flushed complexion.
Something perilous? Something brutal? Something lewd?
I can handle the latter, but I have a feeling Cerulean doesn’t work that way. He’s too much of an elegant trickster to invest in a kinkfest.
If I’m for the mountain, I reckon Juniper’s for the forest, and Cove’s for the water tunnel. I listen to my sisters’ rapid intakes. Most things, we can read on the other’s faces. This time, we can’t.
“All right,” Juniper says folding the note. “All right. So…so, um, remember not to provoke them. And…” In a daze, she counts off her fingers. “And don’t show fear but also don’t be docile. And don’t accept a bargain unless your throat’s about to be slit. And if you bargain, don’t give away anything precious. Give them a useless token. One of the baubles we packed.”
“Okay,” I said, although I know all that.
“And beware of manipulations. And interpret every declaration frontwards and backwards.”
“Okay.”
“And Cove, don’t get theatrical, and never lie to them—you’re awful at both. And Lark, be polite, and watch your saucy mouth, and control your temper, and don’t bother flirting because it won’t sway them, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and just, don’t be you.”
I manage to smirk sadly. “Okay.”
“And—”
I step forward and grab her cheeks. “Okay, Juniper.”
She sags. “All right.”
Cove pulls us to her, and we melt into each other once more. I smell the practical scent of eucalyptus wafting from Juniper’s shirt and the comforting aura of jasmine from Cove’s intricately loose bun.
My sweet sister bends her teal head and utters to Juniper, “Do not let him see your tattoo.”
Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. The ruler of woodland can’t know about Juniper’s poacher marking, not when the Fae prize their fauna.
Juniper freezes, then nods. I wager she’s already considered that.
The wild lives and breathes around us, though it doesn’t interrupt the hug. Not that we’d let it, because it’s the last one we might share.
Our nails dig into one another, and we murmur private words, and we remember. Then we let go, spread out onto three paths, and step forward.
7
The moment I take that step, my sisters disappear. The woodland and water routes evaporate, trapping Juniper and Cove in their own stories. The world narrows to the sloping hill, the stone stairs crawling up brackets of rock.
It’s just me and The Solitary Mountain.
Me. Without them.
