Cerulean frowns, stumped by something, though his reaction can’t be for the same reason as mine. We’ve never met before.
My whip distracts him, a single eyebrow soaring into his mussed hair as he surveys the weapon. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
I threaten, “When this is over, that’s what I’ll be saying to you.”
“And I do admire a mortal who prides herself on having the last laugh.”
He slides a finger over my whip. A shiver tracks up my spine, and I jerk the cord from his touch. “Where did you send my sisters? Where did you summon ’em?”
“I didn’t,” he replies noncommittally. “My brothers did.”
Wait. The rulers of the Solitary Forest and the Deep are his… “Brothers?”
“Not by blood. They’re my brethren by history and loyalty.”
“That exists here? Loyalty?”
The nonchalance drops from his face like a stone. “Whatever amusement my brothers require of your siblings is out of my command. I do not rule the woodland or the river. I rule, ride, and roam the sky.”
I sketch his figure. “Don’t see any wings on you.”
“I never said that I have any, pet.”
“Lark,” I snap. “My name is Lark, you fu—”
“Careful,” he whispers, his words dipping low. “Very careful now.”
That look says I’m treading on a thin breeze. And why has it taken me this long to notice his own weapon? A lance tipped with a helix blade stabs through a harness at his hip…or not a lance, nor a spear.
It’s a javelin, embellished to pierce its enemies. In fact, it’s the same one cleaving through the mountain symbol embedded into the floor. Except his weapon is shorter, the length of a sword, which I’m betting isn’t always the case.
The javelin rides low on his hips as he saunters around me. “Would you care to know the true beauty of fear? How terribly stunning it can be?”
My eyes jump from the weapon to him. “Actually, I want to know how you can use sparkly words likebeautyandfearin the same breath.”
He stalks in front of me, the wind trailing his movements. “Hmm. I’ll grant you conceal your dismay impressively well. Your pluck will make it all the more rewarding to break you.”
“It takes a lot to break me.”
An imperious laugh vaults off Cerulean’s tongue. “You’re a human,” he says, as if that explains everything.
“You bet, I am,” I say. “I’ve got frail bones, not to mention poor table manners. I’m not magically gifted, and I’ll die someday. Your kind think you’re so high and mighty. You think you’re the better species because you live forever, because you have strength and power you didn’t earn. Well, what you call powerful, I call lazy.
“Seems to me you’ve got the easy way out with glamour and spells and immortality. Maybe because you can’t handle less, like we can. Humans have shorter lifespans, with fewer reserves at our fingertips, and we toil for our lot, knowing it can be swiped away from one second to the next—our health, our homes, our skills, our faith, our dreams, our kin. We live amongst demons like you, yet we’re still standing, we’re still living, and we’re doing it fully. Sure, you might be the flashier ones. But are you the braver ones?”
Cerulean twitches in surprise. Then he glowers. “I suppose by your estimation, Faeries do not suffer loss. I suppose by that same estimation, humans are innocent, wholesome, and rarely take their existence for granted.”
“More innocent than you.” I get in his face and hiss, “Take stock of your privilege, Fae.”
“Take stock of your liberties, human,” he murmurs. “I can entice you to do my bidding with relish. I can force you to enjoy the game while it slays you apart. Say the word. That illusion you witnessed earlier is but a trifle scare, for there are other bewitching sensations that stem from enchantment. You’ve never known such pleasure as glamour. It’s akin to being fucked slowly, sensually, sweetly from behind.”
“In other words, you’ll compel me like you tried to do with that flute? Because that didn’t work out the last two times,” I challenge.
Shadows sink into the crevices of his face. Apparently, I’ve hit another nerve.
How many does he have left?
My body tingles. The urge to find out is raw and primitive. It’s a contest I’m salivating to win, because if he wanted a meek target, he chose the wrong girl.
