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He dropped down on a branch, chittered to his friends, then took to the skies—leading his colony away.
I gasped at the sight—eyes wider than they’d ever been. “What is this place?”
A soft, scratching sound tickled my ear, wiping my smile away. Was it the Taken? Another impossible creature? Or him?
I paused—scanning the limits of my starflower-light. I grew up in the city. A city surrounded by forest, yes, but a forest Mama forbade me to step foot in alone.
The forests of Elva were tricky, living, magical,mischievous.They liked to obscure paths, confuse travelers, and mimic the voices of desperate, calling loved ones. Many a young fae entered the forest and never returned.
But not this place.
I could feel it. Sense it within the well of magic inside my soul that was forever out of my reach. There was no magic or mischief in this forest. It was dead.
Which meant that noise was not a trick to scare me. Something or someone made it, and I needed to move.
I hurried on—bursting into a near run. The flowers lit my way, illuminating tufts of fur and flashes of feathers as critters fled from the strange, charging giant clomping through the woods. Something appeared ahead of me and I pulled up short, skidding to the edge of the cliff.
Heart in my throat, I peered down.No, not a cliff.
It was another sharply inclined path like that one that carried our carriage down into Lumenfell, but this one led to—
I frowned. “What is that?”
I held the flowers higher, squinting to see. About eighty feet below, something—many somethings?—shifted in the dark. A soft, humming noise lifted up on the backs of the howling wind, and furrowed my brow. It almost sounded like... snoring.
Shuffling sounded behind me, turning me in time to see another tuft of fur flit into the dark.
I smiled. “Come now, little one. There’s no need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
Screeching, I clapped my hand over my mouth—dropping the flowers. They fell at the feet—two proper, non-rabbit feet—of the man who stepped out of the shadows.
“Although, calling melittle oneis quite insulting. I was far from the runt of my litter.”
I choked, eyes flinging up and off his bare and bold nudity. There wasn’t a stitch of cloth on his bronze skin, and the flowers were only too eager to prove it. I landed on his face, and started.
“Foalan?”
As soon as the name left my lips, I knew I was wrong. This man had undoubtedly stolen Foalan’s cherry-kissed lips, sculpted jaw, and glass-cutter’s cheekbones, but he left the commander his beard.
This faeriken didn’t have facial hair. His fur was also snow white—much like the rabbit I had mistaken him for.
“Not Foalan.” I stepped back and his eyes tracked me, moving in time like a dance partner. “Who are you? Why are you naked?”
“Who are you?” he mocked, cocking his head. “Why are you naked?”
I flushed, clapping my hands over my body. “Fair enough. I am—” I fought the futile struggle to say my name. “My name is Ana. You must be Foalan’s brother.”
“I don’t know that I must be his anything.” He sniffed the air, coming closer. I couldn’t say why the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “I am Meallan. Why are you in my woods, Ana?”
“I’m running from someone.”
Inexplicably, he smiled. “We’re all running from someone. Be more specific.”
“This someone is the king of Wind and Wild.”
If anything, his grin widened. “Ahh. You must be his fresh, young mate.”
