Page 10 of Curse the Fae

The Solitary Deep is a condensed yet sprawling vignette. The river proper runs through the colony, then splits like veins into outlying caverns and water tunnels. Splashes resound from below, where of long, bottlelike forms hurtle under the surface. I try to make out what sort of fish they are, but they flit by too quickly.

The river glistens the same aquamarine as that shark pool, as though a bucket of paint had spilled and dyed the abyss. Above, teal orbs glow from the ceiling. The river’s hue, the rocky domes, and the lanterns hanging from boat prows and lining the walkways converge to set this place alight.

We charge from one lane to the next. With the colony ebbing behind us, the Fae continues to sketch the air with his fingers and tromps across a stone jetty that slopes downward. A guard stands sentinel at the walkway’s end—a female armed with a harpoon-shaped lance. She nods sinuously to her leader, not anticipating or needing a response. That’s all I have time to notice about her.

Bushels of giant reeds flank an archway behind the guard, then spread and curve on either side like a fence, shrouding whatever lurks beyond. The threshold leads to a massive cave filled with a lake and a grassy isle propped in the center. Stepping-stones rise out of nowhere, enabling us to cross. As we do, the stones sink one by one, as though they were never there.

A rotund dwelling hewn from scabrous rock stands upon the miniature island. Plants resembling wild celery burgeon atop the roof and crawl down the circular foundation.

With a flat palm, my captor punches the front door open and hauls me into the chamber. But instead of locking me in and throwing away the key, he stalks through the entrance. Then he twists, closes the door, and seals us both inside.

4

The door shudders in its frame. Although I don’t see a bolt or any other locking mechanism, the partition makes enough of an impact, the great clap of noise resounding in my ears.

My eyes are granted precious seconds to stray. More wild celery-like plants lace the rounded walls, stems germinating from the ceiling and dangling like corded curtains. Several windows cleave through the dwelling, offering a view of the surrounding lake, while small lanterns glow on the sills. A woven rug of seagrass rings around the floor and encompasses a central crater of water, large enough for a person to sink into. The well gargles, as if choking, and tosses erratic strands of light across the chamber.

Although I glimpse a bed, the remaining details escape me due to the masculine figure taking up considerable space. The instant the door stops quavering, the Fae’s shoulders flex like the planks of a ship. Then he whips around and stalks toward me.

His robe scrapes the floor, and his hood thrashes around his head, the garment dimming the margins of his face. The split panels reveal his burnished torso and those leggings adhering to his limbs. The closer he gets, the more savage my heart behaves. It slams into my chest like a caged thing, the only part of me that’s alive and moving. The rest of me tenses.

He moves like a serpent—one moment bracing, the next striking. There’s nothing hesitant about him.

Yet how does he know where I’m standing?

He stops shy of my breasts. That intimidating face slants down, and two rings of gold quest my features, the irises hot enough to cremate someone.

When his attention dips lower, my flesh burns with mortification. I’d been too distracted by the canals, too frazzled by the Faeries, and too repulsed by his fingers around my wrist that I’d forgotten my state of undress. I’d been lugged through the masses while publicly exposed and drenched to the bones, with every swell and curve of my body visible.

But now, with him in this room, it’s a hundred times more distressing. I don’t have to peek to know my nipples are poking through the dress’s fabric, or that my undergarments are discernible down to the ruffled trim, or that the juncture of my thighs is likewise indecently evident. Coupled with my wet hair and unshod toes, I’m an explicit sight.

He shouldn’t be able to tell, shouldn’t be able to imagine. Yet those eyes kindle with awareness.

I swallow, and his pointed ears tick in the barest of movements. Then he steps forward once more, eviscerating what little distance had remained between us. The prow of his chest bumps into mine, my wet garments rub against his dry ones, and the tips of my breasts toughen.

He must feel them.

I edge backward, and he advances, inch for inch. His slitted features search for mine, his expression hardly amorous or enticed. He’s maneuvering me into a corner, but this isn’t about touching me or violating my virtue. Too much scorn brims in his pupils for anything else to fit.

How can one’s demeanor be both deliberate and mysterious?

I sense myself getting closer to a wall, which can’t happen. Before my sisters and I were separated, Juniper had whispered the moral of a Fable to me.

To be still doesn’t mean to submit. Therefore, stand your ground amongst them.

I spasm in place. I’m not his property, no matter what he thinks. If I behave otherwise, he’ll pounce all the quicker, because that’s what Faeries do, Fables forgive them.

He stalls with a displeased gleam. So that’s it: He likes to dominate.

We stand a hair’s breadth apart while the bubbling basin fills the room with wet noises.

The Fae’s voice shreds the air, his intonation low and accented. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” I blurt out.

“Tell me how you did it.”

“Tell you how I didwhat?”

---