Page 102 of Curse the Fae

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I listen to him play the harp in The Fountain of Tears, and I think of our families, and how none of this is fair, and how both sides are good and bad.

***

He brings me a stack of parchment and a quill, so I don’t have to scratch the map on the ground beneath my bed. Along with those, he offers a copy of the Book of Fables to assist with our crusade. He also presents me with another beautiful swimming suit made of interwoven water petals and additional salve for the stingray wound, although he’d already taken care of the injury immediately after the race. Lastly, Elixir presents me with a sachet.

With an awkward thrust of his arms, the water lord extends the bulk of items and clears his throat. “I, er, thought you would like these.”

Inside the sachet are round confections shimmering like limestones. “These are for me?”

Elixir grunts, about to take them back. “Fuck. Never mind. I wanted to give you…something. It was a foolish idea.”

I pull back, cradling the parcel. “Wait. Aren’t you going to let me try one first?”

He stalls and waits, scratching the back of his neck and looking agonized. My teeth flash at his discomfort, my smile wider than a clam’s. The confections melt on my tongue, leaving a cool, refreshing residue behind that oozes to my toes. “They’re delicious.”

Elixir lifts his head in my direction, his shoulders rising with confidence. The reaction hits a tender spot in my chest. He doesn’t know how to provide things without a bargain or favor involved. Living down here all his life, I wonder if this Fae knows the difference between a present and a deal, or what constitutes as a gift.

I lean in and peck his cheek. “I love them.”

His pupils flare, and he inclines his head. Then he grabs me and licks the flavor from my mouth while I chuckle.

After that, Elixir brings me wedges of something pink, green, and seeded called a melon, preserved from The Southern Seas. After that, a soothing concoction of crushed ice, sweetened with a citrus flavor. Each treat is a balm to the humidity, replacing it with a chilled sensation that makes me sigh in comfort.

***

Elixir stays awake when I’m dreaming, going about his hours like the rest of his kin. He tells me about it when we’re together, about conserving the environment, checking on and tending to the fauna in each territory, and holding court atop a bridge in The Twisted Canals.

Ah. So that’s where he reigns supreme.

Elixir talks about leading his subjects, setting an example of power and resilience to assure them they’ll survive the thirteenth year. There had been the stalemate between Elixir and me during the Middle Moon Sail, in which the congregation glowered my way when their ruler and I faced them afterward. Compiled with me reclaiming my spear and then felling the crocodiles with Elixir, I’d already been pushing my luck. As a result, the Fae are hissing more and more about the need for sacrifice, how humans don’t deserve to live amongst nature, how the people of Reverie Hollow are fated to pay for what they did to the Folk, and that I won’t last, no matter how fortunate I’ve been.

To that end, they look to their ruler, expecting him to stoke that flame as he always has.

“I want to drown them when they speak of you this way,” Elixir confides to me through bared teeth. “I want to peel the scales from their flesh. I want to poison them.”

“But that’s not all,” I murmur as we lie tangled and naked together. “You can be better than that.”

Wrath isn’t all he feels. I see the remorse for his treachery taking its toll, the conflicted expressions across his countenance. What he truly wants, and what we need, is an antidote to the Folk’s way of thinking.

Elixir no longer snarls in agreement to his kin, nor stokes their ire with handfuls of potent, tyrannical words. He senses they’re trying to convince themselves, trying to reassure themselves after the crocodile battle and my triumph at the Middle Moon Sail.

I agree, counseling him that withholding is more powerful than striking, because it plants doubt in their minds. Elixir is good at that. When this Fae isn’t growling, he’s attacking with deadly silence.

It’s difficult not to lash out, but I advise him to go slowly. During those canal gatherings, he towers from the bridge, clenches his fists, and redirects the Faes’ attention to saving the land. He raises questions about history, the river’s geography, and the water levels. He nudges his audience with the possibility of an alternate means to survival—merely as a precaution. It’s prudent to have a safety net, isn’t it?

Coming from him, the suggestion is unexpected. Yet the Faeries don’t question the need for a preventative measure because it makes sense. Anything to preserve The Solitary wild, even if it doesn’t involve mortal sacrifice.

At my insistence, he cites me as another reason for this effort. No human has ever paced themselves this long to break the curse. No mortal has ever felled a predator of this land. No mortal has ever sailed at Middle Moon, nor raced, nor tied with their opponent.

After holding court with the Solitaries, Elixir retires to his den where he shatters every empty bottle and unused jar he can find. I see the evidence of his self-destruction bleeding across his knuckles, which he doesn’t bother to heal. No, I do the honors by dabbing cloth on his injuries while his eyes close in pain, though not by the glass cuts.

When I first found him playing the harp, and I’d asked why he didn’t stop me from exploring, Elixir had said the more I act, the more he knows about me. Back then, it was a tactic. Now it’s much more than strategy.

My family says I’m unapologetically, radically, defiantly hopeful. With affection, they tease me for being determined to see the best in people. While that hasn’t always been true with Elixir, maybe it can be now, if we keep letting each other in.

I refuse to believe that people can’t change, including enemies and villains. If I prescribe to that grim notion, what promise is there for a better world?

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