Page 103 of Curse the Fae

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“Tidings have come from the mountain,” Elixir tells me the moment he enters my chamber. “Your sister has won.”

My heart bursts, and my hand shoots to my mouth. Lark is alive. She survived and won.

Elixir is sober, yet his eyes kindle at the choked sound of my joy. This is tragic news for his kin, and he doesn’t know Lark, but he knows and cares about me. He nods, and I do the same, because we each need a moment alone.

When he’s gone, I buckle and sob with relief.

***

Days ripple into weeks.

Elixir hands me a pair of his leggings for momentary safekeeping, then tells me to mount his back and strap my arms around him. “Hold your breath,” he instructs, aware of how long I can manage this.

I do as he bids, and he plows underwater, surging through the billows at an unearthly speed. His muscles revolve, and his tail strokes beneath me. We plow through the secret tunnel, along the route that had led me to The Twisted Canals for Middle Moon, across the river proper, and into another passage where the shore merges with dry ground.

From there, Elixir changes into the leggings and guides me to The Drift of Swans, where graceful birds glide in a vast hall encapsulating a lake. The swans rustle their plumage, each feather capped in metallic jade.

One of them shifts, growing as big as a skiff. Elixir runs his fingers down the creature’s neck and introduces it as the first river animal that was restored in place of a human sacrifice. He says this without victory or resentment, only as a fact and part of history.

The swan is captivating and regal. I wince, remorseful that a human had to perish for this creature, though the rescuer in me won’t spurn the animal’s existence. I need to look upon this reality, need to face it, to see both sides.

Afterward, we sit facing the lake, and I describe the things my sisters and I have done for animals, plus the things mortals have done to honor them. I list the ways in which my neighbors have contributed to the land, fitting so much life into so few years, and describe how we leave our mark in every stream nurtured and every seed planted. That’s magic, too.

Elixir listens, absorbing my words. He doesn’t speak, but I don’t need him to say anything.

I know he hears me. I know he sees what others in his world can’t see.

***

In The Pit of Vipers, Elixir shows me his refuge in a way he hasn’t before, giving me a tour of the bottles and jars. A tea to distort one’s vision, so that while bedding a lover, the drinker will envision whatever face they fantasize about, lest they don’t care for their partner. An infusion that will supply one’s teeth with venom, enough to last one bite against an enemy.

Elixir is mindful not to hand these mixtures over to just anyone. Ruler or not, outside of remedies, his price for dark magic or wanton pastimes is steep. Ingredients that are perilous to find. Favors that last a hundred years. His blends don’t come cheaply.

I recognize the vial of white grains Puck had selected while I’d spied on The Three. Plucking the container from the table, I quip, “And salt for garnish?”

But I remember Elixir saying it’s not salt. And Elixir doesn’t compress his lips as he usually does to hide a grin. Instead, he grimaces and takes the vial from my hand, balancing it precariously between his fingercaps. “It is the hydrated essence of sea air—a dragon of The Southern Seas owed me a favor. Pour this into any pool, however vast, and it shall salt the water. It is highly effective and helpful if an ocean dweller needs it.”

His expression doesn’t look like he finds the ingredient helpful. He regards it like melted iron, capable of blistering him to the bone. Carefully, Elixir sets the vial on the shelf, far away from the others.

The next time I’m there, I visit with the snakes and then find Elixir hunched beside his brewing vat. From the depression rises a tangy scent. “What is that?”

He doesn’t look up but swishes a capped finger through the milky fluid. “I thought it would regulate the currents and cure them from withering, but…” He hisses and slaps the water. “It is not fucking working!”

Up until an hour ago, while I’d kept the vipers company, Elixir had seemed eager. I think he’d had this mixture planned, hoping it would work, so he could present it to me.

I swallow and comb through his scalp. “Elixir? Are you sleeping as much as I am?”

“I do not need sleep.”

“But it’s nice.” When a mirthful scoff escapes my dark Fae, I hunker behind him, hug his waist, and set my cheek on his spine. “Sleep in my chamber with me.”

28

Although we’ve kept our bond a secret, thanks to The Sunken Isle’s tunnel—which I’ve learned connects to every other territory in The Deep—it’s best for us to arrive separately. I take the boat, and when I reach the bank, Elixir manifests there, his hand already extended.

I smile. For someone so menacing, he can be the most attentive villain.

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