Page 110 of Curse the Fae

Also, there’s this:Henceforth, no other magic drew them together, nor apart. For once magic has touched two beings, no other enchantments may prevail.

That means once a curse links two souls, that’s the only magical bond they’ll ever share. We won’t have the chance to become mates through a mystical force, nor to share his immortality. It will never last between us, which means we have two options: delay the hurt until later or end it now.

I’d wanted to tell Elixir about the paper boat, but it’s between my sisters and me. Based on the timing of things, Lark and Juniper must have sent it sometime before Elixir had encountered Juniper. Other than that, one thing is certain: Both couples want me to survive, and if they can help, they will. My sisters would accept nothing less.

I sniffle, then collect the paper boat from under my pillow, along with the quill Elixir had given me to draw the map. Quickly, I scribble on the boat’s reverse side, fold it into a less refined version of Juniper’s vessel, and pad outside. Kneeling, I set the boat free and watch it embark toward the hidden tunnel, back the way it must have come.

Somehow, the river had delivered my sisters’ tidings. Somehow, it will convey my reply, my hopes, my secrets, and my heart. Somehow, it will keep those treasures safe before I lose them all.

A week passes in which Elixir and I continue our sojourns into the caves. We rarely speak except to swap observations about the terrain, potential clues to this world’s survival, and places where the river levels are either draining or rising. When I catch him tilting his gaze my way, he evades his eyes. When he catches me doing the same, I duck my head.

My fingers itch to touch him. And I notice every time his knuckles curl inches from my body.

On the seventh night, I lay sleepless in bed with my flesh aching and the space beside me empty. That’s when the door rattles. Clad in my nightgown, I leap upright and tuck layers of loose teal hair behind my ears while my pulse does a mad sprint.

Then I think twice. It can’t be him. It can’t be Elixir coming to see me, unable to resist, wanting me, needing me.

It can’t be him because he knows the door isn’t locked. Whoever is on the other side hasn’t tested the knob yet; the rattle isn’t from trying to open the door. To the contrary, it’s from someone placing an ear against the partition.

There’s a second thump, followed by a muffled curse, then a muffled lecture. Feminine voices. One is vexed, the other brusque.

I’m fluent in those voices arguing over each other, one snapping, “My damn way” and the other clipping, “The correct way.” I know that reckless rattle and practical thump against the entrance. I recognize the overlapping count of “One…two…”

I’m vaulting out of the bed, snatching the knob, and whipping open the door as they reach “Three!” As the partition swings into the room, two females tumble like burlap sacks onto the floor, the busty one landing beneath the petite one, glossy layers of white hair tangling with spruce green.

I chirp, scuttling backward to make room as my sisters land in a heap at my bare toes.

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They puddle on the floor like a pair of starfish, their legs sprawled akimbo as they grunt and smack each other across the shoulders.

One sister snaps under her breath, “I told you, onthree.”

The other scoffs, “I heard you, dammit. It wasn’t me who—”

“Lark?” I whisper. “Juniper?”

The names drift from my lips, a rippling tendril of sound. Their bickering ceases, as though clipped by shears. My sisters go still, then their heads whip upward, and the beloved sight threatens to buckle my knees. Our breaths fill the room, louder than the bubbling tub or the subtle licks of water resonating from outside.

I must be dreaming. This is a chimerical vision, a figment of my imaginings. If I touch them, they’ll disappear in puffs of smoke, or I’ll fail to reach them no matter how close I get, as if they’re a mirage or a glamoured mind trick.

They can’t be real, yet they are. They can’t be here, yet they are.

The proof of it wafts off their clothes—the fragrances of rainfall and chopped wood. The trueness of it swirls in their wide eyes, the irises I know so well—the gray of a morning tempest and the green of a resilient tree. The realness of it resounds in this space, in Lark’s feisty tone and Juniper’s smoky voice as they gasp, “Cove.”

Lark. Juniper. Cove.

That’s us. That’s our family.

My heart bursts. We gawk, suspended and shocked. And then I’m flinging myself to the ground just as they’re scrambling to their feet. We collide in a fit of limbs, tumbling back to the floor. The exclamations surge and flow together, our tremulous voices inundating the room with “You’re here” and “You’re alive” and “You’re safe” and “Lemme look at you” and “We came for you” and “I’ve missed you so much!”

Lark whips her arms around both of us, crushing us to her while she plants kisses all over my face. I cradle Juniper’s jaw as she checks me for injuries and bruises, her fingers hunting for signs of the enemy. Our movements shift from one reflex to the next. We’re hugging, then pulling back to gaze, then clasping hands to make sure none of us will disappear, then hugging again.

Saltwater leaks down our cheeks, our forms shake with elation and astonishment, and we start laughing. Cries of worry and relief segue into teary mirth. In the lantern light, we nestle close to form a knot like we used to in our caravan, our sacred place where stories had been safe, and nothing could break us apart.

When the tremors subside, we wipe the tears from one another’s faces, content to just look at one another. Until this moment, none of us had known if we ever would again.

“Lark. Juniper,” I choke out, weaving my sisters’ fingers together. “You won.”

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