Page 112 of Curse the Fae

Solace washes away the dregs of their remorse, and their smiles illuminate the chamber. Suddenly, we return to that caravan, where our innermost secrets and uncensored dreams had been protected. While Lotus makes himself at home in the center of our huddle, my sisters launch into their tales and share what happened to them in the mountain and forest—their games, their histories with the rulers of the sky and woodland, and their bonds with Cerulean and Puck.

What they feel for these males is genuine, and those emotions are reciprocated because my sisters wouldn’t have it any other way, because they know what they’re worth. I hear it in the soft but sturdy textures of their voices, tender as a breeze yet lasting as an oak tree. I see it in the unconditional blazes of their eyes and the lifts of their shoulders.

Despite Lark’s saucy descriptions of her mate Cerulean, her words are airborne as if she’s free falling yet certain someone will be there to catch her.

Despite Juniper’s ramrod posture and levelheaded narration about Puck and his roguish ways, a grin cuts through her perpetual frown.

They love their males, and they’re loved in return.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted for them. Far be it from me to question their judgment, nor to mistrust it. I never have before, and I never will. That isn’t to say I won’t protect them.

My chest twists. Not only do I envy their good fortune, the luxury of being with the partners they adore, but I’m gladdened for them. It’s strange to feel sorrow and joy at the same time.

My sisters appear the same yet different, each wearing a few scars courtesy of Faerie, scars visible above and below the surface. But their eyes are brighter, happier than I could have imagined, and topped to the brim with new memories.

Juniper, especially. There’s an effervescence in her pupils that I’ve never beheld, and her pert features are more relaxed, her skin peachier than usual. She’s always had an earthy appearance to her, an organic beauty despite people calling her plain and prickly, but now…

“You’re glowing,” I muse to her.

I can’t tell what it’s from, but it feels unique to Juniper, elemental as though she’s become connected to the earth and its soil and all that grows there. Or as if she’s carrying the life force of a woodland from within. She would accuse me of being silly and poetic, but this newfound radiance suits her.

It must stem from her lover’s touch. Nevertheless, she blinks, clearly having no inkling of the source and unaccustomed to being the recipient of such an observation. “Well.” She analyzes the compliment like it’s the moral to a Fable. “Well, that would make sense.”

It would, after falling in love and losing one’s maidenhead to a satyr. However, it’s less about her complexion suffusing with crimson and more about the vividness of her irises. Were they always this verdant green?

Now that I mention it, Lark takes a second look as well, her eyebrows vaulting skyward in contemplation. “Cove’s right. Told you, didn’t I? You’ve been Pucked,” she singsongs.

Juniper has never liked being the center of attention, so she insists we move on to industrious matters, and I smile wider. How I’ve missed them.

She and Lark had planned to see Papa Thorne, if only briefly, while I continued my game. Instead, their paper boat had returned to them, the vessel including my response to their own message, plus a copy of the map I’d drawn of The Deep.

“We belatedly recovered the boat,” Lark says, elbowing Juniper in the ribs. “Miss know-it-all found it nearly a week after it had washed ashore in The Gang of Elks.”

“The what?” I ask.

Juniper turns up her righteous chin as she cuffs Lark’s shoulder. “I was indisposed.”

“She was—” Lark cups her mouth and leans in, “—fucking.”

“Well.” Juniper scowls, then smooths out her tunic. “Fine. If you must know, Puck and I spent a handful of days in solitude cohabiting and solidifying our relationship. And yes, that included sex. Puck’s a satyr and very…knowledgeable, skilled, and um, inventive. He has an exuberant degree of stamina.”

“Reckon that’s one way of putting it,” Lark teases. “Our Faeries have energy in spades.”

Although I can attest to that as well, I maintain discretion and try not to turn beet red.

Juniper continues, “So I was a bit tardy in realizing that if you responded, the boat would end up where it originally was sent from. Furthermore, I resent being singled out when you’re one to talk,” she accuses Lark. “You once said Cerulean’s private about consummation, yet the second he gave you permission to get chatty, you hit the ground running. Since then, how many times have you subjected me to a dissertation about his prowess in bed?”

Lark’s sigh is almost a moan. “He does this thing with his hip, and it makes the angle of his cock—”

I set my palms over the sides of Lotus’s head, as if he has external ears. “In this, you haven’t changed.”

My sister flips a pile of long, white hair over her shoulder and winks. “Why, thank you.”

“To the matter at hand.” Juniper gestures around the chamber. “So, this is where he’s been keeping you.”

“Not what we expected from a serpentine prick,” Lark concedes, jutting her chin to the bath. “It’s still a cage, though I had visions of dungeons, shackles, fishbones, and piss puddles.”

“Many things regarding Elixir aren’t what you’d expect,” I murmur.

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