Page 114 of Curse the Fae

“Together,” Juniper recites.

“All or nothing,” Lark finishes.

Our heads land together. Echoes of the crickets and toads have long since faded, signaling the break of dawn.

Something else occurs to me as I pull back to glance between them. They could have been sighted during their journey to my chamber. “Wait. How did you get here? The map, yes. But how did you gethere?”

Lark shrugs. “We had escorts.”

“Bloody true,” a rugged timbre announces. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“A name for a name,” a more refined voice adds.

Lounging in the doorway are two figures I’ve seen before. Except the first time, I had been spying on them.

Now the rulers of the sky and woodland are standing much closer—and staring right at me.

31

Ten surreal minutes later, the five of us have packed ourselves into the boat that’s been arriving every morning for me. The vessel bobs, anchored in the hidden tunnel leading from The Sunken Isle. Orbs glisten overhead and fleck the walls in teal.

The transport is large enough to accommodate a dozen riders without feeling cramped. It enables the winged Fae to stretch his plumes and the satyr to extend his limbs, right down to the cloven hoofs.

With his blue-black hair and wings, Cerulean blends into the shadows. Puck, on the other hand, burns right through the murk with his wavy red hair and honed stag antlers.

Neither couple can interfere with my game, but my missive had given them sufficient details to conclude that a reunion wouldn’t break a rule or skew my chances of winning. Though from what they’ve told me, their journey to The Deep had been a cautious one. Armed with a javelin and longbow, and using my map as a guide, Cerulean and Puck had manifested to scout the vicinity first. Then, one by one, Cerulean had fastened Lark and Juniper to his body and flown them to the isle via the hidden tunnel.

While my sisters and I had been reuniting, the males had patrolled the area until they’d grown concerned and came to check on their partners. After a series of introductions, my sisters had ordered the males out of my chamber so I could change into a caftan. Our small party had agreed the isle wasn’t the ideal place for a conference. We’d needed a location shielded from any stragglers who hadn’t yet retired.

Presently, Cerulean is settled between Lark’s thighs, his head resting on her chest and one of his arms looped through her steepled limb. His thumb strokes the scars on her kneecap, the pulped wounds harkening to Lark’s childhood as a chimney sweep. In turn, Lark sketches the shelves of Cerulean’s collarbones, the area exposed beneath the navel-deep V of his shirt.

Juniper perches against Puck, who reclines into a lazy position, frames her hips with his splayed limbs, and twirls a lock of my sister’s hair around his finger. Although she folds her hands primly in her lap, Juniper inches closer to give her lover better access to the green locks.

Their weapons rest on one side of the boat. By contrast, I maintain a grip on my spear and contend myself to the opposite bench, the better to judge the Faeries. While I’ve pledged to give these males the benefit of the doubt for my sisters’ sake, I cast them periodic looks of scrutiny. I’ve never been one to intimidate, but my time in The Deep has been long and arduous, and I’ve had enough practice dealing with a certain water lord to muster my own version of a silent warning. Conjuring my best frown, I lob the expression in Cerulean and Puck’s directions.

If you break their hearts, I will run you through.

They see the look. Cerulean inclines his head in acknowledgment. I inwardly approve of the way he’s thumbing Lark’s scars, as if offering her infinite comfort and support, the very balm Lark has never received from the men she’s bedded in the past.

Puck nods to me as well, yet he punctuates the motion with a conspiratorial wink that nudges a reluctant chuckle from me. He’s a charmer, although that alone would never win over someone like Juniper. If she can love him the way she does, my sister must have seen beyond his coltish veneer and unraveled someone with depth and intelligence. Someone who’s her intellectual equal and worthy of her respect.

Besides, if I can fall for a monster, can see beyond the viper and find Elixir’s beating heart, who knows with Lark and Juniper discovered in these two.

Apart from that, worry churns in my gut. The only thing keeping Juniper from making any logical connection between the curse and my game is that she doesn’t know Elixir like I know him.

But his brothers do. Even if craftiness weren’t in a Fae’s nature, these males don’t strike me as the oblivious types.

The satyr wrinkles his nose at the environment. “It’s humid as fuck.”

“You’ve been here before,” Cerulean remarks. “Did you expect the temperature to change out of fondness for you?”

“I told him not to wear leather,” Juniper says while patting Puck’s thigh.

“Smart girl,” the satyr flirts while unclasping one of the upper buckles cinching his vest. “Maybe I wanted a merry excuse for you to be right. I like when you’re right, and I like what it does to your mood. Look any more correct, and I might have to take you home for a quickie.”

“Flatterer,” she quips.

“You two want your own boat?” Lark jokes while flapping her digit toward one of the shadows. “Maybe stationed over there?”

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