Page 115 of Curse the Fae

“Why choose when there are so many darkened corners to enjoy, and life is long?” Puck replies. “Always have something to say, do you?”

“You might not know, but there’s a Fable that warns against judging people for the same things they could easily say about you.”

“The Dragon Rivals,”Juniper says in admiration. “It’s one of the most influential tales.”

Puck slings his arm around Juniper’s midriff while replying to Lark. “Guess it does go both ways, doesn’t it? My woman says I like to hear myself talk, and your level of snark is so abundantly capacious that soon you’ll need your own territory in The Solitary Mountain.”

“Be very careful, Puck,” Cerulean remarks, his blue eyes glowing in the dark.

The satyr perks up at the notion of a threat. “Or you’ll what?”

“Not me.” Wryly, Cerulean knocks his head toward Lark. “Her.”

At which point, Lark directs a challenging mien toward Puck, silently telling him to do his verbal best.

“Oh, I should hope so,” the forest Fae gloats with the sort of unadulterated and gleeful antagonism reserved for kindred, if not siblings. “Did you know a group of larks is called a Chattering of Larks?”

“Did you know a group of satyrs is called an Asshole of Pucks?” she volleys.

I’ve never heard someone snort eloquently before, but Cerulean manages it while Puck clutches his chest in mock offense. “Egad, did no one tell you? It’s actually called an Orgy of Pucks. Either get your facts straight or consult my woman. She knows everything.”

Lark playfully sticks out her tongue at Puck, Juniper shakes her head in amusement, and I grin at the scene. It’s clear the time this unlikely group has spent together prior to their arrival has inspired a camaraderie.

Puck’s mouth quirks, then he casts another glance at our surroundings. “Never mind. The banter was going so well, yet I’m back to feeling sulky. This place is as bright as Elixir’s disposition.”

I’m fully aware he’s speaking out of anger at what his brother did to Juniper by mistakenly trying to drown her. For my part, I still want to strangle Elixir for that. Nonetheless, the mirth evaporates as I fist the material of my caftan. “When you’ve lived in darkness for most of your existence, that’s what you become. This is how he grew up. It’s what he’s used to, and it’s all he knows.”

Four pairs of eyes study me across the divide. Two of them are overcast, subdued by their affinity for me, whereas the other two spark with intuition. My feelings for Elixir aren’t my sisters’ story to tell, so they’ve imparted nothing to their lovers. Yet against the power of a Fae’s perception, I might as well have worn my heart on my sleeve.

I shift, causing the boat to rock and slosh water against the jagged walls. “True, this environment isn’t customized to Elixir. The darkness is a natural facet of The Deep, and the water lord isn’t the only Solitary who resides here. He’s brooding and violent, but where we live is part of who we are, so it stands to reason a dark setting would yield a dark soul. Yet where there’s depth, there’sdepth—much more lurking below the surface. I would say the darkness doesn’t get enough credit for that.

“There’s also the matter of his blindness, which is another form of darkness entirely, though Elixir is hardly feeble because of it. In fact, I’ve never once seen him wallowing in self-pity, so I suppose this point is moot. As for the rest, I think we should all take a moment to appreciate how strong light has to be, to flourish in the dark.”

My words echo through the cavernous tunnel and taper into the void. Lark and Juniper watch me with concern. We’re attuned to the sounds one another makes, so during my rant they’d heard my voice splinter several times. I’d heard it, too.

The Faeries gaze at me, speechless. Cerulean leans back, his hair slumping across his face and a finger draped over his mouth while he ponders my words. Puck sobers and quirks an eyebrow. Neither of them regards me with the distaste or condescension mortals expect from their kind. Instead, they consider my speech with objectivity.

“My, my, my,” Puck says, his tone mellowed. “Like sister, like sister, like sister.”

Cerulean leans forward. “May we assume you’ve spent significant time with our brother?”

I meet his keen eyes. “You may.”

“Fables and fuck,” Puck reels. “It’s not just venom. Elixir actually has warm blood pumping through his veins. Who knew it was possible?”

“It was with us,” Juniper asserts.

“And us,” Lark says, poking Cerulean’s chest.

“Well, we do like our humans mutinous,” her mate replies with a smirk.

“Baby, you didn’t know mutiny by half until I showed up,” she purrs, tapping the wing ornaments capping his ears.

I narrow my eyes at the males. “You speak of Elixir as though he’s the only Fae in this wild without a beating heart. What made you two any better before my sisters came along?”

Both males accept the hands of their women, who gaze at me with love but hold their partners with just as much devotion.

“Fair enough,” Cerulean concedes. “Except we never said Elixir was missing a heart.”

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