Page 121 of Curse the Fae

Elixir was right. This isn’t the wind or the earth.

It’s a flood.

The river buries me alive. It sinks me into an abyss while a vignette of images splinter through my head. Lark, Cove, Papa Thorne, and Lotus. My birth parents, who became part of a raging sea. Cerulean and Puck, who might have become my friends.

And a viper who’s become more than that.

No! Please, no!

Where is everyone? What’s happened to them?

Panic grips me by the jugular. My eyes fly open to an underwater world, the promontory and gulch submerged. Clouds of dirt and sand and foliage spiral, blotting out the aquamarine expanse, so that I only see a few feet in front of me.

Whiskered fish dice across my vision. They must have been tossed here from another part of The Deep.

How far has this flood reached? How much of this realm has it consumed?

Fear cracks through my ribs. My fingers dash outward, but they slip through the nothingness, the intangible force reminding me it’s impossible to hold water. I grapple for another set of fingers, my digits slicing but failing to latch onto anyone. I fight against the river’s pull and search for an anchor—a jutting bracket or a boulder, but there’s only the current, and the vortex, and the tide.

A blast knocks me sideways, the honed teeth of a wall chomping into my thigh. Crimson tendrils swim before my gaze. The river clogs my scream, and the crash rattles my bones, and dizziness swarms my consciousness.

It’s so quiet and warm. Yet my lungs burn, and my flesh stings from where the wall took a bite out of me.

Like threads of seaweed, my arms tangle as they strain to carry me upward. But the river’s too heavy and swift. Wave after wave pushes me one way, then yanks me in the opposite direction.

The promontory looms above now, which means I’ve tumbled off the edge, which means I’m floating somewhere over the gulch. Suddenly, the fall becomes deceptively tranquil, a gentle whip of motion coupled with deadly, blurry quiet.

Instead of rejecting it, I let it in, let the darkness in, let it enfold my body. I allow the slow drag of water to calm me, to soothe me until I’m a part of it.

In the throes of violence, I’ve learned how peace can become a weapon, something to wield, a means of survival. I know how to embrace this darkness now.

Peace washes away the terror, eases the lack of air, and settles my mind. For good measure, my fingers land on the necklace around my throat, the dainty talisman still there, still holding on, holding on, holding on, holding on.

Elixir. Lark. Juniper.

Adrenaline surges through my veins. I preserve what oxygen remains inside me and thrust my limbs, kicking with all my strength. My teeth gnash with the effort, clamping until my jaw aches.

As always, the current is different in Faerie. It’s denser in places, swifter in others. While I’ve had practice with this, my sisters haven’t. And while Cerulean and Puck might get to my sisters in time, I can’t take that chance.

I siphon through, climbing upward, more and more and more. I pray there’s a surface and the river hasn’t filled this area to the domed ceiling.

The flood intensifies once more, whisking about like a raging squall. It pounds the walls, ramming its liquid fists into the crevices.

A glittering tail flaps in my periphery. I swerve just as a female whisks past me. Her arms are little more than strings of yarn as she battles with the profusion. Then I see another form careen past, this one marked by gills and translucent fins.

Merfolk. Several figures combat the flood, their jeweled eyes glistening with fright. This is more than they can withstand, which means it could be more than Elixir can withstand.

Terror magnifies tenfold. The promontory’s lip juts out within arm’s reach. A siren darts by, her body shoved by the onslaught. In a rush of energy, my arm snaps out, and my fingers snatch her wrist.

The Fae’s pupils dilate with shock, yet she straps her digits around me. Together, we haul ourselves over the precipice and break through the surface. My lips part, wheezing a mouthful of air. The flood races over the edges, turning the gulch into a wild sea.

The promontory is a wasteland of crumbled rock, torn vegetation, and cavities pitting the ground. Our weapons are gone, washed away by the deluge. There’s no sign of my sisters, Elixir, or his brothers.

The waterlogged siren slumps onto the grass and glances at me, then nods in gratitude. I nod back. Then I fill myself with air, flip sideways, and dive back in.

If they’re not above the flood, they’re submerged. It’s fortunate my sisters and I had removed our shoes when we’d gotten here. I cannon downward as fast as I can, my cheeks bloating and bubbles churning from my nose.

Midnight blue plumage swoops across my vantage point, the shingles of a wing vanishing before I can flag Cerulean. Moments later, fiery red hair blazes in the distance, then disappears too quickly for me to locate Puck.

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