Page 13 of Curse the Fae

There may be a guard outside the chamber, but it could be worse. I could be rotting in an oubliette or at the bottom of the river. Why situate me in such a lovely room? Have the Faeries sequestered all their former captives this way? Are there any other humans in this world besides me? What befell the ones who trespassed before my sisters and I did, or the ones lured into this realm by glamour? Are they hurt? Do they need help?

The room swims, upending my balance. I stagger to the bed and sit, the mattress sinking under my backside. Fatigue, hunger, and thirst weigh me down, turning my limbs to putty. No matter the ambience, this room is little more than a luxurious cage. I refuse to trust it.

A picture flashes in my mind of a young male Fae with a pool of black hair floating around his face. I recall that creature flailing and slamming his fist into a plate of glass, trying to break through, to reach me, to catch me.

Until tonight, that had been the only memory we’d shared. It happened nearly a decade ago, during The Trapping. After centuries of torment and misery by the Folk, the people of my village—Reverie Hollow—had waged an attack on Faerie. Specifically, the humans had gone after the Fae fauna, who are the sacred life force of these Solitary lands.

Some of the Folk—including youths—had tried to rescue their animals but ended up slaughtered or captured. The latter had included my captor. At the time, my sisters and I were children, though I’ve never told them about the brief encounter I’d had with my nemesis.

In the end, the viper had escaped, along with two other captive Fae. Later, that infamous trio became leaders of the Solitary wild in Faerie.

Rulers of the sky, woodland, and river.

The residents of Reverie Hollow had only learned about the river ruler’s power in the years following the historic massacre. In the aftermath, the Folk retaliated, glamouring and abusing us worse than before. On that score, people started whispering about the river ruler’s ability to blind others.

Since I hadn’t been inflicted back then, I had determined the iron weapons—which the mob had used to catch him in the first place—had weakened his abilities. That’s why he hadn’t been able to blind anyone. Quite simply, the viper hadn’t had the strength to.

Yet why am I able to resist his magic now? Why, when no one else can?

And what of his own blindness? When had that happened? What had caused it?

A wardrobe stands across the room. I rise from the mattress to investigate, discovering an assortment of stunning textiles, from caftans to frocks, robes to nightgowns, all paper-thin or woven into diaphanous fabrics. Beaded trimmings. Tasseled closures. Ribbons threaded to form bodices. Flowing skirts that brush the floor and radiate with watery colors.

But Fables help me. The closet lacks undergarments and the clingy, swim-friendly styles I’d noticed several Faeries wearing. My modesty would be so lucky.

I peel off my wet dress and underthings, and shrug into the thickest caftan I can find, which isn’t saying much. The short sleeves flutter like fins around my elbows, and the white textile is oversized but finely spun, pouring down my body in waves, as if sewn from the ripples of a spring. I’ve never worn anything tailored, rich in quality and stitching.

My index finger quivers across the chain resting along my throat. I twist the waterdrop pendant to the front and trace its tear shape. As I do, a sob lodges in my throat, then it catches as the door opens.

Earlier, I hadn’t peered closely enough at the female guard. She’s bronze-skinned and resembles a woman in her thirtieth year. Her fleshy curves draw warmth to my cheeks. Despite my limited experience, males and females alike have always had this effect on me.

A harpoon lance is affixed diagonally to her spine. Apart from that, she wears tapered, alabaster pants attached to a bodice, the ensemble loose and draping. Silvery blue locks encircle her head. Crystalline scales cap her shoulders, as though they’ve broken through her skin, and match the hue of her irises.

The guard’s sandaled feet barely tap the floor as she sets a platter atop the bedside table, casts me an inquiring glance, and inclines her head before sauntering from the chamber. The stepping-stones leading to the jetty must work for her as well, though I don’t have to be a seer to know they won’t for me. That is, if I were planning to flee.

I scrutinize the provisions. Only one serpent could have requested sustenance be delivered to me, but I fail to believe it after the things he’s done thus far.

Moreover, it’s risky to accept food from Faeries. Poison comes to mind, as does a quick and painful death. However, I’m alone, without an audience, and it’s too soon for my demise. Otherwise, the river ruler would have killed me several times by now.

Also, I can’t starve. The platter is laden with succulent salmon, a pile of coiled shellfish I can’t identify, and steamed grains swimming in butter. I pace myself, taking cautious bites before fully succumbing to hunger and wolfing down the fare. The accompanying contents of a goblet revive my blood, the sweetness of crushed white grapes leaking onto my tongue.

While chewing on a morsel of salmon, I comb through my hair, breaking through the knots and then twining the locks into a slouchy but intricate bun. Performing the menial task cinches my heart with wistfulness. Lark has always coveted my ability to plait tresses into elaborate styles without effort. I’ve tried to teach her, but she doesn’t have the patience for it, since her cloud-white hair is even longer than mine and oftentimes unkempt. Juniper, on the other hand, has the patience but lacks the interest. She prefers her spruce green hair out of the way, fixed into tight and practical ponytails.

I falter, realizing my mouth has tilted into a sad smile. But instead of pushing away thoughts of my sisters, I let them in until I’m full to the brim with their laughter and voices. These pieces are all I have left to comfort me, and I won’t forsake them.

A tiny splash rings through the chamber. I whirl, my eyes skating to the tub, where a glittering shape filters through the water. After the sharks, I should be wary, except animals have never frightened me as much as Faeries have. Besides, the silhouette jogs my memory, its slithering motions as familiar as the sights and sounds of home.

With a gasp, I hasten across the room and sink to my knees at the tub’s rim. “No,” I whisper.

Oh, yes. Two vertical irises surface, the yellow rings blasting the room with new color. The snake peeks at me from the deluge. From the eddies, the reptile’s neck extends like a tube, the resplendent brown-marble scales gleaming.

Stress cracks through my voice. “Fables forgive me.”

It’s the male water snake from my family’s sanctuary, a creature I’d rescued from trade poachers and became friends with. I’d built a pond at the back of our house for the reptile, but somehow, the animal had crept out of the pool and tracked me here. I have no idea how the wee one had managed this, what with all manner of mystical creatures prowling this land.

“What are you doing here?” My eyes jump from those yellow crescents to the tub. “How did you get here?”

But my companion’s forked tongue just vibrates as it swims closer. Not that I had expected it to answer.

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