Page 14 of Curse the Fae

There must be a gap in the tub’s foundation, some artery that leads to the river, which connects to the streams on the borders of Faerie. I can only guess the snake had trailed me to The Triad, accessed one of the springs, and…

“It was you,” I realize. “In the forest, the noise I’d heard before entering the tunnel. Something had been following me. That was you.”

The reptile just stares. I shake my head, tenderness and protectiveness welling in me. “Brave little soul.”

My index finger strokes the reptile’s head, then freezes as the door rattles again. I veer toward the partition, then back to the snake. “Stay here,” I urge, then use my palm to shove the creature underwater.

I lurch to my feet and swivel. For the second time, the chamber door groans open. Though now, the curvy guard doesn’t bother to step inside. Beneath the lintel, she stalls and announces, “Follow me, human. Your presence is requested.”

6

As I rise, I resist the urge to glance at the tub. The female glimpses my bare feet and ticks her gaze toward the wardrobe. Taking the hint, I bustle over to the closet, where two pairs of sandals I hadn’t noticed before perch on the bottom rack. The soles are sturdy, but the upper material is some manner of airy textile consisting of thin straps that crisscross and tie at the ankles. They’re a far cry from the scuffed leather boots my family wears but more suited to this balmy atmosphere.

The guard clears her throat, pretension dripping off her like syrup. My bookish sister had said to be polite, which is an atrocious irony, but it’s also common knowledge regarding the Fae. If I want to survive another hour, delaying is ill-advised.

I bind my feet into the sandals and trail the female out of the room, stiffening as she shuts the door behind us. It will be all right. The Folk have never harmed mortal animals. There are many rules in Faerie, but none against the fauna of my world entering this realm.

Regardless, I doubt these Faeries want their prisoner bringing a companion with her. The snake is safe, so long as no one enters and finds it there.

We cross the stones and jetty. I anticipate a return trip through the canal colony, but instead, my warden ushers me across a walkway and toward a set of descending stairs lined in seagrass.

The guard sidles down the steps, her movements sinuous. “Don’t lag, human. You don’t want to be left behind, do you? No, I don’t think you do.”

Her voice oozes like tar—glossy and easy to get stuck in. When she speaks, it’s the culmination of a weary sigh and a nefarious taunt.

I cringe at the dark mouth below, then trickle after her. “What…that is to say, where…am I wanted?”

“The Grotto That Whispers.”

“That what?”

“I do believe you heard me the first time.”

I did, and forgive me, but the name isn’t enough to go by. “Why does it whisper?”

“Because it’s been destined to share the river’s history for centuries. And if you did that for half as long—” she turns and lightly taps my chest, “—you would lose your voice, too.” She twists ahead. “The grotto preserves itself, but don’t assume you may ask questions. Apart from narrating The Deep’s chronology, the grotto only tells you one other thing, and only what it decides, and only what you must know.” The female shares this detail breezily, as though she’s conveyed it countless times. “In The Deep, it’s customary for every mortal sacrifice to have this orientation.”

For your trespass, be our sacrifice—to surrender, to serve, and to satisfy.

I recall that part of the welcome note from when I’d stood at The Triad.

The pit sinks beneath the river. As we descend…and descend…and descend…billows echo around us, signaling the river rushing against the walls. Lanterns bloom along the floors, and the same teal orbs glow from the ceiling, just as they do everywhere else.

The serpentine passages glimmer with unknown locations and secrets, the likes of which mortal children would love to explore, whereas mortal adults would cringe. I find myself on the verge of both. This place is as muggy as it is mysterious, the stones more decrepit and ancient down here, tantamount to the ruins of an oceanic castle.

Our footfalls resound down the cavities. The farther we go, the more anxious I become, anticipation scattering from my stomach to my chest. Nonetheless, I lift my chin and marvel that the river ruler would summon me this quickly after ordering me to stay put.

That is, I marvel until the guard corrals me through a spore-riddled archway and into a hollow. At which point, the Fae departs. I wheel toward the exit and back, my throat bobbing. It’s the most fathomless place I’ve ever encountered, sunken to the deepest level at which I’ve ever stood. Murals of vegetation, similar to rosemary, cling to the foundations and low canopies, all surrounding a compact well in the ground. The watery depression shimmers like a melted star, filled to the rim with the blue of lapis lazuli, the royal color illuminated from below.

The Grotto That Whispers.

My fingers itch with curiosity. I shuffle closer, kneel, and reach toward the spectral pool. “Majestic.”

In answer, words oscillate across the surface. Simultaneously, a faint intonation ripples into the air, as if reading aloud the liquid text. “Historic,” the grotto amends.

I pull back as if I’ve been caught touching what isn’t mine. Did the water just talk to me?

But isn’t that what it should do, based on its name?

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