Page 20 of Curse the Fae

“Cove,” he answers.

The names collide, quivering through the room. This confirms he’d heard my sisters calling for me outside the caravan the other night. One moment, Lark, Juniper, and I had been huddling together. The next, we’d vanished from one another’s sight. In a panic, we searched and cried out for each other.

Unbeknownst to us, Elixir had been looming nearby. I’d discovered as much shortly afterward. That’s how he must have learned my name, seeing as I’d never shared it with him.

Now I know what my name sounds like on a monster’s lips. And I wish I hated it more. His raspy baritone makes an unsteady thing of those four letters. The intonation reaches bone-deep, the penetration disturbing and causing my cheeks to bake.

“When I got here, how did you recognize me in the first place?” I ask.

“Your voice,” he answers.

“You remember how I sounded? But I said so little to you back then, and I was younger.”

“I do not forget voices—or words.”

Fables forgive me. He remembers the last thing I’d said to him.

That one abominable thing.

I wince, then remember he doesn’t deserve an apology. “Earlier, I was going to say you left out how to address you formally.”

Elixir grunts, “You may call me a fucking squid, for all I care.”

I stiffen at the profanity. “Do all Faeries have a vocabulary like my feisty sister?”

He bends toward me. “Do not touch anything.”

The urgency in his tone must be from possessiveness. Certainly, it’s not out of concern for my wellbeing. “For a ruler, I had expected a subterranean stronghold. Is this where you live?”

“No.”

“Wheredo you live, then?”

“Nowhere.”

“You don’t have a home?”

“The Deep is my home.”

That’s not helpful. “But where do you sleep?”

“Wherever I choose.”

“But what about a refuge of your own?”

“I need no refuge.”

“But everyone needs a refuge.”

“But, but, but,”he snaps. “Why do you care?”

Good question. As it stands, I would have more success pulling shark teeth.

I thread my fingers in front of me. “I would tell you it’s a habit, caring to know about others rather than always focusing on myself, however I don’t think you would understand. Maybe this instead: Why did you bring me here? What is this place?”

“The Pit of Vipers,” he answers. “This is where I brew.”

I take a second inspection of the concoctions. “Are these poisons?”

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