Page 26 of Curse the Fae

I spin again—and bump into the guard from my chamber. She catches my arm, steadying me from teetering off the walkway. Her crystalline scales radiate as she examines me, then slides her eyes to the current. The ripples shift beside us. She heeds something there, inclines her head, and ushers me to the chamber via the stepping-stones, which rise for her.

The female guides me to the door. “Rest, human. You’ve had quite the orientation,” she intones.

“My name is Cove,” I insist.

She considers me, then splays her fingers on her chest. “Coral.”

“That’s a lovely name.”

“Of course, it is.” She offers a devious smirk that isn’t entirely friendly. “Lovely to behold. Sharp if you get too close.” With that, she leaves, the harpoon saddled against her back.

I hasten inside and shut the door. My back slumps against the partition, and several weighty exhales siphon from my lips.

The central tub glitters, pouring a mellow blue light through the chamber. I hasten to the water and fall to my knees beside the rim, then peer beneath the surface. “Are you here? Please, be here.”

The ripples twitch as a small head lurches from the depth. The snake’s yellow eyes find mine. I gasp in relief, a lump hardening in my throat. My pinky runs along the reptile’s skin, the waxen texture familiar and so very mortal. All this time, I had been worried about the creature, and I worry still for its safety here, but I’m also grateful to have one more reminder of home. After what just transpired, I don’t know what I’d do without him or my necklace, the remaining relics of my life.

I feed my companion the leftover fish from my platter, and the snake lets me pet him until I grow sleepy. Recent horrific events catch up, engulfing me with the force of a typhoon. My companion dunks its head under the water, the slender rope of its body gliding through the tub.

Admittedly, the bed looks inviting with its silken coverlet, its texture reminding me of a woven lake. I could sink into it and fall into a deep slumber. I could flee to that bed and drown in its comfort.

But I know the value of comfort. This is one sort I won’t trust, nor accept.

I cross my arms over the rim, forming a makeshift pillow. While resting my head there, I watch the reptile weave through the tub. I stare and stare and stare until the world blurs like the bottom of an ocean.

Or maybe that’s just my tears.

***

Two days pass. The monster doesn’t pay me a visit, nor summon me to his den. I pace the length of the chamber and ponder Elixir’s curse. I consider our short history, as well as the history between my people and his kin. I go over as many Fables as I can recall, in case they contain hints about curse breaking. I remember every caution Papa Thorne has ever voiced, and I muse on every lesson my sisters and I have ever learned about Faeries.

I replay that last scene between Elixir and me. I envision every crease in his face and every flash of his pupils, every time he’d remained silent and every time his tongue slipped, provoked by my replies. I recall his proximity, the vastness of his body so near, the way my blood had responded, and the fact that he had known. I think of our mutual hatred and the inexplicable heat that had resulted.

My skin flushes a rosy hue, an invasive warmth gushing through me. I may be chaste and inexperienced, but I’m not ignorant. That would be impossible with a sister like Lark, who recounts every detail of her exploits, down to the size of her lover’s phallus. Be that as it may, my sister has never mentioned how anger can spark the same kind of flame.

The anticipation of seeing Elixir again spurs me to restlessness. Every distant sweep of footfalls causes me to tense. Each time, it’s only the voluptuous guard named Coral arriving with my meals. Whenever the door rattles open, I urge the snake underwater or beneath the nearest stick of furniture, as my little friend has taken a liking to exploring the room.

One evening, shyness overcomes me at the sight of Coral’s plush figure trussed up in a netted dress. As tales have said, the characteristics of the Folk can be extreme—either devastatingly beautiful or fancifully eerie. I greet the guard with a timid smile, which earns me a quirked eyebrow before she deposits my platter on the table and leaves.

After the first meal, I had asked for a second helping of fish—raw this time—and received a queer look from Coral. Nonetheless, she had obliged, and I’d offered the raw portion to the snake, determined to prevent the animal from exiting the pool in search of nourishment. The amphibians and small mammals of Faerie are unlikely to be easily captured by a mortal water snake. They’re faster and stronger, and if my friend sets his sights upon a frog, that creature could shift sizes and devour the snake.

But since my initial request, the platters have arrived with side portions of raw fare suitable for my friend, the repast provided without me having to ask again. Puzzled though Coral must be, I’m grateful for the offerings.

In these caverns, it might as well be perpetual eventide. Yet it becomes easy to distinguish night from day, based on the remote activity resounding from The Twisted Canals—fluid voices singing and bodies swimming in the river—as well as the orchestral chirp of crickets and the belching croaks of toads.

I maintain my normal, human sleep patterns. Unlike the Faeries, I keep daylight hours and dream at night.

Or rather, I don’t dream, because none of this is a dream. It’s a nightmare, and when I close my eyes, all I see are jars of poison and so much gold.

My muscles and joints ache from sleeping on the floor beside the tub. By the third day, my body hurts too much to deny myself. And although it’s early evening, I need a quick rest. After bathing, I crawl into bed and drag the sheets over my body, cocooning myself in a waterfall of finely spun silk.

The respite is short-lived. I awaken and flop onto my back, concerns and confusions overriding weariness. Foliage quivers from the walls. Shadows swim across the floor. It feels as if my confines have begun to shrink. I need a walk. I need wide open spaces. None of the ideas I’ve conjured regarding Elixir’s curse seem right or plausible.

Let’s see. Curses are based on wrongdoings. They’re the springboards for why curses happen in the first place. With Elixir, it must be something prominent.

An error in judgement? An act of stupidity? A passionate misdeed?

Or a weakness? Yes!

---