Page 3 of Curse the Fae

Gentle Cove, your task is venomously lethal. Dim the light. Feel the dark. Hold your breath. Drown your soul. Break the spell. Curse your fate.

Welcome to The Solitary Deep.

The Solitary Deep. Home to the water Fae.

The Book of Fables says the underground river lurks far below the earth, but on second thought, something must be amiss. This can’t be the main entrance.

Or do they expect me to jump?

Cautiously, I condense and harness the spear to my hip, then bat away shawls of mist. Beyond the vapors, a ramp of steps descends into a black chasm. Fables forgive me, but I shouldn’t have worn a frock. Not that I own a pair of practical leggings like Juniper does, but that would have protected my skin from the sharp rocks. And I’m a swimmer, not a skilled climber like Lark, who can scale or descend from any edifice in a skirt.

I lift the dress’s hem to mid-thigh, twist the material into a knot, and step into the tunnel. The water surges around my heels and spritzes my boots. I totter down the stairs, where a vessel bobs in a narrow channel.

The boat is slender and long, with a prow and hull that jut upward. I’ve never seen a transport this shape before, almost like a peapod. I suppose the Folk expect me to guess my way through everything.

Nevertheless, I waver. This arrangement is too easy, too convenient to be trustworthy.

My transport lacks an oar, yet the vessel jolts ahead the instant I settle in with my pack and spear. The boat cruises into a tapered artery enclosed by walls of jagged rocks, the cacophony of the spring fading behind.

That’s when true darkness swallows me whole.

A hollow silence follows, broken only by my shallow outtakes and the wet surface lapping at the boat. Perspiration dampens the nape of my neck, beading under the intricate twists of my updo. An errant tendril of hair flutters in my face.

The flow steers me through a series of cramped conduits. I grasp the spear, unable to tell if the water is pulling the boat, or if the boat itself is riding the water.

The crevices of walls glitter in the darkness, the foundations glazed and providing flashes of incandescence. Small recesses appear on the fringes, the niches littered with fish scales and chalky ligaments.

Human bones.

A brittle, horrified sound rips from me as I reel from the sight, my palm shooting to my mouth. The sudden, unhinged movement causes the boat to rock just as it passes once more into in full darkness. I wave a hand in front of my face but can’t see anything. My fingers fumble for my spear, but the panicked movements induce the water to move faster.

Or no, it’s not me. The current is speeding up on its own.

While the boat rounds a corner, the echo of surging water fills my ears. My vessel skates toward a dripping archway illuminated by a mounted symbol—a glowing viper’s head. It brims with faint light, as if marking a point of no return. Beneath it, the channel pours over the edge of an unknown threshold. And wherever it leads, it’s deep.

Very deep.

I scream as the boat plunges. Liquid sprays my face and splatters my chest. The flux spills into a vertical dive, dropping like a stone into a bottomless well. Turbulent water floods my ears, drowning out the sounds tearing from my throat.

My left fingers balance the spear while my other hand grips the transport’s rim. I fall into nothingness, then the boat slides horizontally and skids across the surface of a new pool, the crash producing a wave that douses me from head to toe. My body’s waterlogged, and my joints quake from the impact.

Then I capsize. The nothingness around me whirls, my body flopping upside down like a fish, weightlessness catching me. I clutch the spear while my free limbs pump and kick.

It’s as murky as the bottom of an ocean. I have no clue which way is up or down. Fear constricts my lungs, but I can hold my breath.

I can always hold my breath while submerged.

Remembering that, I fight to calm myself and feel the water holding me, supporting me, flowing around me. And I gauge the current, and I grasp where it’s going, and I know in which direction to swim. I work myself upward and crash through, my mouth hacking up fluid.

Overhead, a crater digs into the ceiling, starlight poking through to offer a pinch of light. I beat my limbs in place, swimming in the heart of a pool that splits into ducts. Walkways line each tunnel route, the low ceilings encrusted with lichen.

My boat teeters upside down, propped against a wall, where the current zips around the corner. I whip my head toward the decline from which the vessel had tumbled, the bedrock tipped at an angle that reminds me of a chute or waterslide. It had been a long descent, as if I had fallen off the edge of a cliff.

How far down have I gone? How far have I yet to go?

The violent cascade and overturned vessel ensure the pack I’d brought with me is gone, including the supplies Juniper and I had amassed, items for survival and bargaining with the Fae, should the need have arisen. Either the objects have sunk or they’re drifting somewhere through these channels.

A blast of light hits my eyes. The blazes flare, lanterns bursting to life around the pool and down the passages. The containers writhe with flames as if announcing—and spotlighting—my presence.

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