Page 34 of Curse the Fae

Elixir makes this task easier. When his head whips up, venom pours from his tongue. “Make the games hurt.”

The words slice across the cavern. It’s hardly a groundbreaking suggestion. Of course, these games are meant to hurt.

Yet Elixir’s instruction penetrates to the core. I feel its malignancy in my ribcage.

He’s not telling his brothers to proceed as usual. He’s telling them to make it worse, to exceed anything that has come before. He’s telling them to be crueler, more severe than ever, no matter what that entails. He’s telling them to distort the rules, to skew them and make my sisters suffer.

Cerulean draws in a breath. “So be it.”

Puck’s chest rises and falls. “I’m in.”

“Are you?” Elixir wonders, his tone deadly calm.

The satyr’s jaw flexes. “Strip that sodding archery to the bone.”

“Do the same to them.”

Why does it look like Cerulean and Puck would rather smash that suggestion to a pulp? In their expressions, some private battle rages. I want to believe what I see, but how can I?

At last, Puck’s face smooths out, and a grin surfaces. He winks, then vanishes without sparing the archery another glance.

Cerulean’s wings break from his back with a harsh snap. The mantle of plumes spans a considerable portion of the den. Subtly, he leans into Elixir and whispers,“Jún fülkist mede ojjur.”

To which Elixir nods.

The ruler of the sky vaults into the air, evanescing before he hits the domed ceiling. A second later, Elixir swerves in my direction. When he does, his eyes pierce through the setting—and scour the room for me.

11

I jerk to the left, pressing into the slot behind the wall. Moving another inch is futile; he’ll hear it. Instead, I hold fast, hold my breath, hold everything in. He might be able to detect my inhalations and exhalations, but that doesn’t mean he can discern when I suppress air.

From around the corner, the vat makes lapping sounds, and lantern light bleeds onto the lane beside me, but the vipers are quiet. I force myself to be still and silent. I sense his ears listening, his eyes searching, both raking through the atmosphere for signs of an intruder or a mortal captive playing the spy.

This lasts a second before the rap of feet stalk in my direction. True to his nature, he doesn’t waste time.

My eyes clench shut. The footsteps stall on the threshold between his den and the terrarium walkway. Under normal circumstances, the foliage and murky environment should be enough to conceal me. Of course, that’s no barrier for this Fae; he doesn’t need vision to see. Any minute, I expect his arm to lash sideways and snatch me from my hiding spot.

Elixir veers my way. I react on instinct and from memory. Channeling my past as a child slinking in and out of crowds, I duck and slip behind him. Synchronizing our movements, I become his shadow and swivel with the Fae as he inserts himself into the very spot I’d just vacated.

He stops, dumbstruck. His body tenses, aggravation and bafflement straining his profile. When he turns the other way, so do I. Elixir pivots here and there, circling with the stealth of an aquatic creature. Wraithlike, I mirror him, turning where he turns, shifting where he shifts, so that if he were to swerve and reach out, he would catch nothing but air.

A droplet falls from the ceiling, its descent as silent as an errant feather. Nonetheless, Elixir flits out his arm and catches the bead without looking. He rolls the drop in his palm like a marble, then tosses it over his shoulder. The globule splinters into thousands and forms a cascade, the curtain of water shielding the entrance to his den.

With that, Elixir strides away. As if nothing just happened, he heads down the lane and exits the building.

Oxygen washes into my lungs. On a gasp, I buckle in place.

The spear is inside his lair, as is the crossbow. The weapons are there, unmanned and exposed for the taking.

I spin toward the liquid curtain and crash through the deluge. The impact douses my caftan, plastering the fabric to me. I make haste to the spear but stop to glance over my shoulder, cautious that Elixir might double back. When he doesn’t, I transfer my suspicions to the serpents reclining, coiling, and dangling amidst the foliage.

Are they his spies? No, according to the Book of Fables, these mystical animals don’t serve the Fae. If anything, it’s the reverse.

I pivot and swipe my weapon off the wall. With a click and thrust, the spear condenses.

Belatedly, I realize the archery is another matter. It’s clunky and requires more arms than I possess to transport them, especially through water. Moreover, if a Fae happens upon me during the return trip, I’ll need both sets of digits to fight.

An oath boils on my tongue. I’ll have to plot another trip to reclaim the archery later, whether or not Elixir’s in the room with me. That’s assuming I can achieve that feat within a day, prior to Elixir stripping the iron bolts and handing the weaponry over to Puck.

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