Page 35 of Curse the Fae

“I know you can’t hear me,” I whisper to the crossbow, stroking my palm over its spine. “But I love you, and I won’t forsake you.”

Summoning the will to abandon Juniper’s archery, I rush to the watery partition—and slam against a wall. I skitter backward, white spots cluttering my vision. I shake myself out of the haze, approach the threshold once more, flatten my free palm against the liquid curtain, and push.

Resistance greets me, the facade aqueous yet solid, refusing to let me pass. Again and again, I try to no avail. Placing my spear on the floor and using both hands doesn’t work, either. I may as well be shoving against a stone door.

Although it had permitted me through, the opposite side of the cascade is a barrier. Elixir has enchanted it.

It’s a trap.

“Fables curse you!” I trill, slapping the water.

Had he truly known I was here? Or had he been taking preventative measures?

I swing this way and that. My gaze stumbles upon the vat, a mixture of dread and relief seeping into my stomach. I haven’t a clue if it’ll dispatch me anywhere close to a passage leading to my chamber. And no, I don’t know how long this voyage might take, or how much oxygen it will deplete from me.

But if I stay here, he’ll find me, and there will be hell to pay. And if all else fails, hopefully I can vacate the water before suffocating.

I tear a wispy branch from the nearest bush and pad to the basin’s rim. One last precaution. If Elixir uses this vat for mixing and testing ingredients, it could be perilous. I toss the branch into the water, and when it doesn’t wither or singe, I figure that’s the best I can count on.

After sucking in a deep breath and securing the spear in my grip, I slosh into the vat and plunge under. The well suctions me down, but because it’s wide enough, I pump my free arm and limbs.

I open my eyes, grateful when nothing averse happens. Underwater caves open at the bottom of the pool. Leaves resembling seaweed sway from the bedrock and tickle my knees.

The cave’s mouth opens wide, spilling into a vaster expanse. I paddle my feet and launch to the surface, carefully to do so quietly. My lips part on an exhale. I kick in place and almost go back under.

Elixir is looming above me.

Like a specter, he stands on an arched bridge not three feet away, but—thank Fables—he doesn’t spot me. Instead, he makes his way along the platform.

I get my bearings enough to recognize The Twisted Canals sprawled around me. I swim beneath the arc, wary of making noise, and watch Elixir’s silhouette progress. Maybe he intends to fetch an ingredient for removing the crossbow bolts’ iron, or he’s gone to meet someone new, or he’s left for many other elusive reasons.

Make the games hurt.

I could go back to my chamber. Or I could follow him.

I could learn more about whom I’m dealing with. In doing so, I might uncover more about this Fae, his greatest weakness, and the curse. It’s reckless, but no combatant wins a game without making a move.

I grip the spear and glide after him. It’s arduous swimming one-handed, yet I make do. Half of my training had been in the creek outside my family’s home. I’d practiced fighting my sisters in the water, acclimating myself to staying afloat with the weapon.

Except this place is home to predatory fauna that could materialize at any moment. What’s more, the river isn’t idle. The current is erratic here, and the river feels denser as my limbs siphon through the expanse.

Elixir’s form isn’t hard to make out, even in this subterranean pit. His robe is a black sail around his form as he prowls down lanes and bridges. He passes through a segment of the canals while keeping to nearby walls and ledges, his digits lightly scraping the edifices.

Those long, peapod boats sway against posts, and waterways supplant many of the streets, the river’s surface licking the buildings. The base levels of numerous shops and homes are submerged, as if they’d sprouted from the sandy bottoms once upon a time.

Beyond the canal colony and river proper, my nemesis travels to the outskirts and marches down a walkway stretching into the void. Lanterns dapple the platform, which bears no rails or handles, the flat extension suspended on stilts over the water. Bulrushes line the rims, swaying from the water and creating a fringed border.

My joints sizzle from the effort of traveling one-armed. The platform offers a blessed respite, allowing me to grasp the ridge and coast alongside Elixir.

Halfway down, the Fae halts. I bob in place, nudge the bulrushes apart, and peek through the crevice. With his profile in my sights, Elixir tarries beneath the dome spanning hundreds of feet above. The hood of his robe hangs freely, allowing that mane to tumble down his spine.

He sinks into a crouch. I duck behind a thicket of stems and spy through the blades. Kneeling parallel to me, Elixir’s hand thrusts past the sedges and settles flatly on the river’s surface. Nothing else happens. His head slants toward the ripples, and he idles for longer than I’d have wagered him capable of.

What is he doing? Summoning a wave? Or an animal?

My eyes jump across the perimeter, unable to detect an approaching creature or vortex. Elixir’s gaze fixates on something I can’t see. It as if he’s feeling for a heartbeat, a sign of life.

That’s when I glimpse an outcropping jutting from the foliage. The craggy protrusion is laced with chartreuse lichen, which harkens to a Fable about The Deep. According to that tale, this type of lichen germinates only underwater, which might account for the sickly brown staining some of the filaments.

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