Page 36 of Curse the Fae

The lichen needs to be submerged. It once was, but it isn’t anymore.

I recall what Elixir had said to Cerulean and Puck about the river drainage. It appears, the water level is lowering. It’s depriving the plant life—and possibly the wildlife, along with the Fae—of sustenance.

Faeries can live forever without growing sick, but how long do they last without food or drink?

A strange clicking sound plies through the silence, coming from the opposite bank. I swing in that direction, glimpsing nothing out of the ordinary.

Then again, what is normal in this world?

A heavy splash resounds behind me. The commotion propels me back around, where I part the bulrushes and scan the walkway.

Elixir is gone.

All that’s left are two articles of clothing—leggings and a robe. Moving at a snail’s pace, I wheel toward the river. Despite its gemlike color, the hue is so saturated that it hampers my vision. I squint, floundering to see what lurks beneath the surface.

But I know. Fables help me, I know.

The placid river sprawls like liquid glass. In the near distance, The Twisted Canals glitter with a thousand pools scattered amidst numerous levels, some of the cascades tumbling off the chiseled rooftops. Except for the muffled echo of those falls, all is quiet in my immediate proximity.

My flesh pebbles. I’m well acquainted with the differences between real and fake tranquility. Such peace as this can’t be trusted.

While peering at the river, I choke the spear. Slowly, I give the weapon a deft jerk, the ends lengthening. I close my eyes and feel the water, deciphering its current, which accelerates with the force of a wave. And my eyelids blast open.

I twirl and swing the spear downward. A single male hand punches through the surface, a forked dagger in his grip. The pronged blade impales the air and catches the spear, blocking the strike. Steel meets steel, the clang of weapons reverberating across the cavern.

A muscled forearm extends from the water. With my spear ensnared between the dagger’s teeth, my opponent uses that leverage to drive me in a half circle across the river. The circuit spritzes water everywhere, then my attacker shoves me backward, the force so great that I shear across the expanse before losing momentum.

I screech, kicking in place. Without the ground to steady me, it’s a cumbersome task to whirl the spear overhead. I manage to arch the weapon toward the figure’s skull, the effort pulling a guttural noise from my throat. The figure ducks, my weapon whizzing over his head.

I windmill the spear and freeze. So does Elixir.

He angles his set of daggers—one high, the other low—while arrested in a fighting stance. Whereas I’m wobbly, scrambling to keep afloat and balance a weapon, he’d emerged from the torso up and gone still, impervious to the weightlessness.

Strands of dripping hair fall over half of Elixir’s face. Rivulets race down his torso, the muscles packed and clenching, and his waist narrows into the gulf. Although visibility had been limited before, now I behold a tail swatting under the surface.

Golden eyes hook onto mine. We disarm in unison, jolting our weapons away. Our chests rise and fall in a hectic search for air, the panting sounds loud in this cavernous place. With all the water Faeries asleep in The Twisted Canals, we’re alone. Every time when it has counted, I’ve been so very alone with him.

I shiver. “You knew I was following you.”

His gaze tapers. “Is there a reason I should not have?”

“What gave me away? My temperature again? My blood?”

“The water,” he corrects. “I heard how you moved in the water. It is unique from how a river Fae swims.”

“How so?” I stammer. “What do you hear?”

Elixir’s visage pulls taut, as though the answer disturbs him. “Your movements are calm,” he says. “Humble and considerate. Faeries animate the water, but you…” The ruler marvels, and his baritone lowers with reluctant fascination. “You put the water at ease.”

I blink. To be honest, I like the sound of that.

My chin juts toward his hands. “So that’s how you navigate this realm? Your fingers graze the buildings and tunnel walls? I’ve seen you trace the air like a path, too. Is that another method?”

Futilely, I had asked about his sense of direction before. Either he’s private about his blindness, doesn’t trust my curiosity, or confides to no one. No matter the reason, Elixir’s features scrunch together, shutting me out.

He flips the daggers and sets them atop of the water, where the blades float in place. He may as well have deposited them on a table. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been carrying the weapons earlier, so he must have drawn them here, via the current.

His orbs tick toward the spear. “I should string you up like a flounder.”

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