Page 78 of Curse the Fae

“Nowhere,” Lark and Juniper say.

I nip my lower lip. “Me, too.”

We’d just stumbled around, searching for one another. That’s our unanimous answer, though I’m the only one who’s lying.

The fib tastes like rotten cabbage in my mouth—disgusting, unhealthy, and hard to digest. I don’t like it. Fate will punish me for this someday, I’m sure of that.

Although I’ve never kept anything from my sisters or Papa before, I can’t bring myself to utter the truth. What if it’s dangerous for them to know about the viper? What if Lark sneaks out, intending to see him for herself, and gets hurt? Or what if Juniper does the same for research purposes? What if he threatens them?

Once I start talking, I won’t be able to stop myself, and they’ll know he’s there because of The Trapping. What if that alone traumatizes them?

More than not wanting to lie, I don’t want to scare my sisters. Loyally, I bite my tongue and live with the knowledge alone.

We’re a dazed trio, though Lark has a fascinated gleam in her gray eyes, as if she’s been on an escapade. Between the three of us, she’s the type who would see getting lost as a thrill. That explains the sparkle in her irises.

As for Juniper, her cheeks are uncharacteristically flushed, either from exertion or embarrassment that she hadn’t been able to track us down, her being the huntress of our family. Juniper loathes incompetence, so that accounts for the rosy puddle in her cheeks. Otherwise, she never blushes.

I don’t need a mirror to determine how I look. All the color has leached from my face, and no amount of cooing from my sisters alleviates it.

I stay close to home every morning and night, barely venturing out except to minister to our sanctuary animals. Every evening, I slumber deeply, engulfed in visions of golden eyes probing me through a plate of glass.

I will drown you.

A few times, I stir at the sound of Lark or Juniper’s feet padding to and from our room, probably to relieve themselves. Other than that, the nightmares consume me, pulling me under the surface.

A week later over breakfast, I wonder about the viper. No doubt, the translucent cage fitted inside the well is the collaborative handiwork of Reverie Hollow’s glassblower and glazier. As for the iron grilles, the villagers have the blacksmith to thank for that. But is this how all the cages look? Or is it just for the water fauna?

“Cove.” Papa Thorne’s gentle voice breaks my spell. “You’re not eating.”

I blink at the apple pie and eggs set before me, then meet my father’s kind eyes. The truth sits heavy on my tongue, but so does another question. Cottagers have been whispering how some of the Folk had attempted to rescue their animals but met a gruesome end against the rebels’ iron weapons. And so, I wonder, “Did any Faeries get caged during The Trapping?”

From their chairs, Lark and Juniper’s heads snap up, their eyes flaring wide with alarm. Lark’s cutlery clatters onto her plate. Juniper chokes the stem of her fork. One would think I had asked a naughty question, but since when does Lark care about discretion? And since when does Juniper fear asking questions?

All the same, guilt pinches my ribs. I hadn’t meant to upset my sisters.

I must look equally dismayed because Papa’s brows furrow with concern. He reclines in his chair and ponders for a moment. I know that conflicted look, when he doesn’t want to tell us something, but he also won’t lie.

“I won’t pretend you haven’t experienced darkness in your short lives, and I can’t shelter you three forever,” he sighs. “Many of avenging Faeries were slaughtered, but others were indeed caught along with the fauna. They’re being kept in different places, spread throughout the village and on the outskirts. They didn’t have room for all the cages in one enclosed place, nor did the townsfolk think it wise to store all of them near one another.” He pats my hand, a forced smile cutting through his face. “Don’t worry. There are no cages near our home.”

Lark and Juniper collapse in their seats, air spilling from their chests. I’m not so relieved. Did that male Fae try to save the animals of his world, and that’s why he’d gotten caught?

Unable to evict the question from my mind that night, I wrap myself in a frock, cloak, and boots, and grab my spear. At the last minute, I snatch one of Juniper’s pencils—I make sure not to take her favorite—and several leaflets of parchment, stuffing them in my pocket.

From their beds, Lark and Juniper rest peacefully. Under their blankets, bundles outline their forms. Odd that Lark isn’t snoring or tossing and turning, nor is Juniper mumbling in her sleep. I mull over that for a moment, then take care to shut the door quietly behind me.

It’s long past midnight, far later than I’ve ever been out on my own, including the last time I stood beside the creek. I walk quickly, glancing over my shoulder every so often, lest a mythical beast is following me.

The journey to the ancient well passes quicker than expected. Before I know it, I’m dashing behind a crochet of bushes and squatting to the ground. To my left, dozens of rings ripple across the creek and head toward the embankment where his cage stands.

The world smells of damp foliage and distant elderberries. I part the shrubbery like a curtain, my breath catching at the scene playing out before me. The Fae floats in his watery cage, that black pool of hair spilling around him. His head is cocked, and his lips are slanted. An intrigued expression—a friendly expression—lights his face.

He’s still trapped, but he’s no longer alone. The fish that had been lured to the well seven nights ago now swarm the glass tube. They spiral around him like leaves caught in a whirlwind. Joining them are other breeds, including eels and snakes that must have ventured from the outer sea. I recognize many of the species, whereas he seems fascinated by the fish, so they can’t be Fae, right? Otherwise, they would be caged like him, and he wouldn’t be so fascinated by their presence.

He must have welcomed them inside. At which point, they must have wedged themselves through the bottom grilles. The fish corkscrew around his tail, the eels ricochet through his hair, and the snakes coil around his arms.

The Fae’s mouth compresses, holding back a grin. A sad one but a grin, nonetheless.

The sight pricks my chest. I lean into the bush, the better to observe.

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