Page 9 of Curse the Fae

Without halting, the Fae releases me to snatch a pair of leggings off the ground and drive his legs into them, a visibly graphic process that I certainly, absolutely, definitely donotpeek at. Afterward, he plucks a long, thin swatch of material hanging from one of the inverted stalactites. He maneuvers into the robe but leaves it gaping, then he grabs me and strides ahead. As we continue, the garment’s hem slithers around his limbs and slaps his calves, and an equally long hood loops down his back. It’s the same mantel I’d seen this villain wearing earlier, when I spied on him crossing into a passage.

He had heard me and known I was there.

For once in my life, I feel the urge to misbehave. The desire to burden him with noise replenishes my voice. “You commanded that water to attack me, didn’t you? You knew I was there watching you, but instead of lugging me from the depth like a proper villain, you had the current throw me down that chute, where the sharks waited at the bottom. What other penalties do you have in store? Where are you taking me?”

The viper thrusts the hood over his head and ventures forth. As my limbs skitter around a bush, I struggle to pacify my voice, to mellow it as I do whenever striving to understand someone, to empathize with them, or to placate them.

Always, it has worked. Always, I’ve cared enough for it to work.

“Please,” I hazard. “I don’t understand what we’ve done to you, but it wasn’t on purpose. My sisters and I trespassed on your lands to save ourselves, not to defy or insult your kind. Why are you punishing us for that? Have you Faeries no souls? No hearts?”

Again, nothing. He makes not a single, solitary reply.

The Fae stalks around the shrubbery, his open robe sweeping the floor and billowing behind him like a specter’s costume. My own frock adheres to my hips and breasts, exhibiting them to the point of obscenity. As a muggy breeze strokes my limbs, I conclude nothing about my disheveled appearance has been left to discretion or the imagination. Without my pack, weapon, and shoes, the only thing separating me from being utterly stripped is my necklace and a filmy layer of cloth.

The passage condenses into a low tunnel, the muffled sounds of activity and rushing water resounding from the opposite side. We cross into darkness, my enemy’s head scant inches from reaching the ceiling.

Then we emerge into light. I stumble in place. My mouth hangs ajar, and I feel my eyes widening at the sight before me. An underground water colony materializes, with buildings carved like masonry into the cave walls and more waterways than actual streets.

This must be the hub of The Solitary Deep—its beating heart.

Canals pass under short bridges and in between walkways, the ducts connecting stony lanes or splashing up against the buildings’ facades. Seemingly, the only way to access these edifices is with the fleet of long boats coasting across the canals and moored to piers.

The lanky vessels are replicas of the one that had brought me here. Some of them cruise on their own, while others are controlled by Faeries standing at the backs and rowing with upright oars.

Water Faeries. I gulp at the quiet spectacle they make. Without uttering sounds, they coil out of windows, lean across the bridge railings, or bob their heads from the water to observe me. Despite the communal silence, their expressions cut to the quick. In contrast to their flowing tresses and liquid eyes, these Folk appear flinty and as razor sharp as sabers.

Humanlike features mingle with aquatic ones, such as the gills slitting across their necks like incisions, scales glittering around their eyelids, and glorious waterfall curls of cyan and ultramarine. Some have webbed fingers or fanged teeth. Others flaunt the tails and fins of merfolk.

I assume the swimmers are naked. On dry land, the Fae wear diaphanous silks that drizzle from their shoulders and hips or exotic, strappy pieces I’ve never seen before. The materials stretch and conform to their figures while leaving their limbs bare.

The garments are fluid and elastic. They’re easy to remove or swim in. Other than that, I glimpse few accessories apart from my captor’s fingercaps.

Aside from the residents with cascading curls, many keep their hair tied up or woven into complex twists and spirals, also practical for the water.

A great hush sweeps through The Deep. Hundreds of faces bank in our direction as their ruler tugs me behind him. They bow their heads in reverence, then scroll their eyes over to me.

I’d read the mountain Fae are lofty and elegant in their craftiness, whereas the forest Fae are rowdy, lusty, and mischievous. Both cultures favor amusement.

As for the river Fae, nothing could be further from that impression. Their spiteful attention bores into me. It’s a visceral reception, with little patience for ceremony or diversion.

If not for the ruler clasping me in his grip, they might have leaped on me like piranhas and torn my ligaments to shreds. Their heads turn, following our trajectory over a bridge. They look resentful, confounded, and livid, leveling me with the same scrutiny as the villagers back home whenever receiving offensive news.

It brings to mind the ripple effect emanating from their ruler when he’d realized he couldn’t blind me. In response, his tail had thrust about, and the resulting eddies had ridden the pool like a current…like a signal…like a message. This water lord is so mercurial, it’s hard to know whether he’d intended it or not. Either way, that’s why the Faeries are staring with ravenous fury.

They know. Already, they’ve learned I’m immune to their ruler’s magic, which means I’ve just made myself into a greater enemy.

My palms perspire. If the hooded Fae carting me off notices, he shows no indication of it.

Impassively, he strides past his subjects. One male with hair the color of a swamp and a torso inked in tar-black markings steps forward with a trident in his hand. “Sire, we heard—”

The ruler strikes out his wrist, issuing a backhanded sweep through the air. At which point, a nearby waterfall takes flight and lashes the male in the face. It’s the approximation of a dismissive blow, the water blasting the Fae off his feet. He twists at a severe angle and crashes to the ground.

The Faeries show no adverse reactions. Instead, they gaze at their leader with esteemed admiration and approval, the way followers idolize a paragon.

What vile creatures! I gawk a second before we leave the crumpled male behind, then I swing forward to glare at the ruler’s back. “Was that necessary?” I demand, for all the good it does.

The buildings appear to be homes, forges, and merchant establishments with signs peddling opulently carved oars, complex netting, and aquatic weaponry. The edifices are interspersed among cattail ponds and small cascades tumbling down brackets of rock, all presumably originating from the river.

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