Page 92 of Curse the Fae

Still, no one forced Elixir to be evil. No one forced him to use his anger as a weapon, nor to supplement his losses with violence, dark magic, and rigged games.

He twists away. I shuffle back and cross my arms. What I’d said hurt him, and I don’t like hurting him, because I know what it’s like to lose my parents. I hear the adoration in his voice when he talks about them.

I don’t want these hours to end like this. I don’t want to bring this quarrel into my dreams tonight. I want what we had in the pond. I want that to last.

Elixir’s chest heaves. “The Middle Moon Sail begins at midnight. If you want to, the boat shall be waiting.”

“Why do you want me there? To show off your captive?”

“No.” His voice dips low. “I want you there because you will enjoy it.”

Tears spring to my eyes, but I suck them up like Juniper would. I don’t answer before stepping into the boat, and I don’t look back as I leave him behind.

***

In my chamber, I dream of a thousand drowning faces. I dream of hate and love, of viciousness and kindness. I dream of mortal worlds and immortal lands. I dream of a cursed wishing well and a lily pond.

I dream of crickets and toads, then flip my eyes open. The eventide chorus of insects and amphibians resounds outside the door. The window lanterns bloom with orange light, and the central bath gurgles, wisps of steam curling from within.

Lotus is snoozing beside me, rolled into a spool of reptilian skin. His tongue flutters from his mouth as he rests, his body satiated from the feed I’d brought him after leaving Elixir.

Nevertheless, a covered platter and tankard wait on the table. I stare at the offering, knowing the trencher will contain nourishment for us both.

If you want to, the boat shall be waiting.

What time is it?

I rustle out of bed, scurry through the chamber door, and pad outside. Sure enough, the vessel is there. Anchored against the bank, the transport sways over the water, a lantern brimming from its prow this time.

A netted bag sits in the boat. Pulling on the rope closure, I find one of those strappy, clingy suits the other Faeries have worn. This one is backless and extends only to the buttocks and hips. It’s cut from the softest material, reminiscent of brilliant, white petals.

It’s also tiny. The garment reminds me of the lacy underthings Lark favors, though in one piece rather than two.

But there’s also a skirt. I tug it from the bag and gasp. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. Layers of scales cascade like a waterfall, the white shingles etched in tints of silver. The colors throw prisms into the air, every plate shimmering like liquid and light strewn together.

“Mermaid scales,” I whisper.

It’s exquisite. And it’s daring. The skirt is some type of wrap style, allowing the front panels to split around my limbs. Lark would approve, but never mind what Juniper would say. She hates skimpy clothing as much as she disapproves of wearing the color red.

But my sisters belong to the sky and roots, whereas I belong to the tide.

The ensemble is immodest but stunning, the fabric as supple as water. I’ve found nothing of the sort in the chamber’s wardrobe, and I realize why. The style and unearthly textiles are tailored for swimming, a pastime Elixir hadn’t wanted to encourage in the beginning.

But now…

Make your choice.

I shouldn’t be near him any more than I need to be. My heart can’t risk it. He won’t let anybody harm me, yet he has the power to hurt me the most. He won’t help me find a way to abolish this game, to stop the wild from fading without sacrificing humans. He won’t relinquish that power. He thinks it’s all he has left.

I won’t change that. I can’t change him.

That’s not my quest. No, my quest is to find a solution myself, to map out this realm, to explore this domain, and seek out another way. If I don’t, my quest is still to win this game. Either way, I won’t surrender.

It’s time to show these Faeries that mortals are stronger than they’ve been given credit for, to show them a human can survive the harshest of elements. Even gentle mortals can be fierce. Even mortals are paragons of nature. If someone never proves the Folk wrong about this, nothing will change.

Sorrow, anger, and tenderness work in tandem. Standing beside the water, I peel the nightgown from my body, then step into the filmy garment, which clings to my form like a second skin. I swirl the skirt around my hips and jerk on the tie, strapping it in place. I shimmer with every move, flinging brightness into this sunken cavern.

You are the light.

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