Page 93 of Curse the Fae

Yes, I am. The clothes fit perfectly, an outfit made for the depths, made to find its way through dark and dangerous places.

An hour later, I’m standing on the boat with the spear in my grip. The waterdrop pendant hangs down my back, and Lotus has strapped himself around my bicep. Elixir had vowed his kin won’t injure my friend, and I believe him. I trust this much about the history between mortals and Faeries.

I would impale any Fae that came near Lotus, but that won’t come to pass. Here, he is cherished. The snake ventured into The Deep to be with me. We have a bond, and the Folk need to see that.

Balmy air caresses the bun I’ve plaited against my scalp. The boat cruises through the secret tunnel, but before it reaches the waterslide, my transport rounds a sharp bend, heads in an unfamiliar direction, and enters another passage. I commit to memory as much of the route as possible. Beyond the exit, a vast dome of teal constellations spans a cavern.

My mouth falls open. I lunge sideways and grip the archway, halting the boat before it can fully materialize into the scene.

I’ve gone through a shortcut, a shielded route from my chamber to The Twisted Canals. Ahead, the river proper bears the weight of countless vessels. River dolphins lurch through the aquamarine depth, zipping around spiked and fanged fish, including several sharks who glide in and out of sight.

The ships aren’t large enough to cross oceans, but they consume my vision like great whales from the storybooks. Their broad hulls curve into otherworldly shapes chiseled from obsidian mineral rocks. Lanterns burn from the masts. The sails are diaphanous, yet there are few examples of rigging.

It’s a painting come to life, a fleet of mystical ships at eventide, a midnight parade of fire and water glowing in the darkness.

The Middle Moon Sail.

Peapod-shaped vessels slide between the larger transports, carrying Fae children who snack on roasted crustaceans and pet the sharks.

Faeries clutter the boats. They perch on the ledges or sing from within the decks, their voices braiding together and vibrating across the dome.

Any jubilee or festival in Reverie Hollow involves barrels of ale and dances where stomping feet shake the ground. Here, the music drifts rather than pounds through the atmosphere, and the Folk either toast to the splashing fauna, swim with them, or duel in mock battles across the decks, their weapons clanging while spectators watch.

Beneath the skirt, my knees quiver. They haven’t spotted me yet.

But I see him.

His arrival causes a tidal wave of reaction, every member of the Folk sinking to their knees and bowing their heads. The water lord stalks from one of the passages leading into the canal colony. Followed by an entourage that includes Coral and half a dozen other figures, Elixir draws this legion of Faeries to him without uttering a single word. His long limbs carry him across a planked crossway, his strides imposing, his profile hewn from stone.

A long robe splits open and flares around him like a black sail. A loose shirt slumps down his chest, his pectorals rippling into view, and ebony leggings clutch those athletic limbs.

Onyx hair tumbles from a low ponytail gathered messily at his nape. If he were human and unshaven, he would be a pirate.

Elixir’s gait is swift and domineering, as though he’ll trample anything that gets in his way. He storms past his kin, his fingercaps scraping the air, which guides him to the largest vessel in this port.

Right before he turns to board the ship, an undine child points his webbed finger. “It’s her!”

His melodic accent carries through the silence and reaches Elixir’s tapered ears. He pauses midstride, his hand gripping the ramp railing. He stares ahead for a moment, then whips toward the boy’s voice. His Fae senses strain, reaching out for the slightest hint, but it’s no use.

I do not know how to follow the sound of your affection.

Because he can’t hear my rapid exhalations the way he used to, nor my blood racing, nor my body heating, Elixir follows the sound of the river, the sound of my boat. Those eyes were dull a moment ago, but now they gleam with hope.

At that look, the wind drains from my lungs. He didn’t think I would come.

Every head slashes in my direction. Murmurs dice through The Twisted Canals.

My heart rate quickens, more from the expression on Elixir’s face than the onslaught of glares I receive. Lotus nestles himself around me, the slits of his eyes scanning the environment for signs of hostility. I run my finger over his head to ease his vigilance.

That’s when then my enemies notice the snake around my arm, and the murmurs reach a fever pitch of awe and confusion.

“A mortal snake?”

“She has a familiar?”

“What’s the meaning of this?”

The whispers reach Elixir, whose expression doesn’t alter. Yet prideful gold simmers in his irises, the metallic shine clear from my vantage point.

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