Page 94 of Curse the Fae

Without breaking his gaze from my direction, the river ruler lifts his arm. The voices from every vessel fall silent. Then he extends his hand, palm up, in invitation.

I release the tunnel wall. My boat drifts, the current guiding it to the pier, where the craft bumps against the planks. Swallowing, I take his fingers and step onto the crossway, his warmth burrowing into my fingers.

Covertly, his pupils stray over me. I wish he could see my face, but more than that, I wish he could see himself, could see what’s hidden there.

Elixir releases my hand. As he does, his knuckles graze the scales of my skirt, and his chest rumbles.

“You’re wearing the light,” he murmurs under his breath.

My pulse leaps. “Yes. And I’ve got company.”

We pause for a beat, then he glances toward the snake in acknowledgement and steps back. “The mortal and her companion shall attend,” he announces with a subtle growl. “That is my word. Let her see how we honor the fauna, and let her know that bond reigns eternal. Let it be so.”

I know this is a performance. I know he has to say this, has to exercise his authority, and has to make sure they don’t sense more between us. I know it must appear as if he’s forced me to be here. I know it needs to appear as though he’s amused, rather than proud, that I’ve brought Lotus. I know it needs to look as if my demonstration makes no difference, because humans will never be stronger, because we’re the lesser beings, because we’re of a lesser nature.

And I know I’ve had enough. I fist my spear and lift my chin. “Actually,” I amplify my voice. “I’m here to race.”

25

It takes Elixir a moment to process what I’ve said. His eyes widen, sharp and piercing.

Mutterings filter through the scene. Elixir’s nostrils flare. Without breaking his attention from me, he swats his fingers in silent command, as though smacking a monsoon back to the place it came from. The commotion dies instantly.

He stands there, in all his Fae glory, and ticks his head to the side, waiting for me to continue.

“I’m not here to watch,” I say. “I’m here to race against one of you.”

Astonishment slices through the crowd. From aboard every ship and boat, stunned gazes level on me as my words hang in the air, overflowing in this expansive hub.

Then laughter breaks out. The incredulous Faeries erupt in a stream of cackles and titters and guffaws, the noise resounding from the vessels and echoing across the river. Despite this rare fit of hysterics, the merfolk, undines, and water sprites sound like liquid music, their voices reverberating like cymbals and chimes.

My cheeks roast, but I trace my necklace for support and keep my chin raised. Lotus strains toward the sound and hisses, which snags their attention.

But it’s the rasping baritone of their leader that makes a greater difference. “Silence!” he booms.

Again, the congregation goes still. They swallow their mirth and watch with rapt intrigue, some of them coiling around the sails or leaning at steep angles from the serpent figureheads.

Tension radiates from Elixir in waves—a geyser about to burst. He’s caught between me and them, between his influence and my wellbeing. He’s searching for a way out of this, but this ruler is too visceral to handle tact.

From the one of the ships, Scorpio and his swamp-colored hair materialize in my periphery, ink markings clawing across his torso. He leans over the craft’s rail and crosses his forearms, his black-smudged eyes waspish as they target me. “That’s no race. It’s an insult.”

“No, it’s an execution,” an undine trills, correcting him.

“What Fae would lower themselves to race you?” a sprite warbles.

I open my mouth.

“I will race her,” a syrupy voice says.

From behind Elixir, Coral steps forth, her gaze arched with neither scrutiny nor superiority. Sheer pants balloon around her limbs like smoke and cinch at the ankles, and her dark thighs and calves are visible beneath the textile. One of those clingy bodices adheres to her bust and stretches to cover her backside and pelvis; the swimming suit is also visible under her transparent pants.

My stomach flips with nervousness. Although she looks only a few years older than Elixir, the slight difference is considerable for immortals. And Faeries grow stronger with age. The Fables say as much.

Someone nearer to my equivalent would be easier. But they might also play dirtier.

This female has no interest in that. Matter of fact, I see a measure of intrigue staring back at me. She would be a good option if she weren’t several times more robust than a younger Fae.

Have I thought this through clearly? Because right now, neither option seems promising, not if I want to win.

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