Page 98 of Curse the Fae

I nod while bending into the same posture and gazing down. “Will the boats follow?”

“No, they must wait here. My subjects take signals from the water and fauna. That is how they will know our trajectory. Faeries who try to follow disrupt the race and incur public wrath, along with retribution from me. They will not pursue us, but they will know what is happening.”

My lips tremble. What was I thinking? This is madness. I haven’t trained for an otherworldly race through canals in the dark, with predators lurking in the recesses, nor without knowing what else lies ahead. I’m in no shape against a Fae.

My panic must be audible because Elixir says, “Cove, listen to me. I’m here. I’m here, and you can do this. I will not let anything happen to you.”

I nod vehemently while gawking at the churning abyss. “Fables have mercy.”

“Trust the water,” he coaches. “Remember how I showed you darkness. Remember how you mastered The Sunken Isle’s lake. Remember that, and trust yourself. Remember that, and trust me.”

I do as he bids and remember, remember, remember. As that happens, my blood slows, the flux calming.

I can do this. I need to do this.

In the hot glare of the ship lanterns, Elixir’s profile wrestles with itself, struggling to tamp down his own emotions. He’s distraught because I’m important to him. No matter what, I’ve made that mark. I know because I feel the same way about this Fae, because he’s become my weakness, too.

But weaknesses can turn into power, can become forces to reckon with. The promise of that works its magic. Despite the Faeries chanting from the ships and boats around us, faith loosens my muscles, and determination fuels my blood. We can race, and we can play this dangerous game, but we’ll find a way to do it with each other, not against.

“Fall with me,” I say into the void. “Go deep with me.”

Elixir is quiet for a moment. “It is too late. I did that long ago.”

Together, we jump.

26

My body springs off the plank, my arms extending toward the water. I turn myself into a spear, conjuring the times when I’ve dived off tree limbs into the deepest parts of the creek.

The plunge is swift yet endless, time advancing and slowing. Air pressure rushes through my limbs, the velocity turning my hair into a kite. Wearing nothing but this elastic suit, I feel the descent in a way I never have, my body cutting through the atmosphere.

My stomach lurches, freedom and terror converging. Maybe this is why Lark loves this feeling—the rush of flight, the surrender, the leap of faith, and the power that comes with it.

Mist launches from nowhere, spraying my flesh. A second later, I break through, lancing into the gulf. Water surges around my limbs, suctioning me down. The world grows silent, gravity disappearing. I hear bubbles bloating around me and muffled waves rolling from above.

It’s a clean landing, my body knifing into the depth. Leveling forward, I vault ahead and then loop upward, following the current, following the noises. The surface spews into fragments as I emerge, oxygen flooding my lungs. For an unfortunate moment, I’d forgotten how much thicker the water is in this realm, how sometimes it moves differently. That’s going to make it hard to pace myself, to preserve my breath.

Against the ruler of this land, I shouldn’t stand a chance. Yet there’s one advantage to remember, one vital straw to grasp at: Immortals of the river don’t know how to swim for survival, because they don’t need to.

Mortals like me do.

My eyes blast open, scanning the perimeter. Ships and boats tower above like ancient monuments, their hulls croaking, the tunnels magnifying the noise. Thankfully, the eddying river washes out the hollers and songs of the onlookers.

Droplets plunk from my eyelashes. The setting wavers, turning my vantage gritty and uneven as I bob. Glimpses of writhing flames, craggy foundations, and boulders covered in filigrees of lichen fluctuate in my vision.

A shark fin cuts into view, then vanishes in a slap of water. Fear knots into a fist and punches me in the ribs.

Where is he?

Do not tarry. Keep to the west side.

The shark will identify me as prey if I linger, but like the first time I had this problem, speeding away will also seal my fate. I barrel toward where the fin had plummeted. The flux sloshes around me with every kick and beat of my limbs, hopefully sending a message to the dweller that I’m not its target, nor am I in the mood to be eaten.

I recall the direction Elixir had indicated—I need to remember this mental compass for the map etched into my chamber floor—and veer west, careening forward, bounding in and out of the water. Several slick bodies race across my calves, and I don’t know if the aquatic creatures are about to shift sizes, but I keep going, keep plowing straight.

The river flows against me, burdening the momentum and scorching my muscles. This is Elixir’s idea of a lighter current versus the east? No surprise, considering the Folk’s stamina. For me, it’s the lesser of the two evils.

The tunnel narrows to a sliver and begins an unearthly zigzag. At last, the current shifts and flows with me, but it also accelerates, driving me into the winding flux and threatening to fling me into the serrated walls. I harpoon left and right, left and right, left and right. Any second, the sharp turns could either capsize or hurl me against the foundations, where I’ll splatter to a pulp.

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