Page 99 of Curse the Fae

I deflect and push, deflect and push. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

River water sluices down my throat. My joints scream from exertion.

A force catapults from somewhere below and cleaves past me. On the way, a set of fingers brushes my knee, and a tail grazes my ankle. A quick glance into The Deep reveals a dark outline coasting beneath and then shearing ahead.

Searching for me must have slowed him down. If I want to win authentically, having the ruler looking out for my benefit isn’t going to help. Then again, that’s his choice, not mine.

Energy renewed, I speed forth, putting every ounce of strength and faith and love into it. I conjure the faces of my family, the voices of my sisters, and the scents of the sanctuary. I remember my birth parents, lost to a raging ocean. I recall a young, forbidden enemy caged in a liquid tube and pledging to drown me.

He could do that now, but he won’t. He’s not that Fae anymore.

Even if he were, I would never let him. I won’t drown for these Faeries, and I won’t sink like my parents, and I’ll never fear swimming.

The curves straighten, dashing into a new artery where three cords of fluid pour from craters in the canopy. The lantern flames have long since vanished, and the aquamarine water has darkened, leaving only the teal orbs to illuminate the passage. A fluid screech peals through my ears, the fathomless call belonging to an unknown sea creature.

Don’t stop, I will myself. He told me not to stop.

The trio of slender cascades shower down as I approach.

At the waterfalls, pass through the central cascade—

I shove through the middle deluge.

—and hold your breath for as long as you can.

Suddenly, the ceiling grows shallow, declining into a blockade. I suck in a deep gust, packing my lungs to capacity, and plunge under the hard foundation. Again, the world goes silent. My eyes pop open, but it’s dark. So very dark.

My digits grapple overhead, and a jagged facade bites into my skin. It’s like I’m beneath solid earth, with no way to hammer through, no way to go except forward. I pump my arms and legs, fling myself into it, and count. Two minutes pass, then another fifteen seconds, and another, and another, and another. I’ve practiced this many times before, but it’s too much, just too much.

I’m not a water Fae. I’m not Elixir, who can breathe down here.

Panic skewers my womb. I keep checking the edifice, but there’s no sign of an opening or groove. My head fogs, dizziness tugging on me.

I think of an infant being born in the water. I think of a child sitting on a bank, chortling as a gaggle of tiny fish peck at her toes. I think of a young girl learning to wield a spear in the creek. I think of a woman bathing in that same creek, loving the depth and flow—my anchor and my haven. I channel that watery love and battle my way through.

Visibility returns. Blue-green gradients flow around me like melted jewels, the colors glazing the underwater architecture of sculpted rocks and coontails that latch around my calves, so numerous they could form a net and trap me.

I kick the plants away and propel myself, then reflexively lurch backward at the sight ahead. A legion of wide, thin figures surf toward me like spotted cloaks, the long strings of their tails whipping behind them.

Do not touch the stingrays.

The Fever of Stingrays.

Elixir had cautioned me. And before that, Coral had mentioned this area.

The squadron accelerates, swinging from side to side, a few spooling like rolled bolts of cloth that cannon my way.

If you founder, reach for me. I shall be close.

But I won’t do that. I won’t because maybe part of me is as stubborn as my family. I need to do this.

The creatures move like water itself, their stingers whipping behind them. They flit by like a stampede, but the crush is so dense, it blocks out portions of the abyss. I’m not small enough to pass through while avoiding those tails.

Some shrink and skate just below my thighs, others bloat to the size of canopies or tents. I twist and duck, dive and rise. A cry of pain pops from my lips, more bubbles foaming as one of the tails whacks my shin.

Nausea roils in my gut. It’s not a puncture wound, but stingrays carry venom. If any of them thrust their tails into my upper body, I’ll be in trouble.

Is this how I’m going to die? By doing what I had sworn not to do? By drowning or from suffering a thousand stings?

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