Page 19 of The Prince or the Bard?
She’s planned this better than I have; I recognize the path to the little beach we raced the tide on hours earlier, still mostly filled by seawater. All I can think of is those rocks, and those vicious currents my mer friend warned me about.
How long is it until midnight? I wish I knew.
I snort, pounding the ground ever harder, hoping to catch my cousin when I know I cannot.
There’s barely a splash as Fiadh leaps into the crashing waves. Sea goddess help me. I have to go in after her!
By the time I reach the top of the stone steps, I can no longer see her. Panic wells in my chest, driving me to my back hooves as I rear and stamp.Fiadh, where are you?
Here.Her voice is faint.
Get back here this instant!
Can’t.
Can’t, or won’t?
She doesn’t answer.
With a whinny and a roll of my eyes, I leap into the frothing water, the world going dark.
Now a mere body length from the rocks, I can feel it. Thewrongnessin the water. I’m unskilled with magic, and I cannot feel the pulse of it behind this brutal pull down and into the rocks behind me. Yet I know this goes beyond the normal push of currents and waves. I can tell that this is notnatural.
I feel as if some great hand is grasping at me, trying to drag me down to my death. I push my head underwater, the gill slits behind my jaw opening.
This curse is messing with the wrong púca.I won’t let you have our queen.
I swim with all my strength, trying to reach my cousin. I don’t have to go far; she loses her battle with the current, her body colliding with mine. My hooves flail uselessly through the water, clipping her in the flank.
Together, we fly into the rocks, my body shielding hers from the worst of the impact.
Darkness swirls through the water, blotting out the already scant starlight. We are pinned, neither rising nor falling.
Swim, Fiadh!
A panicked whinny laces her reply.I cannot tell which way is up!
Every muscle in my unseelie body tightens in agonizing strain, but it's no use. It's clear as a moon jelly that I'm losing her.
Chapter Eleven
Swim anyway!I urge the queen.Kick!
Fiadh moves enough that I can finally push off the rock wall, aiming for the surface.
White flashes above us—a wooden raft so weathered and sun bleached it is as snow against these dark waters.A buoy! Fiadh, look!
The tangle of our limbs lessens, not because she has regained control against this violent shove of the current, but because she is falling.
Keep breathing, I tell her. We can’t drown. But we can be beaten into pulp against these rocks.Stay close to the stones.
I dive deeper, losing the light as I slip under Fiadh, leveraging my back beneath her hindquarters. Slowly, painstakingly, I nudge her higher at every retreat of the waves, bringing with it a lesser pressure of the wild current.
We must be close to midnight, or just after; the power of the curse is wavering, almost as if it’s forgetting to shove back at us. And thank the sea goddess for that. I am exhausted by the time Fiadh reaches the surface, grasping the buoy line with her teeth.
I’m so tired. I could sink deeper, and just give in to this current. But it’s not in my nature to go quietly.
The buoy skims along the surface, skipping along the waves as Fiadh is towed out of the water. She returns to her seelie fae form seamlessly, gripping the platform with both hands. I cannot make out her expression through the churning waves, but I picture gritted teeth.
