Page 17 of The Crowned Fae Queen
It sings against my skin. Revival runs rampant through my veins as my magic laps against it. Nothing lives in this water. Nothing that doesn’t have the strong feeling of home. Schools of fish small and large. Humble snakes and the occasional frog grace these waters that lead far out past what we can see now.
“Oh, Aspasia darling.”
“That’s odd.” I mumble pulling my hand away and leaning back onto my heels.
“What is?”
“My magic doesn’t sense the witch within the water. Like she has never graced this place before.” If this is another trick of her magic, I’m about through. From walls to falls and abandonment and damn arachnids, the last thing I need now is an invisible witch.
“Oh, she’s been here. She lives here. Well, except for when she vacations in the Arctic.” Miranda points out toward the water. “Actually, here she comes now.”
Ripples part the water, the creature, the witch,motheras Aisha would have me believe, still invisible to us. My hand darts to the water; I close my eyes, urging my magic to find her. The water tells a story, but it doesn’t include her existence or warn of her evil doings.
Soft as silk, fingers wrap around my slender wrist. My eyes pop open.
“Would you think of me as one of the monsters that live in this lagoon?” Her voice is a thrill of a thousand harmonies, the noise enchanting and terrifying all at once. The witch cocks her head, watching me, examining me as I do her.
Vibrant silver strands are slicked back behind her head, the long ends of her hair floating around her like a backwards-bent umbrella in the water. Shiny teal scales cover her body. They reflect and ripple as she blinks. Her lips are pale lilac, as if she drowned in these waters.
Behind her, the tip of her tail flicks above the surface, reminding me how much she isn’t human. Her stare burns on my skin; those cunning crimson, violet-lined eyes cut like a sword.
“You look a beautiful evil,” I say, pulling my hand from her wet grasp.
She smiles at the odd compliment, revealing rows of pointed, shark-like teeth. Her scaly hand flutters to the shells that adorn her décolletage, the sincerity of her attention shifting to Miranda.
“You’ll have to excuse her.” Miranda dips his head. “She woke up on the wrong side of her plush princess bed, and she has had quite the trouble while making her way here. First time and all,” he amends.
“What a poor dear.” Aspasia lifts her chin, not bothering to hide the way she devours Miranda with her gaze. “You look well.”
“Well enough, considering the time and distance between our last visit and this.” Water splashes as the witch swims to Miranda. Her delicate touch traces the shape of his calves and skims up to his thighs where she leaves two handprints of dripping water darkening his pants.
“One day,” Her euphonious voice rings out, “I will give myself legs such as you have, and I will leave behind my magic.”
Unwavering, Miranda’s hand traces her jawline, his fingers stopping only to twirl an errant strand of her shiny hair between the tips of his fingers. “Only if you promise to run away with me once you do.”
His whisper nearly makes me want to upchuck the remnants of my dinner. I have not come to watch their ungoddesslike display of kinship or whatever intentions they have with one another. I’ve come for answers.
He watches the witch like she alone will be his undoing. A look I’ve seen only a handful of times from my own lover. Miranda’s brain is fogged with witch magic. He doesn't love her because she is on the path he is forging for himself, he loves her because she woos him with her power.
“Why does the water not announce your presence or tell tales of the life you live?” I skim the surface with my palm.
“Maybe you are not asking the right questions,” Aspasia purrs, her eyes wide and soft. “Does the water tell you of every person it drowns? Does the water tell you of its story or simply the stories of others? We are the same.” She pauses only to watch me. “The water and I.”
I pull my hand away. I’ve only ever heard it speak of others, of warnings to protect me. The water has never spoken as if it holds the power of life and death itself like Goddess Nature or Goddess Celeste. Omitting is only a fancy word for lying. All of my life, trusting the water, and now it feels as though it was all a cruel joke.
Aspasia drops her palms from Miranda’s thighs, edging closer to me. “I do not mean offense, my dear—”
“Do not call me by some pet name,” I hiss. “I will not be some pet to the witch who seduces men she doesn’t truly want.”
“Syren,” Miranda warns, though I feel the hurt in his tone.
The witch holds up one hand to Miranda, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t chastise her, my love. Were you not skeptical the day we first met?”
Miranda settles for rolling his eyes and clenching his jaw like he is determined to break his teeth. What a shame that would be. I’d like to see the witch still love him and his flappy gums.
“What is your name,Princess?”
Anger ticks through me. Does she mock me? Does she not think of me as the daughter Aisha told me I am? Or is this another trick?
