Chapter 17 #2
“Well…” She clasps her hands together, wiggling in place. “A Moon Fae told me I should look to the water, that it will help me hone my skills.”
I glare. “I told you that as well, did I not?”
“I suppose so, but it holds more weight coming from a Moon Fae.”
“Alas. If the weather were better, we could swim. That would surely do the trick.”
“And disturb the fae? This is their home.”
“They won’t be disturbed. They enjoy playing with us.” I bend over and dip my finger into the lake, and a tiny water pixie dances over to me, climbing onto my hand. “See?”
Ophelia fights off laughter. “Emyr! Put her down at once.”
I stand and present the pixie on the palm of my hand. She’s hardly bigger than my thumb but has more spirit than I have in my entire body, sticking out her tiny tongue and letting out a round of giggles.
“My… she is lovely.” Ophelia laughs softly.
“She is.”
The pixie floats back to the water, and I glance at Ophelia from the corner of my eye, still captured by her fascinated expression—but our bliss cannot last forever. It can’t even last long.
There’s a chill. Darkness. Nightfall. The lake grows darker, the blue water turning black. All I want is to steal more time with her, to live under her soft gaze, but that doesn’t appear to be an option.
“I suppose we should leave,” I say. “It will be cold before long.”
The glow of the butterflies illuminates her face, and Ophelia looks up at me with so much earnestness that my heart clenches.
“Can we return on another day? Perhaps when the weather is nicer, and we can swim?”
I’ll take her anywhere she wants, if she only asks, and that is a dangerous thought to have.
My lip tugs up at the corner. “Perhaps.”
We walk back along the traveled path. The woods are darker this time, and she lingers closer, her arm brushing against mine as we go.
CROAK!
A wretched sound comes from the abyss.
“Emyr?” Her voice shakes. “What was—”
CROAK!
“A… a sick frog, perhaps. We shouldn’t go looking for it. Let us hurry.”
If I were a braver man, I would find the creature, but I’m not. My expertise lies not in facing danger, but learning to avoid it altogether.
As the sound grows, our pace quickens until we’re no longer walking.
I run through the woods, never fast enough to be far from Ophelia. She catches up to me with ease. My fingers squeeze hers, hard enough that she yelps, a desperate attempt at keeping her close.
“Did something get you?” I ask.
“No!”
And the croaking continues. It grows in volume until we come to a sudden stop.
On the forest ground in front of us, the frog fae writhes on its back. It’s larger than the other frogs we’ve seen and something…
Something is terribly wrong.
A dark mist surrounds the poor creature, filling his eyes and that horrid, dreaded mouth. His teeth are pointed.
Have they always been that way?
The darkness falls again, darker than it should be, wrapping us in the mist. I choke on it.
Ophelia’s gloved hand finds mine, rough lace scratching against my fingers. “What is happening? Is this…?”
“The curse,” I whisper, my wing wrapping around her. “We must run.”
OPHELIA
I never imagined I would run from a cursed frog, but there are more reasons to escape. We’re fleeing from the mist itself. Emyr seems not to feel or see it at all, but I do.
Jealousy. Heartbreak. Betrayal.
It’s a thirst for revenge. It’s murder. It is—
Gods. This frog—admittedly larger than the frogs I’m used to and with several more eyes, but no more threatening than any I’ve seen—is truly chasing us.
The croaking is dreadful. To end the creature’s suffering would be kinder, but I don’t know how, and Emyr shows no sign of stopping.
My hand finds his. It’s an instinct, I tell myself, a desire to stay safe in this cursed land.
He squeezes my fingers as we run along the trail, continuing until we reach the castle gardens.
His breath comes out in shallow pants, and he collapses onto his knees, mindless of the dirt that is surely messing up his trousers. I drop next to him without a second thought. My hands find his again, clutching tight, searching his expression for an answer.
There is none to be found, only pure terror. Is he truly frightened of a little frog? Even if the thing is cursed, wracked by emotions I’d never wish upon my worst enemy, it couldn’t have hurt us.
But fear comes off him in waves, strong enough that I could choke on it—somehow, it’s even more potent than the emotions within the curse. Emyr is lost in a way I never noticed before.
That haunted look in his eye ought to chase me away. After a tragic life, I want a simple one, and I know he can’t offer that—even as a friend. That is why he is both hot and cold, close to me one day and running the next.
It is all terrible. I should run first, but…
I can’t. I’m stuck to this man like a fly in a honey trap, even if I don’t understand why.
“I should’ve killed it.” He runs his fingers through his frazzled hair. Emyr’s voice, usually lilted and playful, shakes with fear. He trembles from head to toe. “Why didn’t I strike it down before it poisons the rest? Too weak. Always too weak.”
“It couldn’t have hurt us,” I murmur. “It was only a frog, Emyr. Everything is all right.”
“No! Nothing is all right.” He looks at me with a wild expression, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears. “This is my fault. Can you not see that?”
I shake my head. “I don’t—”
“I’m meant to be breaking this curse, and I’m taking too long. Spark will be next. He’s already next. I must stop this.”
Wind sweeps over me, tinged with the wretched curse, sending goose bumps across my flesh. “You’re doing your best. You and Princess Minetta are to be wed, and—”
“No. No.” He stares into the shadowed woods. “I must do this myself. There is another way. Sooner. Sooner, or everyone I care for will—” His chest heaves with each breath.
“You’re all right.” I move beside him and rub my thumb against the back of his hand. “You will break this curse, one way or another, and I… I will do anything to help you.”
His tragic eyes meet mine, and his wings wrap around us, sheltering us from the world. “Will you truly help me, little halfling? You will swear allegiance to such a coward?”
“Why not? I am part of this palace now, and you… you are not a coward, Emyr.”
It takes several moments for him to say anything. His breathing finally slows, no longer ragged and desperate, and his shoulders relax. “I suppose you’re one of us now, part of this palace, but you’re still too good to befriend the likes of me.”
“Enough. I’m happy to be your friend.”
And the longing—the ache for something I can never have—it must wait. We have a curse to take care of, and though I know little about it…
No one, high fae or common, should have to feel that wretched feeling the curse brought upon me. Not even a little frog.