Page 4 of The Cursed Kingdom

My family thinks she has an eating disorder. They whisper about it whenever I come home to visit, and they bug me with questions I can’t answer. They’re worried about her, but there’s no way to explain that she’s a faerie who is dying because she’s living in a realm without the magic her body needs to survive.

That would raise a lot of questions, and my parents would probably try to have me admitted to a hospital.

I wish Lill’s sickness were an eating disorder. It would be a serious issue, but at least one with the hope of a cure. Her body needs the magic that runs thick in the air of the faerie realm, and the human one has none. Not a drop. Lill’s going to die, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

It’s what killed her mother, and it’s only a matter of time before it does the same to her.

Lill’s mom refused to drink the delysum tea after realizing there wouldn’t be enough for her and her daughter. Or, at least, she refused to drink enough to sustain her. She wanted to save what was left for her daughter, and she withered away and died within ten years of coming to the human realm.

Lill told everybody it was cancer, which I suppose isn’t too far from the truth.

She looks just like her mother did in the months before she died, and I wonder what lie I’ll end up telling when the time comes. It terrifies me.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Lill snaps. She hurries to put the lid on her canister, but there’s no point. I already saw how little is left. “I’m just about to start dinner.”

I shake my head, grabbing her teacup. Her hands are trembling, and I don’t want her to spill. The delysum tea is too precious to spill.

“Abby…” Lill starts.

I shake my head, silently dismissing her impending argument. I know she’s embarrassed, but that’s what family is for. I’m here for her. I’ll always be here for her.

I hold the teacup to her lips, letting her take a few sips before pulling away.

“No need to cook dinner,” I say. “I’ll order pizza.”

She nods, and I carry the cup into the living room so she can sit and rest. She needs to preserve what little energy she has left; otherwise, her symptoms will worsen. Her tea is too diluted to restore any of the magic she has lost, but it will alleviate the worst of her pain.

At this point, that’s all we can hope for.

Lill looks around the living room, her gaze lingering on the book I was reading last night and the few bits of yarn cuttings from the crochet project she’s been working on this past week. I know what she’s thinking before she even opens her mouth to speak.

“I’ll clean up tomorrow morning,” she says. “I promise.”

I press my lips together, not bothering to argue. I’ve told her a million times that she doesn’t need to clean the apartment and I’ll do it this weekend, but she refuses to listen. It makes her feel useful, and it probably helps alleviate some of her guilt over our financial arrangement.

Lill finally sits down, and I wait until she’s fully settled before handing her the teacup. The few sips helped her tremor, so I trust she won’t spill any.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, disappearing down the hallway that leads to our bedrooms.

Mine is the first on the right, and I dip into my room with a quiet sigh. The room is a mess, but it’smymess. I rip off my work clothing, fussing with my pant buttons before yanking my shirt over my head and tossing it into my overflowing laundry basket in the corner. It rolls onto the ground.

I’ve needed to do laundry for days now, and there’s no more putting it off.

I had to wear my uncomfortable and unflattering gray slacks today, and while I tried salvaging the outfit with a tight, black T-shirt, I spent all day feeling self-conscious.

The small marketing firm I work for is full of bright, energetic twenty-year-olds, and they have me feeling old at twenty-six. I know I’m still objectively young, but when I show up in my boring, gray outfits and they’re in bright-green patterned tops, I feel like a fucking crypt keeper.

I throw on an old college sweatshirt and pull on a pair of Lill’s leggings before carrying my laundry basket into the hallway. Lill is puttering around the living room, probably tidying up, as I place my dirty clothes in the washing machine.

I hate her near-constant need to clean, but I know better than to voice my feelings. Lill may be physically weak, but her tongue is as sharp as ever.

She collapses onto the couch when I finally emerge from the hallway, and I resist the urge to groan as I look around the newly cleaned room. Lill tries to pretend she’s been on the couch the entire time, refusing to meet my gaze as she sips her tea, but her hands are shaking again.

The five minutes of cleaning took it out of her.

She needs to return to the faerie realm. She refuses, for reasons still unknown to me, but I know that just breathing the magic in the air would be good for her. I’ve gathered through odd remarks and sly comments that Lill and her mom are running away from something or someone, but Lill was a childwhen she came here. If she did return, I doubt anybody would recognize her.

She’s told me most faeries have white hair and violet eyes, so it’s not like she would stand out. She could settle in a small village or something.

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