Page 61 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
“Ah, he did.” Louisa laughs. “You’re very inexperienced with men, sister mine. Anything they say right after an orgasm can’t be taken seriously. Their brain-blood is still in their cocks at that point, and they maythinkthey want you forever, simply because your pussy or mouth did the job well. But they really don’t wantyou. Just your holes.”
I jam the cork savagely back into the neck of the waterskin. “You know, Louisa—sometimes I really hate you.”
“I don’t mean to upset you,” she says. “I’m only telling you the truth.”
“Maybe that’s what you tell yourself.” I swallow hard against the lump rising in my throat. “But I think you can’t bear for anyone else to have something you don’t. That’s why you always feel the need to ruin everything!”
I pick up the waterskins and march back to camp. And I don’t speak to my sister, beyond what’s necessary, for the next two days.
On the third day after our fight, she offers to go with me to fetch the water again. “The stream is farther away this time. You shouldn’t go alone.”
“I’d rather do it alone,” I say crisply.
“If you don’t want me along, at least take Fin.”
“Fin is helping Achorn with the horses.” Waterskins in hand, I start to walk away.
“Without me, you’ll have to make multiple trips,” she calls. “Clara—I just want to talk.”
For a moment I nearly relent. This is one of the longest periods of silence and anger we’ve ever had between us, and I hate it.
But I also hate her for possibly being right. Fin has chatted with me since our night of passion, and he has kissed me a few times as well—but we’ve been traveling hard, taking detours to avoid monster dens, or to steer clear of the rat-soldier patrols he or the moth-girl spot from the air. There’s been no more time for wild forest fucking. The one time I asked him about doing it again, he said the area wasn’t safe.
Logically, I know why we haven’t been able to connect like that again. But Louisa’s words poisoned my joy, like they always do. She introduced doubt where I was feeling so confident, so cherished.
I can’t forgive her for that. Not yet.
I trudge onward, ignoring her call.
When we picked the spot for camp this evening, the moth-girl told me where the nearest stream was. It’s out of sight of the clearing, but still close enough to be safe.
I step out of the trees onto the bank of the stream. It’s a cold, sluggish, gleaming sheet of water with high banks. I walk along it, searching for a jutting rock, a strip of beach—any place where I can climb down for better access.
Something whizzes past me, snatching me up before I can think or scream.
I’ve been stolen. Taken. I’m being carried along at a frenzied speed, icy wind shearing past my face, whipping tears from my eyes, stealing the air before I can breathe it.
For a fleeting moment I think it’s Fin. But he showed me his Fae speed a couple of times during our travels, and he’s not this fast.
Which means whoever or whatever has a hold of me is somethingelse.
I try to suck in enough air. But I can’t—it’s flowing by too fast. My lungs and my head feel as if they’re swelling, growing, tightening unbearably. I try to thrash, but the force of my captor’s speed keeps me pinned.
I can’t fight.
Can’t breathe.
I’m blacking out.
My head aches. The back of my throat feels sore and cracked, and my mouth is horribly dry.
A swollen heaviness weighs my eyelids.
“Water,” I rasp.
“Apologies, human.” A reed-thin, high-pitched voice. “I did not realize your kind could die from speed.”
Something drips against my mouth. I open wide, desperate for liquid, and more of it pours into my throat. It’s water, I think. Nearly tasteless, faintly sweet, and very cold.
