Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The rain fell hard, fast. It sizzled against the earth. It burned my scalp, my skin, my eyes. Some barely acknowledged part of me liked the burn; when I closed my eyes, I was almost back in the Dip.
And for once, that rain had saved my life.
But it made dragging a fourteen-stone fae through the dirt sheer hell. Dorian’s body was as inert as a broken-off section of the southern wall—only moving him felt somehow heavier, more unwieldy, more impossible.
Every time I got leverage, my boots skidded out from under me. His soaked leather armor slipped through my fingers. We were only ten paces from the end when he fell, but those ten paces might as well have been the length of the maze for how long it took to drag him a single step.
Still, I kept at it. The veins in his face were blackened. Even the whites of his eyes had turned dark, like voids staring out. But every few seconds I checked his breath. Desperate for proof.
He was still breathing. Still alive.
The rain built a green mist around us, just like it had back home. The sight was eerie—and somehow comforting. Gods, Thalassa had been right: the Kingdom of Storms had been wretched.
I dragged and fell. I dragged and screamed. I dragged and yelled at Dorian to move, to crawl, to do anything.
He never responded. He was somewhere else entirely.
At last, after an eternity of rain and desperation, I pulled him clear—past the hedge and into the barren openness. Only when both his feet were clear of the Eldermaze did I drop to my knees beside him, chest heaving, heart pounding like it might burst through my ribs.
“You,” I rasped, my voice raw from shouting, “better not fucking die on me now.”
Then I collapsed beside him.
I woke to a horse’s nose in my face, sniffing and nibbling my braid. It was a brown horse I didn’t recognize, but atop it sat a figure I did.
“Haskel?” I rasped. My voice barely worked.
Memory crashed back. Dorian.
My hand shot out and met only empty ground. He wasn’t beside me. Not behind me. He was gone.
“Seems your eyes still work,” Haskel said. “Here, I’ve got your partner.”
I raised my stinging gaze. Dorian was slung across the back of Haskel’s horse, limp and still.
Haskel led another horse—Pettifey—alongside. Some distant part of me was warmed by the knowledge that the filly had been wandering near the maze for days. “Can you ride?” Haskel asked. “We have to leave now.”
I felt like death. I nodded.
“Good.” He dropped the lead rope into my hand. “Meet me at the grove.”
My fingers closed around it. “How—how do I get there?”
“Kyrn. The horse knows the word. Just get on, speak it, and ride.”
“‘Kyrn’?”
Haskel nodded. With that, he spurred his mount into a gallop and disappeared alongside the tall hedge, Dorian vanishing with him.
I stared after them. Something about the grove tugged at my mind, but all I could focus on now was mounting Pettifey.
Some na?ve part of me had thought that once we escaped the maze, we’d be swept back to the citadel on a cloud, fed fruit and wine. Maybe that had been my delirium while dragging Dorian those last ten paces.
The rain had eased to a mist. A familiar green haze hung over the maze—the same I’d seen so many times in the Kingdom of Storms. My chest twisted.
I had hated the acid rain for years, but it was the only reason I was still alive now.
I didn’t know why it had come or what it meant, only that it felt like the wrath of my kingdom.
Getting onto Pettifey was its own trial. She didn’t resist, but my body did—trembling limbs, waterlogged leathers, no strength or balance. My fingers could hardly grip. I slipped, cursed, tried again.
Eventually I hauled myself up and collapsed against her neck, face pressed to her coarse mane. She smelled sweet. She stood still.
“Thank you,” I whispered, hoarse. Her ear twitched toward my voice. I stroked her mane. “When we’re back, I’ll steal the court’s whole supply of carrots for you.”
Then I spoke the word into her ear. Kyrn. The filly started into motion.
Riding was a tenuous thing. I had to trust she knew the way—had no choice but to trust it.
She walked the whole journey, the hedge looming high on my left. It only took an hour to reach the hard edge of the Eldermaze; from here, I could see the edges of Sylvanwild’s forests.
One hour to reach the maze’s edge. Yet inside, it had felt fucking endless.
For some, it is.
Pettifey and I reached the grove late in the day. The sun was low, tree shadows stretching long. The pond lay still, and the grove was empty. No spiritstag. No Haskel. No Dorian.
So we rode on to the stables.
A young fae boy poked his head from a stall, eyes wide as he saw me. “Tethryn,” he breathed. I was beginning to understand: tethryn conveyed something like wonder.
That was when my body gave out. I slid from Pettifey’s back and into the soft Sylvanwild grass.
I remembered little of what came next. A man’s voice above me. Hands lifting me. Then indoors—the citadel, I think. A woman’s voice. Warmth. A towel. A bed.
When the mattress met my spine, I didn’t even have time to cry. Sleep took me with grasping hands and pulled me tight against its chest.
I didn’t dream, didn’t think—I just slept.
When I woke, I was back in my bedchamber. The bed, the dresser, the doorway to my bathing room, it was all there. On the table beside me lay my mother’s journal. Its pages were wavy with moisture but otherwise intact.
Beside it: Thalassa’s pouch. And my knife, folded. Whoever had brought them here had known they were mine, not court-issued.
I lay there for hours or days. Dry. Warm. Without pain. Not even thirsty or hungry. Someone must have fed me, but I didn’t remember waking to eat.
Light footsteps sounded in the hallway. The door opened.
“Faun?” I called.
A tawny-haired young fae stepped in with a start. “Faun? Oh, no, she’s…”
My fingers clutched the blanket. My breath caught.
“She’s still in the trial,” the girl said. “I’m here in her place.” She stood awkwardly with her cleaning supplies like she hadn’t expected me to be awake.
Faun was still in the maze. Alive or dead—I had no way to know.
“Dorian,” I croaked. “Where’s Dorian?”
She hesitated. “I… I don’t know.”
“He’s my trial partner.”
“If you’re alive and here, then I suppose he’s here in the citadel, too.” She sounded more hopeful than certain as she fidgeted with the mossy cloth in her hands. “The Eldermaze. You survived it.” Her voice trembled with awe, edged in disbelief.
I had to get up. I had to see Dorian. “How long have I been asleep?”
She did a quick calculation on her fingers, her lips moving. “Three days.”
I threw off the blanket. I was in a nightgown and barefoot. Who had dressed and bathed me? Maybe this girl. Maybe someone else. When you were that exhausted, care was care.
As I moved for the door, the girl stared at me. She was taller. Most fae were.
“What is it?” I said.
“You survived,” she said again. “You survived the Eldermaze.”
Somewhere I could almost hear that child wailing at that word. Eldermaze. Like a curse, a death sentence.
I slipped past her and into the hallway.
Which way to Dorian’s quarters? Left. It was left.
My steps quickened. My memory of the citadel returned—the route, the turns.
Even now, barefoot, I felt the ghost of me from before the Eldermaze exploring this hallway.
Eurydice of the Dip. Eurydice of hunger and fear with her blunt knife.
We’d had different fears, different desires.
Yes, she was a ghost. I could never quite be her again.
I arrived at Dorian’s door and knocked hard, fast. Again. I was about to knock a third time when it opened.
Haskel stood there. He looked annoyed, then surprised. “You’re up.”
I tried to shoulder past him. He didn’t budge. I flicked a glare up at him. “Where is he?”
“He’s here. Resting.”
“Let me in.”
“Now, girl…”
“I need to see him.”
He relented with a sigh and a wave of his hand. He stepped back, opening the door as he did, and Dorian came into view.
My partner lay in the center of his bed, his eyes shut. His chest moved up and down, a slight rhythm. Just that sight brought me relief.
“A visitor here for you,” Haskel said. Then, low and confidential to me, “Though I wouldn’t expect much.”
Wouldn’t expect much? I stepped forward, fingers curling against my palms. “Dorian,” I said, soft. If he was alive, we were alive. If his chest moved, his heart beat, that meant his hazel eyes could see me—
Dorian’s eyes opened, and I froze.
His eyes had not returned to normal. They were black, black, black.