Chapter 25 #2
“I know.” I watched Thalassa pop another floral delight into her mouth. It burst with a soft snap. “But he’s basically obligated to do that.”
“You think that’s the only reason he did it?”
I swirled the last of my water. “Yes.” If I knew one thing, I knew he despised me.
She hummed low in her throat. “Do you know the history of the Kingdom of Storms, Eurydice Waters?”
“Of course I do.”
“Tell me.”
I traced the woodgrain with one finger, suddenly feeling like a child being tested.
“Long ago, the gods built us the walls to protect the last humans from whatever lay beyond. The creatures, we called them. More often we called them monsters. But maybe it was always just the fae. We’ve lived inside the walls ever since. Safe.” I paused. “Well, mostly safe.”
Thalassa’s white eyebrows lifted. “The gods built them, you say?”
“Who else could?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She turned her full attention to me. “And why is it called the Kingdom of Storms?”
“The rain. It rains every day.”
“Acid, I hear.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
Her head tilted, eyes glinting. “And why does it rain acid every day? If the gods built your high walls to protect you, why curse you with a sky that poisons and land that bears nothing?”
That was a question I’d asked once, long ago. My mother—devout to Arxius, the god of the wall—had told me, “The gods don’t control the weather, Eury. Appreciate your blessings as they are.”
When I repeated this to Thalassa, she cackled. “The gods stack stones but don’t rule the sky?”
I shrugged. “I learned not to question it.” Not like Elisabet.
“I imagine you’ve had to do that with a great many things.” Her two white eyes hovered before me—pupilless, iris-less, ghostly. “A great many.”
I emptied my water cup and set it down. “What do you know of our kingdom?”
She tilted her head side to side. “Oh, just rumors. There’s always been bad blood between our realms. Humans and fae just can’t seem to get along.”
That was new to me. A certain defensiveness tightened my chest. “No wonder. A fortnight ago, you crushed our walls and slaughtered us.”
“Did we?” she said lightly. “And why do you suppose that was?”
I turned my palms up. “If I knew, maybe I wouldn’t have to swallow back stomach acid every night.”
She cackled. “You’re funny for a pupa. Clever, too. I see why they took you.”
My fingers curled atop the table. “That’s not why Dorian took me.”
“Oh?”
“I turned toward his sword.” I nodded over my shoulder. “When he was about to kill me.”
“Ah, bravery! The second-most admired trait in the court. He was obligated, then.”
“The second-most?”
“After the harnessing of nature. Our connection to the natural world is our greatest source of power. And of course it’s the woman—who possesses nature’s magic in her womb—who is most attuned to the elements.”
I wanted to know more. I was dying to learn. But my eyes had begun to droop.
Thalassa noticed. She rose from the table, palms pressing down on its surface. “You need sleep. You’ll have my bed tonight.”
“I couldn’t—”
She tutted. “It’s the Hollowbound Rite. Besides, do you know how long it’s been since someone figured out the riddle?”
“You said never.”
“Ah.” She tapped her temple. “I did say that.”
Not all there. Definitely not all there.
I rose slowly. “I heard the last trial in the Eldermaze was four hundred years ago. Your trial.”
“Is that so? Suppose that’s why I haven’t encountered another fae since then.” She paused. “My partner and I heard them out there, dying. A few of the others did find my riddle, but none were bright enough to solve it.” She turned away.
I let out a long breath. Gods… she’d just let them die.
She glanced back. “After just fifty years in here, my partner left. Of course, the moment that young fae stepped outside, he died. Fell into the hedge and couldn’t get back in. Very sad.”
I stared at her, wide-eyed. How had she survived while her partner hadn’t?
“I’m joking.” She gave a wink. “But about which part?”
She burst into laughter and tottered off, beckoning me forward with a crooked finger.
Thalassa’s bedroom was another low bed tucked into a small space. A wash basin sat nearby, and strange, mismatched ornaments dangled from the branches and thorns above. They didn’t seem native to the maze—pendants with gemstones, throwing stars, daggers, odd bits of jewelry and a blade.
“Thalassa,” I said, circling the room, “these things…”
“Trinkets from the dead,” she replied cheerfully, lifting a golden bracelet from one branch. “Want this?”
“No.”
“Ah. Oh well.” She slid the bracelet back into place with care. “One night. Sleep well, rabbit, for you must leave come sunrise.”
Rabbit.
I stared after her as she disappeared into the maze of brambles, her moss shift vanishing through the leaves. Was it a coincidence? Rabbit was probably the Sylvanwild pet name for children. More affectionate, maybe, than pettifey.
I didn’t undress that night. I didn’t even take off my cloak. Morning would come soon, and I wanted to be ready for it.
So I lay flat on my back, eyes on the ceiling of tangled thorns, and wondered at the logic of the Eldermaze.
Thalassa had figured it out. That meant there was a way.
From somewhere deeper in the hedge home, Dorian’s moans rose into screams.
The night pressed in. The brambles held us fast. And in a half-sleeping haze, I listened as my partner endured thornstalker poison from dusk until sunrise.