Chapter 15
A few minutes – and two iced buns – later, we’re standing in the queue for the Love Maze. I’m not sure either of us knows how we got here so quickly. Astin would probably claim he was dragged. I prefer the term persuaded, although I can’t believe he caved.
Astin mutters what I suspect are several colourful swear words under his breath while handing a pocketful of coins to the attendant, while I wince at the expense – between this and the costs of lodging at the Duck in the Dark, my debts are heavier than ever – but if it helps us find the cure, it’ll be worth it.
Or maybe it’ll be worth it anyway. Inside, both the ground and the hedges are dusted white and pink, like snow laced with crushed cherries. Miniature versions of the festival’s coloured lanterns are twined across the bushes, giving everything a magical glow. Music tinkles nearby.
My eyes grow as wide as my smile. It’s wonderful.
Even dead ends are possibilities, because every time we take a wrong turn, we’re greeted by couples cosied up on benches, vases as tall as my midriff containing roses, or performers playing the harp and reciting love poetry.
I’d be content to linger awhile, but Astin marches on, making vague threats about what he’ll do if this is a waste of time.
We keep rounding bends until we reach the heart of the maze.
It’s less extravagant than I expected; nothing more than a patch of grass with a large willow tree in the centre, its drooping leaves coated with the same dusting of pink as that girl’s hair.
More lanterns are strung along the hedges, candles flickering within, while blankets are scattered across the ground, most of which are occupied by couples – or in some cases, groups – in various throes of passion.
Astin scratches his neck, while heat stings my cheeks.
I scan them, searching for a couple, throuple, or quadruple – is that a word? – who aren’t gyrating that I might be able to quiz. ‘You should ask them about the statue. Maybe we missed it in the maze somewhere.’
‘Maybe you should ask,’ he counters. ‘They’re kind of preoccupied, and this is your . . . thing, isn’t it?’
‘My thing?’ I sidestep as a couple roll off their blanket towards my feet. I vaguely recognise them from Damian’s party last night. ‘My thing is getting them to admit their feelings for each other. I don’t interrupt them once they get going!’
A hand touches my leg and I shriek, leaping in Astin’s direction.
He pulls me aside before I can get dragged into the throng, guiding us from the jumble of limbs and around the other side of the willow tree, its leaves rippling slightly in the breeze.
I catch the scent of strawberries, stronger than ever before, but don’t get a chance to locate its source when instead we find another heap of contestants jostling on the ground, except they don’t look as pleased about it as everybody else.
A grunt sounds as an elbow ploughs into someone’s middle.
‘Get off,’ a person towards the bottom of the pile says. ‘It’s mine.’
‘You don’t . . .’ a second person replies through pants, ‘know how . . . to open it.’
I exchange a loaded glance with Astin.
There’s so many of them in the heaving mass it’s hard to tell where one starts and another ends, but between the bodies, I glimpse something grey.
Like it’s made of stone. Astin spots it too, and immediately charges into the pack, pulling people off one another, while I hover on the sidelines, anxiety tightening my chest to the point I can’t tell if I’m breathing, as more and more of them crush against Astin, trying to push him away, to take the statue for themselves.
Astin is forced to jab one man in the nose, and the crack of breaking bone is sickening, but the man doesn’t react. Blood stains his bared teeth red. ‘That reward belongs to me,’ he says.
He shifts out of Astin’s way though, and we’re finally given a full view of the statue we’ve been looking for. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be. Wings splay from its back, but it’s too human-shaped to be a bird, its thick legs standing on top of a square pedestal.
A few contestants jostle the statue from side to side until it wrenches free from the ground and topples to one side, landing with a thud at my feet. The ground below vibrates at the impact, but the statue doesn’t break. Not a single crack splits across its surface.
Clutching his bloodied nose, the man trying to pick a fight with Astin drops to his knees and bangs the statue’s base. ‘The item must be in here. It must. It’s the only statue in this whole damn park.’
The pedestal is a thick block of stone, with nothing to indicate any kind of hinge or opening, except when the man thumps it again, it sounds hollow.
My heart sinks. I’d been so buoyed up by the idea that I’d be better at finding the items than everybody else, I’d barely paid attention to the reason Damian didn’t retrieve them himself.
They’re protected by Ozias’s enchantments, and I’m as clueless how to get past them as the others.
Wind rustles my hair, before sweeping through the nearby willow tree and sending some of the pink dust coating the leaves into the air. I catch yet another trace of strawberries.
And that’s when I realise where the smell is coming from. What that pink dust is.
Another, stronger gust of wind later and more dust shakes free, particles floating and flying and whirling over the clearing, landing on the hair, shoulders, arms of the group tussling over the statue. I manage to close my mouth in time, but my nose is hit full blast with a puff of powder.
Oh no. No, no, no. Coughing, I wave the remaining particles away, all too aware of a tingling sensation spreading over my skin, a dryness in my throat, a strange sense of want consuming my body, and I remember the sign outside the maze.
Enter, enter, if you dare, come as one and find your pair.
This must be the grand finale of the maze, some gimmick to get people to couple up.
The contestants around us pounce on one another, but they’re not tussling over the statue any more.
It lies forgotten on the grass, abandoned in favour of more lustful pursuits.
This would be my chance to investigate it, but I’m hyper-aware of who is standing behind me.
Once we get out of here, I need to have a serious word with the festival organisers for choosing to build their maze – and set their traps – in the most inconvenient of places.
I force myself to face Astin. Pink dusts his hair, and his pupils are dilated. He’s looking at me with an intensity I’ve never seen before. My chest heaves.
He’s so pretty.
Dark eyelashes highlight the blue in his eyes. Day-old stubble lines his jaw. Black hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and I’d give anything to run my hands through it. His jacket stretches over broad shoulders and muscular arms. I want to see them. I want to see it all.
I pluck at his buttons. ‘You wear too many clothes. Have I ever told you that?’
‘No.’ His voice is deeper than usual, and his hands have found their way to my waist. ‘Daisy, what –’
‘We need to remove them.’ It’s blindingly obvious to me now. Astin should remain shirtless at all times. And we should be on a blanket. Yes. That would be nice.
‘Daisy, I think something’s wrong.’
Right. Yes. This isn’t normal. But all I can think is how I can’t get close enough, like if I peel off his clothes and taste every inch of him, I’d still be in search of more. I want him to consume me, devour me, to strip me bare until he’s tasting me too.
‘Wait.’ He wraps a hand around mine to prevent any more button pulling, but his grip is loose, half-hearted, like he’s dealing with a misbehaving puppy he secretly thinks is too cute to refuse. ‘What’s happening?’
‘They’ve rigged the tree with lust powder,’ I tell him. ‘But it’s okay. I use it in the inn. We’ve built up an immunity.’
‘Have we? Why are you undoing my shirt?’
‘It’s hot. I’m hot. You’re hot.’
‘I’m not hot.’
‘I think you’re hot.’
‘Daisy.’ He releases my hand in order to cup my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him. Immediately, I’m lost, drowning in the depths of those blue orbs, my lips parting as I stare at him. Astin sighs. ‘I don’t think you’re immune.’
Huh. This is an interesting conclusion. We should discuss it while lying down.
He’s not wrong though – my current behaviour would suggest the potency of the powder is far stronger than what I’m used to.
I suppose I should be grateful whatever tolerance I have built up makes me utterly uninterested in everyone else in the maze.
While they pounce on the first person they find, I only have eyes for Astin.
He’s surprisingly obliging when I push his jacket from his shoulders and throw it on the ground.
For once, he doesn’t complain about mess or try to fold anything in a neat square.
Instead, he pulls me closer until our bodies are lined against one another; his all hard muscle and mine all soft curves, bending to meet his shape as though it were made to mould to his.
He drags his hand down my spine and my throat floods with the scent of heat, of spice, burning me the same way it did in the street.
The warmth sends a throb directly between my thighs.
His gaze drops to my mouth and his eyes darken.
Oh, hexes. I don’t think he’s immune either.
He coughs, tearing his stare away, and his voice is hoarse when he says, ‘We should try to take the statue while everyone’s distracted.’
I refrain from telling him that I am also distracted, and resort to admiring his muscles as he attempts to pick up the statue.
It’s far too heavy. If you ask me, this is a sign to give up and give in, but Astin is not to be deterred, and settles for pushing the statue along the grass until it’s in a quiet corner of the maze, before dropping down next to it.