Chapter 3 #2
I want to tell him he’s wrong, that “hate” isn’t the right word anymore, but the words don’t come.
Instead, I close my eyes and try to breathe.
Try to be present. Try to imagine a future where any of us make it out.
The temptation to crawl into the darkness of my mind and be back with my father, or back with the villagers, comes and goes as quickly as the temptation arose.
Those memories, strangely, are not feeling as comforting as they once were.
Which is weird. Isn’t it?
There’s no time here, but after what feels like a few eternities, I realize I’m starving.
“Is it lunch time yet?”
“It can be,” he teases, grinning.
Ashton picks through the remains of his food, laying out the sad inventory on a flat stone.
There’s half a handful of dried currants, a chunk of hard cheese, jerky that looks more like boot leather than anything edible.
We’d had to gamble on bringing less stuff, to travel more easily, thinking we’d be able to hunt in the labyrinth, but we might have gambled and lost, given how quickly we’re running out of food.
Hopefully the others have more though.
When he offers the cheese, I take it without speaking, break it in half, and pop a piece into my mouth. It’s a little stale, but surprisingly flavorful. I chew and swallow and try not to picture myself as a slow-digesting corpse in the belly of the maze.
He pours a careful ration of his water, hands it to me, and I take a swig before handing it back. It’s a small gesture, but it makes me feel taken care of in a way I haven’t experienced since I was a young child.
After we eat, he wipes his mouth, and looks at me with that signature golden-lidded gaze. “Ever had chocolate?” he asks.
“Of course not.” It comes out sharper than I intended.
Chocolate is for the wealthy. Not people like me.
His smile turns conspiratorial. “Want to?”
He pulls out a twist of brown paper from some hidden pocket, unfolds it, and holds out a square. The surface is a glossy slab, but even the smell, which is rich, sweet, and almost warm, makes my mouth water.
I hesitate. “Why do you have chocolate?”
He grins wider, genuinely pleased with himself. “Bribery. In case the lady needed extra motivation to keep moving.” He breaks off a corner and hands it to me. “Go on.”
Hesitantly, I put it in my mouth. It melts almost instantly on my tongue, a shock of sweetness and then a deep, earthen bitterness.
I close my eyes and let it dissolve, trying to memorize the sensation in case I never have it again.
I must make some kind of noise, because when I open my eyes, Ashton is watching me with actual delight.
“It’s—” I fumble for words, “—it’s perfect.”
He laughs. “Isn’t it? First time I tasted it, I thought I’d never eat anything else.”
We pass the chocolate back and forth until it’s gone, licking the last flecks from our fingers. I am absurdly happy for the first time since we entered the maze, and it’s so unfamiliar that I almost forget to be careful around him.
Afterward, we sit in silence once more. Not the tense, waiting-to-be-murdered kind, but something softer, like the hush after a good song. I stretch my legs and lay back on the dirt, staring up at the blank sky. Ashton lies beside me, hands folded on his stomach.
He turns to face me, propping himself on one elbow. “So,” he says, “tell me about your cabin. The one you want to get back to so badly.”
My instinct is to not tell him a thing, but then I decide it won’t really hurt anything to tell him a little.
“It’s nothing. A small cabin in the mountains.
My parents carved out enough space from the wild to have a couple fields, a barn, and some animals.
It’s cold in the winter, and moldy in summer.
I used to think I’d live there until the walls caved in. ”
He nods, listening.
“I have a garden,” I add, because it feels important. “Potatoes, beans, turnips. Not much, but enough. My father used to say I was born with dirt in my blood. My grandfather said I was meant to be a dirt human being.” The last sentence comes out a little sad.
Ashton cocks his head, studying me. “Your grandfather? The same one who whipped you?”
I decide not to address the last part. “My grandparents moved in after my parents died,” I say again. My voice betrays something I don’t even want to acknowledge when I talk about them.
“What is your grandfather like?” Ashton asks, and there’s no judgment in his voice.
I nibble my bottom lip. “I think… I think he hates me to his core, but it’s my understanding that moving into my cabin was the only thing that saved my grandparents from complete poverty.
They didn’t properly plan for their golden years.
My father wanted nothing to do with either of his parents, so I became their retirement plan.
And… I suppose I needed them too, since my father sent for them before he died. ”
“That doesn’t sound very fun to deal with.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “I can understand why you didn’t want to talk about him or your back before.”
I shrug. “It is what it is.” Then, I change the topic. “So, what was it like growing up as a rich and powerful fae prince? Pure bliss?”
Ashton traces a line in the dirt with his finger. “It was fine. I always had a roof over my head. I always had food in my stomach and anything else I could ask for. Well, anything but what I really wanted.”
Curiosity makes me ask, “What did you really want?”
“To be raised by my family. Not by tutors. But that wasn’t really possible after they were killed.” He says it as if it’s nothing, but I remember Cassius’s words from before… all of them are orphans and all of them struggle with it.
“It’s weird how you can have everything and nothing at the same time, huh?”
He glances up sharply. “Exactly.”
I offer a smile. “But having everything you wanted otherwise must have been nice.”
“It was definitely nice, but I would’ve taken a garden if I’d thought about it.”
Really? Him? “You ever try planting something?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I have the patience.
Or the knack. Sylvian’s the one with the green thumb.
I’m better at… designing epic clothes, swordsplay, sex, you know, the things I always thought were important things.
Now though, I kind of like the idea of sitting in a garden watching while you plant things and pick weeds. ”
I laugh. “It sounds like you just want to hang out with me while I garden, not garden yourself.”
He shrugs. “Maybe, but is that so bad?”
“No,” I answer without thinking.
He seems happy with my answer. “And, unlike Sylvian, I wouldn’t be telling you what you were doing wrong the whole time or taking over.”
I give a little laugh, but I’m torn by his words. “Why are you always picking fights with him?”
He shrugs. “It’s a fae thing. Old habits.” His tone shifts. “You want to know a secret?”
I hope I don’t regret this. “Maybe.”
“We’ve all wanted to kill each other since we were born.
The only reason we don’t is because we’re the last ones left of the royal lines, and we kind of want to be done with the whole killing-each-other-until-there’s-no-one-left thing.
We want peace for our kids, even if we can’t stand to be near each other. ”
I think about that. “So why do all of you have balls and parties together all the time?”
He snorts. “After the curse, most of the fae courts decided to move to the same castle. I think part of us were hoping that if we could show the goddess that we could get along, she’d reverse the curse.
And I think the other part of us didn’t want to go back to our homes, homes that were full of nothing but death and loss.
There were times in the past where we didn’t murder each other.
But mostly, it was war. Petty, ugly war, throughout all of history. ”
“Why?”
He takes a really long time to answer. “We’re just… so different.”
“Humans fight each other over differences too. I guess no one knows how to just accept different kinds of people and focus on ourselves.”
He shakes his head. “You constantly surprise me with your wisdom. Maybe if we had someone like you guiding the fae houses, we might be able to change the simmering tension between us into something softer.”
A picture of his words forms in my mind. “Me, guiding the fae? Yeah, right. They’d never listen to a lowly human like me.”
Ashton gives me a funny look then lies back and closes his eyes. I study the planes of his face, his sharp cheekbones, a mouth made for smiling but just as often set in a line of disappointment. He looks peaceful. I wonder if he ever really is.
He opens his eyes and catches me staring. “You’re thinking too hard,” he says.
“I can’t help it,” I mutter.
He traces a finger down my arm. “Tell me about your last day before coming to the fae lands.”
I tense. “It’s not a happy story.”
“Did I ask for a happy story?” he asks with a smile.
I try to summon it, but all I get is the cold. Emptiness. Pain. “As you know, my grandfather frequently beat me,” I say, and for some reason it’s easy to say it. “With a leather strap. The most recent time was because one of our chickens got killed.”
“Was it your fault?” Ashton’s voice is even.
“No.” I laugh again. “But it didn’t matter. He always found a reason.”
Ashton moves closer, his hand almost on my arm. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I know he means it.
I shake my head, blinking back the sudden sting in my eyes. “I always knew they didn’t want me, but when they started talking about selling me to Mr. Clay, I didn’t think—” I bite down on it.
“They’re not your real family,” Ashton says. “You know that, right?”
It hurts, but I nod.
He offers a smile, softer than before. “You could stay with us, when we get out. I’m sure we could find you a castle. Or a garden. Or even a bakery, if you’re into that.”
The idea is so alien it’s almost funny. “I don’t want a castle with the fae,” I say. “I just want to be happy and safe. Somewhere.”
He laughs. “You say that now. But you’d miss us after a day.”
I smirk. “Unlikely.”
Eating another piece of cheese, I look up at the hedge. “Do you really think they’ll find us?”
He considers my words. “I hope so. But if not… we’ll be fine.”
I wonder if he believes it, or if it’s just something he’s telling both of us.
There’s a faint shudder in the ground. At first I think it’s my imagination, but Ashton hears it too.
The hedge to our left vibrates, leaves quivering in a sudden draft.
A seam appears in the greenery, and with a sound like ribs cracking, the hedge parts to reveal a dark corridor.
A new path. Somewhere in the distance, I hear a crow cry out.
We both stare at it, neither moving.
“Should we?” I ask.
“I feel like the goddess is guiding us that way, for better or worse,” he says.
Taking a deep breath, I answer honestly. “Me too.”
“So we go?” Ashton says, and for the first time he sounds genuinely uncertain.
The faces of the three fae kings spring to my mind. Deep in my gut, I know they’re doing everything they can to get to us. So if they haven’t reached us yet, they must not be able to.
“I-I think doing something is better than doing nothing, because I don’t want to lose them,” I say, and the admission is strange on my tongue.
Ashton offers his hand, and when I take it, it’s warm and steady. “Then let’s not.”
We stand, gather our pitiful supplies, and walk toward the new pathway. As we step through, the hedge closes behind us with a sigh, and Ashton and I both look back, tensing.
“I guess the only way is forward,” I whisper.
“To going forward,” he says, as we start walking once more.
Ahead, the corridor twists out of sight. Ashton lets go of my hand, but not before squeezing once, hard enough to say you’re not alone.
We walk in silence, unsure if the choice we made was the right one, but knowing it doesn’t really matter anymore.