Chapter 16 #2
“Show-off,” Sylvian says, but there’s no real bite to it.
Alette is watching too, but her eyes are softer than before. “If only we had something good to eat.”
A thought occurs to me. “How about some fish?”
Ashton groans. “I’d definitely punch a few of you for some fish.”
I focus on the lake, reach out with my magic, and feel for the flicker of scales and muscle.
The water is cold and deep, but the fish are everywhere, wriggling in the shadows.
I find the biggest one, a fat trout, and with a twist of my fingers, send it flying through the air and right into Sylvian’s lap.
He yelps, drops it, then holds it up, grinning like a kid. “Dinner!” he crows.
I do it again, this time pulling out three more, and Ashton lines them up, inspecting them with the seriousness of a chef.
Oberon guts the fish with a dagger, quick and efficient. He slices them open, then hands the filets to Alette, who spears them on green sticks and sets them over the flames.
The smoke is sweet, and the air fills with the smell of roasting fish. My stomach growls loud enough that Ashton laughs.
When the food is ready, we eat in silence for a while. It’s the best thing I’ve tasted in months, maybe years. Alette devours hers like she hasn’t eaten in days, and Sylvian licks his fingers, then winks at me. “You did good, Fish Boy,” he says, and I roll my eyes but smile.
The sun dips lower, and the fire grows brighter.
After the meal, Sylvian starts telling stories about the good old days.
He’s a natural storyteller, painting the air with words.
He tells about the time he and Oberon got drunk on fermented honey and ended up sleeping in a giant bird’s nest. He tells about the time Ashton challenged a harpy to a singing contest and lost, barely escaping with his hair intact.
He tells about the first time he ever saw a brownie, how small and fierce they looked, and how he never forgot it.
Oberon interrupts every so often to correct the details, or to call Sylvian a liar, but there’s no real malice.
Ashton laughs at every joke, even the ones about himself.
Eventually, they start recounting the stories of what we’d experienced in the labyrinth, and for the first time I realize how much we’ve all gone through together.
“Remember the vines?” Sylvian says, shoving Oberon with his shoulder. “How they almost ate us alive?”
Oberon grunts. “They didn’t like fire.”
“They sure as fuck didn’t,” Sylvian says, giving him a high five, which Oberon reluctantly returns.
Ashton shakes his head. “The best part was when you tried to cut them with your sword, Alette. I feel like they screamed.”
She laughs. “Maybe they did.”
“They were as thick as a horse,” Ashton says, spreading his hands to show the size.
I laugh. “And as strong as a fae.”
Oberon says, “She kept her head through the whole thing,” and everyone nods at Alette, who blushes and looks away.
Then Ashton tells the story of the wedding again, but with more details.
On the other hand, he gives very few details about the honeymoon, which I don’t like one bit, but the others are just busy staring at the rings he and Alette still wear, not seeming to realize that what wasn’t said was just as important as what was.
Sylvian whistles, low, and says, “So when do the two of you stop wearing your rings? I mean, the wedding was fake, right?”
Ashton smirks. “Maybe… or Alette might just be stuck with me.”
They all look at me, waiting for my story, and I don’t know what to say. I could tell them more about the merman, about how I almost died. I could tell them about the way Alette saved me, about the kiss, about the feeling I had when I thought I’d never hold her again.
But I don’t. Instead, I say, “She’s tougher than any fae I’ve met.”
Alette looks at me, her eyes dark and shining in the firelight.
For a long time, nobody says anything. The fire crackles, the fish bones pop in the heat, and the wind shifts, carrying the scent of rain.
Sylvian is the first to speak. “It’s going to be a cold night,” he says, sniffing the wind. “We should stick close.”
“And rotate shifts again,” I say.
Everyone quickly agrees, and a rotation is agreed upon.
Oberon doesn’t seem happy about trusting one of us to make sure he doesn’t die in his sleep, but he moves his bedroll closer to the fire.
Ashton stretches out, hands behind his head, and Sylvian arranges himself one spot over from Alette, not touching, but close enough that if she needed him, he’d be there in an instant.
Is it strange if I wonder if there’s room for me beside her too?
Laying out my own blankets, I watch her for a while. The way she stares at the flames. The way her mouth moves when she thinks nobody’s looking.
She glances up at me, then looks away, a tiny smile flickering on her lips. I wonder what she’s thinking. I wonder if she’s thinking of me.
Could I even be that lucky?
The night settles in, and the stars come out. The wind howls, and we all crawl under our blankets, closing our eyes to sleep. A sleep that we desperately deserve.
Especially since tomorrow is yet another day in the labyrinth, a place the goddess herself designed to torture us, and not one of us can forget that.