Chapter 19
Alette
I startle awake, my heart racing, confusion overwhelming me. The last thing I remember is the field of flowers, Oberon’s arms around me, Cassius’s hand on my ankle, the song in the air, and then nothing. Now, it’s the cold that greets me. The cold, and the stink of stone and wet hay.
My face is pressed into something prickly. Hay, I realize, layered over a slab of rock that leeches the heat from my bones faster than a lake in winter. There’s a noise, too. Breathing, not just mine, but others, heavy and uneven, echoing off walls that are too close for comfort.
I sit up so fast my head swims. It’s black, absolute, except for a dull orange glow somewhere far to my right. For a second, I’m sure I’m blind, but my eyes adjust, and the world slides into focus.
I’m in a cell. There’s no other word for it.
The walls are rough-hewn stone, slick with condensation and riddled with centuries of moss.
A single torch burns in a sconce, the flame so weak it looks like it’s trying to hide from itself, but there are other torches lining the walls, all unlit.
The bars of the cell door are thick, dark, and slightly warped, like they were melted in place and never bothered to cool all the way.
Scanning the room, I see that there are bodies, clustered in the shadows.
Oberon is hunched in a corner like a wounded bear.
Sylvian is sprawled on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes.
Ashton is on his side with his hair fanned out beneath him, looking more like a painting than a prisoner.
And Cassius is seated cross-legged against the wall, head bowed, hands on his knees like he’s in prayer.
Wh-what happened? Why are we here?
I try to stand, but my legs are dead from the knees down. I shuffle instead, dragging myself to the wall, feeling the grit and cold under my palms. I shake Oberon’s shoulder, hard.
He snaps awake, eyes wild. For half a second, I think he’ll punch me, but then he blinks, and the wildness bleeds away, replaced by a cold, measured anger. “Where are we?” he grunts, like he expects me to have the answer.
“A prison. I think,” I say, and my voice is hoarse, like I’ve been screaming for hours.
“A-are you okay?” he asks, reaching out and stroking my cheek, his gaze lingering on my face.
I lean into the warmth of his hand for just a second. “I think so.”
“Good.” Leaning forward, he rubs his lips softly against mine.
I stare back at him, surprised as he pulls back and his expression grows more serious. He stands, shaking off sleep, and stretches to his full height. He tests the bars, then the walls, then the seams around the door, all in quick, brutal movements, but finds nothing.
No way to escape.
Sylvian wakes next, mumbling and rubbing at his face like he’s got a hangover. He looks around, blinks once, then says, “What’d I do?” And there’s a lightness to his words, but his eyes are sharp, already searching for a weak spot in the walls.
Cassius doesn’t move, but his eyes are open. He hasn’t moved, but he’s breathing, shallow and precise, like he’s tasting the air for poison. Or planning his first moves before he even makes them.
“Weapons?” Oberon asks.
Everyone checks themselves. My blade is still at my side, but my men come up empty. I’m guessing whoever took their weapons wasn’t able to take mine. Our bags are gone too.
Ashton sits up, smooth and slow, then rolls his shoulders. “Charming,” he says, surveying the cell. He gives me a lopsided smile, then gets up and tries the door himself. “Locked, obviously. Window?”
I look up. There’s a slit in the outer wall, no bigger than my arm, set high and barred with rusty iron. It’s far out of reach for everyone though, even if the iron bars weren’t so close together.
Sylvian looks up and says, “Give me a leg, will you?”
Oberon grunts and hoists him up without complaint. Sylvian hooks his fingers in the bars and hauls himself to chin-height, peering out.
“From this position, all I can see is more stone,” he reports. “Maybe a drop of sky… I think it’s morning time.”
“And the bars?” Cassius asks.
Sylvian tries the bars. “They’re solid.”
Oberon lowers him gently back to the ground. I try to ignore the pang that hits me when I see how easily these men work together now, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. They’re not fighting or competing. They’re… together. And I don’t know when that happened. Or what it means for me.
“This isn’t a human or a fae prison,” Cassius says, voice soft and distant. “Look at the mortar. It’s too thick. Too messy and uneven. And the stones, they’re the wrong shape for human hands.” He runs his finger along the wall, then licks the residue. “Salt. Ocean rock.”
“Ocean creatures?” Ashton asks, raising an eyebrow.
Cassius shakes his head. “We’re too far inland. But whatever creatures built this, they’re big.” He looks at me, his gaze direct. “The question is, why are we here?”
Ashton flops back onto the hay, folding his arms behind his head. “Well, we did fall asleep in a field of enchanted flowers. Maybe this is the dream.” He closes his eyes. “If so, it’s a shit one.”
Oberon ignites three other torches along the walls using the first torch.
The room brightens, revealing more of itself.
The floor is uneven, with grooves cut through the stone, like ancient rivers dried and set in place.
There are three piles of hay, obviously meant as beds, and not a single other furnishing.
Even the toilet is just a bucket in the corner, which Sylvian immediately investigates.
“Empty,” he says, sounding relieved.
Cassius moves to the door. He kneels and inspects the lock, then the hinges. He holds his palm flat to the bars, closes his eyes, and breathes in.
Nothing happens.
He tries again, this time with both hands. There’s a flicker of blue light, then the light dies.
He opens his eyes, and there’s something I don’t recognize in his expression. Not fear. But maybe uncertainty.
“My magic isn’t working,” he says.
Sylvian laughs, but there’s no happiness in it. “Not like it’s the first time.”
Cassius doesn’t look at him. “Are we sure it’s just me? Try it.”
Sylvian obliges, kneeling by a patch of moss. He concentrates, fingers pressing into the green, and for a second I see a shimmer of energy, a pulse of life, but then it snuffs out.
He shakes his head. “Suppressed.”
Oberon stares at the torches. He holds his hand over one, and for a second, it flares, burning twice as bright, but then it snaps back to normal. He grunts, not surprised.
“I can still feel it,” he says, “but it’s like there’s a blanket on top.”
“We should try touching Alette,” Cassius suggests.
All four men come closer and touch me. And try.
After a minute, their faces fall in defeat, and their hands drop.
Cassius sighs. “I think there may be enchantments in the stone itself.”
Ashton tires and says, “Luckily, I have a big cock. That’s kind of like having magic.”
My cheeks heat, and he sees, and laughs.
We sit together, huddled by the torches, letting the warmth soak in. There’s a sense of defeat, but it’s not absolute, more like a lull before the next disaster.
After a bit of time passes, Oberon rises and paces the perimeter of the cell. “You think they’ll come for us?”
Sylvian shrugs. “Depends who ‘they’ are.”
Again, we all go around the room, searching for any way out.
We try every corner and peer through the little barred window of the cell door, but we see nothing but stone.
Oberon lifts me up to try the larger window high above our heads, but I find the same thing as before.
There’s nothing much to see, and the bars are solid as steel.
So after a time, we all end up back on the floor, unsure of what to do next.
Cassius is quiet, staring at the floor. Ashton picks at a straw from the hay pile, twirling it between his fingers. I wrap my arms around my knees, drawing them to my chest.
I want to ask if anyone else is scared, but I know the answer. I see it in the way Sylvian won’t meet anyone’s gaze, in the way Oberon keeps touching where his sword would be, in the way Cassius’s jaw clenches with every failed use of his powers.
It’s Ashton who breaks the silence. “So, what now?”
Sylvian grins. “We could take turns telling our tragic backstories. I’ll go first. I was born handsome. It’s been a burden ever since—”
Oberon throws a piece of hay at him.
I laugh, and the sound is so jarring in the gloom that even Cassius looks up. I realize, in that moment, that I do need a distraction. If I think about where we are, or what’s coming, I’ll go crazy. So I blurt out, “Tell me about the fae. Your castles. Your homes. Anything.”
For a second, no one says anything.
Then Cassius, slow and careful, asks, “You really want us to just talk about nothing?”
I nod. “If we’re going to die here, I want to at least hear a story.”
Cassius considers, then begins. “Let’s tell her about our castles.
She’s only seen the one. I’ll go first. The water fae live on the coast, in a castle of blue stone that rises straight from the sea.
The foundations go down for miles, sunk into the rock.
Glass bridges link the towers, and at night the whole thing glows from the plankton and creatures drifting through the tide pools below.
The air is always damp, always cold. Every sound carries.
Some say you could whisper in the west wing and be heard in the east.”
He looks away, and his voice goes softer. “They keep the halls clean. Still water is everywhere, for reflection, so you’ll never forget who you really are. Even the windows are mirrors. No secrets. Not for us.”
I’m stunned. It’s not the place I expected.