Chapter 18
Alette
At first, the maze seems straightforward.
The path was narrow but mostly clear, a slight turn here, a split ahead there, but straight more than not.
But after a while, the turns started coming faster, the angles sharper.
The path split, offering different courses, which meant we had to make judgments about which way to go, and the ground slanted in ways that made my knees scream.
Sometimes we doubled back and passed the same dead tree, the same cluster of pale mushrooms, the same pile of what I suspect are animal bones, but I could never be sure, because everything was always shifting, always alive.
“At this rate, we’ll die of boredom before the labyrinth gets us,” King Oberon grumbles
King Ashton snorts. “Only if your whining doesn’t kill us first.”
I keep my mouth shut. It’s easier that way.
The only thing I can think about is the weight of the dagger and the next step in front of me.
The memory of the fall, the dark, the sensation of something watching from below, it lingers, sour and heavy.
But, also, strangely, the way King Oberon looked at me.
The connection I felt with him. It didn’t make sense.
Not his soft touch, or his soft words, because nothing about him is soft.
And yet, I don’t think my mind is making up the connection with him.
He glances over at me, those deep blue eyes of his open, unguarded, for the briefest moment. I realize I was holding my breath and I let it out, noticing the warmth that’s moved over my chest. King Oberon is frightening, so why does he make me feel this strange way?
I shake the thought away. It’s more important that I focus on the here and now.
That fall in the hole of vines happened minutes into our trip into the labyrinth… King Oberon jokes about dying of boredom, but I can’t stop thinking about the other million ways this magical labyrinth could end us. And none of what comes to mind seems painless.
Eventually, the gray sky begins to dim, far quicker than I’ve ever experienced before.
Night falls fast here, I guess. Within minutes, the light fades from light gray to black, and we’re left with only the faint glow from the dagger and King Oberon’s small flame dancing in his palm.
The darkness presses in close, thick and total.
King Sylvian pulls up short at a small clearing, a spot where the path widens, ringed by twisted yew trees and a patch of low, spongy moss. There’s nothing particularly special about the spot, so I glance at the king, waiting for instruction.
“This is as good a place as any to stop for the night,” he says, already moving to check the perimeter for threats.
King Cassius nods. “Agreed. We’ll lose more than we gain if we keep moving in this dark and get hurt.”
I think they’re probably right. Traveling in the darkness seems far more dangerous than traveling in the dim light of the labyrinth’s day.
We need to see our enemies coming before they see us if we have any chance.
Yet, I look to the others. King Oberon is silent, arms crossed, scowling at the sky.
King Ashton, true to form, flops onto the moss and stretches out, grinning at nothing in particular.
Okay, so I guess we’re more or less in agreement that it’s time to rest.
I sink to the ground, bones protesting, muscles shaking.
All I want is sleep. Just an hour or two where my brain can shut off and my heart can stop racing.
At the farm, there was always an undercurrent of fear in every action I took, but that fear was like the tremor of an earthquake.
There, hard to ignore, but not impossible.
The fear I feel here is oppressive, like a sand storm.
There’s no ignoring it. No slipping away to my quiet place. All I can do is endure.
King Oberon comes to stop just above King Ashton. “Don’t get too comfortable. We need a fire. Ashton, gather branches.”
The other man props himself up on an elbow, raising an eyebrow. “Why don’t you do it? I don’t recall ever pledging service to you, fire boy.”
King Oberon’s eyes narrow, blue, cold, and sharp as broken ice. “You need to pull your weight. There’s no servant here to wash your kingly bottom.”
King Ashton yawns, a showy performance. “I’d rather delegate. Makes for a better use of everyone’s talents. Alette, what do you think? Shouldn’t Oberon show off his manly strength and collect the wood himself?”
They all look at me. I freeze, not used to being consulted in these little power games.
“I, uh… I think everyone will be enjoying the fire, so everyone should get it,” I mumble.
For a second, no one speaks. Then King Sylvian laughs, the sound soft but genuine. “I think since Ashton doesn’t care about the fire, I guess Oberon should collect the wood.”
King Oberon’s face turns a shade darker, and for a second I think he’ll hit King Ashton, but he just turns on his heel and stalks into the shadows, muttering under his breath.
King Cassius sighs and sits beside me. “Don’t mind them. They’ve been at this for nearly two hundred and fifty years.”
That makes me pause. “How is that possible when you’re all so young?”
His eyes fix on the dagger in my lap. “We’re all older than we look. Still young in fae years though. But, unfortunately, time doesn’t heal old grudges. If anything, it makes them worse.”
King Ashton pipes up, “You’d think after a century or two, Oberon would have developed a sense of humor. But no, he has just the one facial expression.” He demonstrates, contorting his face into a cartoonish scowl.
King Sylvian shakes his head. “All joking aside, he’s not wrong, you know. About the fire. We all need it. The last thing we want is to freeze in this damp, dark maze, or have no light to scare off whatever horrible creatures live in this place.”
“We’ll manage,” King Cassius says, though he doesn’t look convinced.
I watch as King Oberon returns, arms full of dry sticks and a scowl so deep I wonder if he’ll ever smile again. He dumps the wood in a heap and gestures to us. “We need more branches.
My feet hurt, but I climb back onto them. “I’ll get more.”
King Sylvian is next to me in an instant. “I’ll help.”
I glance at King Ashton and King Cassius. To my surprise, they rise to their feet and go to look for branches too. King Oberon looks relieved as he kneels down and starts the fire with his magic.
Walking close to the hedges and using my dagger’s glow to see, I lean down and pull out any dead branches I see, hoping we’ll be able to collect enough. I shiver, imagining the dark and cold night before us without a fire. We definitely need to get as much wood as we can.
“How are you enjoying our adventure so far?” King Sylvian asks, reaching down and snagging a branch beside me.
“You’re kidding, right?”
He smiles at me, a goofy smile that makes my heart beat a little faster. “I mean, it’s not that bad with our company, right?”
I don’t know what to say, but I'm surprised to find that I’m smiling. “No offense, but no one could make me want to do this willingly. Even with our deal, I’d run out of here if I could.”
His mouth turns into a pout for half a second before he’s smiling again. “I bet any of the fae women would’ve gone with us.”
“Then they’re fools,” I say, wincing. I know that I absolutely shouldn’t have said that to a fae. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. You can say anything you want to us. We’re not all that sensitive. Well, King Oberon is, but the rest of us are fine.”
I bite my lip. “I just don’t want to be turned into mush or charred into bits.”
He looks at me funny. “You know fae aren’t typically that violent.”
“They are in my experience,” I say softly, memories of blood, screaming, and death flashing in my mind.
He touches my arm, and I jerk away. He looks down at his hand as if wondering if it burnt me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
“It’s fine,” I tell him lamely, grabbing another branch and continuing to move.
Slowly, our arms fill with branches. Some are big. Some are small. But all of them mean a night with more warmth and less darkness.
“I wouldn’t hurt you, you know,” King Sylvian tells me gently.
I almost believe him. “Okay.”
After a minute’s pause he gestures down, “All good?”
I look at our piles of wood. “Yeah, I think this is good.”
We walk back to camp. “More wood, King Oberon,” I say.
King Sylvian snickers. “Okay, since we’re all on a deadly mission together, can we stop with the ‘king’ this and that? I feel like we shouldn’t waste our breath on titles at a time like this.”
“Agreed,” King Cassius responds.
King Ashton gives me a look. “I prefer my women to just call me Ashton.”
My cheeks. I’m not… his woman though.
“It’s a show of respect. Of our positions.” King Oberon looks unhappy.
King Cassius lifts a brow. “The next time we’re being eaten by vines, do you really want our rescue to be bogged down by ‘king so and so.’ It’s illogical.”
The other man is quiet for a long minute. “Fine.”
“Are you sure?” I ask quietly. “I’m not even a lady. I’m a peasant.”
King Sylvian looks surprised. “You’re better than a lady. You’re the chosen one. Should we call you 'chosen one' every time we speak to you?”
I blush. “No, of course not…”
“Of course not, who?” King Sylvian presses.
My face just feels hotter. “Sylvian.”
He grins, happy like a dog with a bone. “I like the way she says my name.”
“It’s the same thing,” King Oberon says dryly.
“I want to try it out,” King Ashton tells me with a smile. "Who am I?” He asks, pointing to himself.
My mouth feels dry. “Ashton.”
His grin is wicked. “My name does sound good on her tongue, doesn’t it?”
I try to ignore them, even though I’m amazed by the way they embarrass me. We settle around the fire, silent for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. Then, as if they’ve all been waiting for this exact moment, the arguing starts up again.