Chapter 18 #2
“We’re going slower than we should be. I don’t think we’re even close to getting through,” King… Oberon grumbles, glaring at Ashton.
Ashton shrugs. “Maybe if you’d taken my lead on some of the turns, we’d be further along.”
Cassius tries to mediate. “Let’s just focus on surviving, shall we? The labyrinth is dangerous enough without us killing each other.”
Sylvian laughs. “It’s like watching a pair of old women fight over knitting needles.”
“Better than watching you play with your dick,” Oberon shoots back.
Sylvian doesn’t rise to the bait. He just looks at me, then back at the group, as if he’s weighing something important.
Or he really doesn’t have a response. Do men really just play with their dicks?
Animals don’t do that when they reproduce, so I assumed humans were the same way… Maybe it’s a fae thing.
The bickering escalates, each king picking at old wounds, ancient slights that have clearly never healed.
I listen for a while, amazed at how quickly it spirals.
Then it turns back to them on this journey.
Oberon blames Ashton for flirting with me instead of paying attention in the labyrinth.
Ashton mocks Oberon’s lack of social skills, saying he’s jealous that he can’t flirt with me.
Sylvian jokes that they’re having a “dick measuring contest,” which makes Cassius have to hide his grin.
“If we were measuring our dicks, Sylvian, you’d lose,” Ashton crows, flashing a toothy grin.
Sylvian raises an eyebrow. “Want to find out? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
My cheeks burn. I stare at the flames, praying to every god that this does not turn into what I think it might.
I’m having a hard enough time being around these gorgeous kings without knowing exactly what they look like naked.
Although, seeing them naked seems like it’d be the kind of experience I’d never forget…
Ashton recovers first. “I’ll pass, thanks. I’ve heard about earth fae… nothing impressive.”
Oberon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you all children?”
Cassius, finally fed up, says, “Enough. If we want to survive, we need to cooperate.”
“Well, I’m in charge here–” Oberon begins.
“Like hell!” Ashton shouts.
“In your dreams,” Sylvian adds, shaking his head and laughing.
“I’m the natural leader. And a quest needs a leader,” Oberon argues.
“Then it should be me,” Ashton counters. “I’m the easiest to get along with.”
“Sylvian is the easiest to get along with,” Oberon says, looking irritated, “but that doesn’t make him the natural leader.”
“I have a superior mind,” Ashton tell him. “I should lead.”
“I don’t want to follow anyone but myself,” Sylvian says. “I don’t trust any of you.”
“I don’t care who leads, but we need a plan, because the way we’re currently going will get us killed.” Cassius’s voice is patient, with a hint of frustration.
They all fall silent.
“Maybe Alette should decide,” Sylvian says.
And for the first time, I feel every pair of eyes on me.
It’s unbearable.
So I blurt, “Why don’t you all just take turns being in charge? Like a schedule. First Oberon, then Ashton, then Sylvian, then Cassius.”
Oberon’s lip curls. “What? And just stop in the middle of a battle to switch leaders? It won’t work.”
“He’s right,” Cassius sounds exhausted. “We need one level-headed person to lead.”
“You mean you?” Ashton asks, brows drawn up.
Cassius shrugs. “Got a better idea?”
After a long pause, Sylvian says, “Why not Alette?”
My heart stops beating. “What?”
All eyes are on me again.
“Why not?” Sylvian presses again.
“Well–” Oberon begins, but says nothing more.
“She’s not really…” Cassius continues, but gets nowhere.
“Will any of us follow the lead of the other?” Sylvian asks.
There’s a resounding “no” from all of them.
“Then I guess it’s settled,” Sylvian says, grinning.
The decision is made, just like that. I stare at the flames, stunned. Me? Lead the mission? They’re insane. But I nod, because arguing would only make it worse.
Cassius looks at me. “What’s your first order, then?”
I hesitate. My mind is blank. But then I remember the aching cold, the empty belly, the terror waiting just beyond the fire’s light.
“We collect more wood, and then when we have enough to last the night, we eat,” I say.
“Fire needs fuel,” Oberon says, giving everyone a look, like he’s reminding us that it won’t be his fault if the fire goes out.
No one laughs. They just get up and start gathering more wood. For a brief, surreal moment, the four most powerful men I’ve ever met are working together, sort of, because I told them to.
It’s not the victory I dreamed of, but I’ll take it.
As the fire grows, the cold recedes, and the dark seems a little less threatening. We eat some of our food, dried fruit and strips of salted meat, nothing fancy, but it tastes like a feast. There’s no bickering, just an uneasy truce for the night.
Even though I’m not ready for sleep, I set up my blankets and curl up as close to the fire as I dare, using my cloak as a pillow. The dagger is in my sheath at my side, no longer glowing.
The fire crackles, and I let myself imagine that I might actually make it out of this place alive.
That I might walk away from this place and be returned to the human lands, where I can see Goose and my family’s farm.
Where I can walk the lands and think of my mother and father.
I try to forget my grandparents and the reality of my life on that farm, but it’s hard to ignore.
I lay with the dagger strapped to my side, even though I still swear I can sense it humming, maybe vibrating, just a little bit.
Sylvian unrolls his bedding, a patchwork of green and brown that blends in with the moss.
He spreads it near the warmth, sits cross-legged, and stares into the flames.
Cassius does the same, but he sits a little further away, a big dry rock under his blanket, back straight as a spear.
Ashton plops down right next to me and starts digging through his pack for more food, while I try to pretend he’s not too close for comfort.
Oberon sits on his blankets with his arms crossed, as if he feels that sitting on the ground is beneath him.
I shift, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy earth, but nothing helps.
The fire is nice, but I can’t get the chill out of my bones, or the knot out of my gut.
Every time the wind shifts, I catch a whiff of something rotten or hear the distant wail of the labyrinth’s victims. Even sitting in a ring of the most powerful men I’ll ever know, I feel so, so small.
“You ever going to relax?” Ashton asks Oberon, mouth already full of jerky.
Oberon glares. “Someone should stay vigilant.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Ashton says, tearing off another hunk. “If anything was going to attack us, it’d have done so by now.”
Sylvian cuts in, soft and calm. “You never know. Sometimes the worst things wait for you to get comfortable.”
Cassius says nothing, just keeps his eyes on the fire like he’s deep in thought.
I stare into the flames, hypnotized by the heart of them. “I don’t know how any of us are going to be able to sleep here.”
Ashton laughs. “I’m sure we’ll get used to it. Besides, I hear earth fae snoring is enough to scare away most predators.”
Sylvian raises an eyebrow. “You should talk, wind child. I’ve shared a tent with you. They don’t call you the wind fae for no reason.” He glances at me. “This guy could win any farting competition you put him in.”
As if I needed him to further explain.
Oberon finally seems to relax a little, but not much. It’s like he wants to always be at the ready. “None of us should sleep deeply tonight. The second we let our guard down, the goddess will bring danger our way.”
“Maybe we should share guard duty,” Ashton suggests.
Cassius shakes his head. “We don’t want to be traveling through the labyrinth too tired from being up half the night. We have a fire to protect us. We’re all light sleepers. It makes sense to rest altogether and move at a faster pace during the day.”
“I know I don’t want to be in this labyrinth longer than we have to,” Ashton says.
“Agreed,” Sylvian murmurs.
The thought of sleeping in this place makes my skin crawl. But I know exhaustion will win out. I accept a strip of dried fruit from Sylvian and chew in silence, listening to the small, comforting noises of the kings settling down for the night.
After a few minutes, curiosity gets the better of me. “Can I ask you something?”
Three heads turn. Oberon just looks annoyed, but he’s listening.
I glance at the flames, then back at them. “Why were you all cursed?”
They had said something before. I was sure of it. But all those panicked moments are just a blur in my mind now.
To my surprise, the air shifts. Instantly, the small comfort of the fire vanishes. The kings glance at each other. No one seems to want to go first.
It’s Cassius who finally speaks, his voice soft and measured. “It was the night of Belataie, the spring festival, a celebration for the goddess Varua. All four houses were together, as required by tradition. There’s always tension, but that year… it was worse.”
He looks at the others, giving them a chance to interrupt. None do.
“There was too much wine, too much pride. Old arguments resurfaced. Eventually, someone bled. On a sacred day. That’s all it took. The goddess punished us immediately.”
Ashton rolls his neck. “All of us, for one little incident. Seems unfair, but she’s always been dramatic.”
Oberon’s jaw clenches. “It was no ‘little incident.’ It was you, running your mouth, as usual. Couldn’t let anything go, could you?”
Ashton looks up, all innocence. “I was just making a joke. You never could take a joke.”
Oberon growls.
Sylvian lets out a deep sigh. “No one is blameless. We all played a part. It was a mess.”
Cassius nods, slow and sad. “But that’s the way it’s always been. The houses bicker and fight, then blame each other when things fall apart.”
I stare at the flames. “But why fight at all? Aren’t you all fae?”
There’s a weird, sad silence. Cassius finally says, “It’s complicated.”
I shake my head. “I don’t get it. On the farm, things were far from perfect. But at the end of the day, we couldn’t just sit around fighting or nothing got done.”
Oberon snorts. “Maybe we should have put you in charge a century ago.”
Sylvian grins. “You’d make a fine queen.”
The thought makes me choke on my fruit. “No, thank you.”
But Ashton just leans back, hands behind his head. “You’ve got more sense than the rest of us combined. Maybe that’s why Varua chose you.”
I look at them, their perfect, ancient faces glowing in the firelight, the weight of maybe centuries behind every word, and I see, suddenly, how broken they all are. How badly they need to win, to be right, to never admit weakness.
“Can I ask another question?” I say, bracing myself.
Cassius nods, radiating patience. “Of course.”
“How old are you? All of you.”
They hesitate. Sylvian answers first. “Three hundred and seven.”
Oberon grudgingly says, “Three hundred and five.”
Ashton jokes, “Three-oh-one.”
Cassius quietly answers, “Three hundred and twelve.”
I stare at them, then let out a weak laugh. “You’re all three hundred years old or more… and you still fight like children.”
There’s a pause. Then Sylvian chuckles, warm and genuine. Ashton laughs too, loud and unembarrassed. Even Cassius smiles, just a flicker, as Oberon scowls, but doesn’t argue.
“We’ve had a long time to perfect our pleasant personalities,” Ashton says, mock serious.
I shake my head, and can't help but smile. “Maybe that’s why you needed a human. To remind you how to act like adults.”
Cassius inclines his head. “You may be right.”
The warmth returns, just a little, as we sit there eating and relaxing after a long day of riding and walking. I’m about to pass out when Cassius asks, “How old are you, Alette?”
“Twenty-three,” I mumble.
Sylvian, with a sleepy smile, says, “Yet, she’s the most mature one here.”
I close my eyes. Me? Mature? I’ve never really thought about myself that way, but maybe I am. And maybe I do have something to add to this quest after all.
Something other than being the “chosen one.”