Chapter 21
Sylvian
Dusk in the labyrinth has a thickness to it, as if every drop of sun has been wrung out of the sky and mopped up by the hedge.
This area of the labyrinth is different.
Tighter. So tight that none of us can stand next to the other.
We walk in it, all five of us, single file.
All of us are still damp and exhausted from the tunnel.
If I listen hard enough, I can hear the rhythm of Alette’s steps between Ashton and Cassius’s heavier treads.
She walks like a deer through tangled brush, always alert, always bracing to run.
Her scent, something flowery and impossibly human, is the only thing in the world that feels grounded to me.
Even though I somehow ended up right behind Oberon, I’m constantly fighting my own instinct to walk back and be closer to her.
To breathe in her scent and remind myself why we’re doing this.
Although, I know this is technically for my people. To get our powers back. My mind seems more focused on getting my sweet human back safely than anything else.
Which is crazy.
I’m a man who has never, in his long life, been enamored with a woman before, but I’m very clearly enamored with Alette. And, much to my annoyance, I know the other kings feel the same way.
Competition is not my thing. Wanting any woman the three assholes wants is certainly not my thing. But I’m completely enchanted by Alette, and I won’t resist getting to know her just because of the men I hate.
Still, I have to focus on surviving. Not the pretty little thing.
At every bend, the walls pulse with that green-black shine, throwing shadows like knives.
The path is only a few paces wide, so close that when we pass a sharp corner Oberon’s shoulders nearly brush both sides.
I keep my eyes ahead, on his back, and pretend not to notice the way he hunches himself to be smaller when the walls press in.
He’s not built for hiding his feelings; his body does it for him.
But who knew the old fire fae king was afraid of tight spaces? Certainly not me.
Alette is the one who finally says what everyone’s thinking. “Oberon. Are you sure you’re all right?” She says it so softly it almost doesn’t reach the front of the line, but he stops anyway, forced into stillness by her question.
He doesn’t look at her. “Just keep moving.”
She tries again, braver. “You’re sure?”
I see his jaw work as he glances back, the muscle there tense as a bowstring. “I’ll survive.”
For a moment, no one speaks. Then Ashton lets out a breathy laugh that’s meant to cut the tension. “You should see what he’s like in the palace. If a room has no windows, he’ll stand in the corridor and shout through the door instead.”
Oberon glares, but Ashton just smiles, easy and bright. I catch the look Cassius gives Oberon, one I know well from a hundred council meetings. It’s the look of a man who’s weighing whether compassion will do more good than silence.
“Nothing wrong with that,” I say quietly. “Some of us have good reasons to avoid being caged.”
Alette glances at me, and there’s a flash of something like gratitude in her eyes that warms up my entire body. If I could bottle that up, I’d be set for the next hundred winters.
But Oberon just grunts and keeps moving, shouldering aside a low-hanging branch. And for a few minutes, the only sound is the crunch of our boots and the distant, soft hush of wind through leaves.
At a bend in the path, Oberon slows. He doesn’t say why, but I can feel it: the sudden, total silence.
No screams, no shifting vines, not even our footsteps.
Only the rush of our own breathing. I peer ahead and see nothing but the faint shimmer of blue on wet leaves.
Then I hear it: the slow, wet sound of water dripping, and over it, the caw of crows.
We take a couple steps closer, and I get a better view.
On a dead tree poking through the hedge, there’s a whole flock of them.
Dozens, maybe hundreds, all perched together, their feathers slicked with water, their eyes gold and empty.
They’re not quite like the crows from back home.
These are longer, leaner, their beaks almost hooked, their calls echoing off the hedges like laughter in a crypt.
Oberon continues forward, and we all reluctantly follow. We’re all unsettled. They watch us as we pass, their heads tilting in unison.
Alette asks, “Why are they all staring at us?”
No one answers at first. Then Cassius, who has barely spoken since the tunnel, says, “In the old stories, crows are the souls of fae who couldn’t find rest in the afterlife. They watch the living, hoping for someone to finish their business.”
Ashton snorts. “Let me guess, you read that in one of your books?”
Cassius turns, one eyebrow raised. “Of course. I’ve read every book I could get my hands on.”
I smile, teasing. “Did you have any childhood at all, Cassius, or did you just live in a library?”
He doesn’t answer right away, which makes me feel bad. I was only joking, after all.
When he does, his voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear. “I don’t remember much of my childhood. My earliest memory is being handed to the Tide Sages at the palace. After that, it was lessons. Then more lessons. Then court.”
Alette’s brow furrows. “Tide Sages? What are they?”
“Scholars,” he says. “Priests of a sort. They believed the only way to prepare a fae child for rule was to rid them of distraction and emotion. I spent my childhood in a tower, surrounded by books and tutors. They told me pain sharpens memory. I suppose they were right.”
There’s a pause, and I see the way his hands shake just slightly, the way his gaze locks onto the crows as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
Alette says, “That sounds… terrible.”
Cassius blinks, startled by her answer. “It made me who I am.”
She shrugs. “I don’t think anyone should grow up like that.
You’re smart, probably smarter than anyone I’ve ever met.
But if you don’t pair that with kindness, or at least a little compassion, what’s the point?
And they couldn’t possibly have been treating you with kindness if they were focusing on giving you pain. ”
He actually laughs, but it’s brittle as glass. “Emotion gets in the way of smart decisions.”
Alette steps past a puddle and says, “That’s wrong. You can calculate the perfect outcome. You can predict every move. But if you don’t care who gets hurt along the way, you stop being a leader. You become the thing everyone fears.”
The silence after her words is so heavy I can hear my own pulse. Oberon glances over his shoulder, mouth twisted in an expression I can’t read. Even Ashton stops smiling. And me? I’m astonished. Beautiful and wise? Who is this little human?
Cassius considers her words, his expression thoughtful. “You really believe that?”
She nods. “My father taught me as much. He ran our farm, but he always made time to explain why he did things. If a lamb was sick, he’d show me how to care for it, but he’d also tell me that it was okay to feel sad if it died.
That being strong and being gentle weren’t opposites.
I didn’t really understand that fully until he was gone. ”
I want to reach out and take her hand, but I stop myself. She doesn’t want our pity. She just wants us to hear her.
She keeps going, voice low. “After my father died, my grandparents came and took over the farm. My grandfather… he runs our farm through fear. Orders, punishments, never any praise. If you make a mistake, he’ll make sure you don’t forget.
He’s smart, too. But he teaches through cruelty.
I learned a lot, but I’d never wish his lessons on anyone. ”
Ashton looks disturbed, which is exactly how I feel. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
Alette shrugs, but I can see the tension in her jaw, the white line at the edge of her knuckles. “There are people with worse stories. I’m just saying, strategy and power aren’t worth much if you don’t use them to make things better. For someone. Even just one person.”
For a long moment, no one says a word.
Finally, Cassius says, “Maybe you’re right. But history isn’t written by the kind.”
Alette looks up at the crows again. “That’s probably why the world is so broken.”
Oberon grunts, and for the first time since the tunnel, he turns to look at her directly. “You talk like you’re five hundred years old, human.”
She almost smiles. “Sometimes it feels like it.”
The words echo through my mind. What has such a young woman been through that makes her feel that way?
We walk on. The path dips and winds, and the crows follow overhead, never more than a few trees away.
The sky has gone from grey to a bruised purple, the last of the sun slowly bleeding out behind the hedge.
The cold settles deeper, and I gather my cloak more closely to my body.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about what she said, how she said it.
It’s as if I'm starting to view the world through her eyes. Which is strangely uncomfortable for someone who’s always been set in his ways.
After a while, the space between hedges widens, and Oberon falls back to walk beside her. He doesn’t speak, but he keeps pace, his gaze on the path ahead.
I sidle up on her other side. “You all right, Alette?”
She blinks at me, surprised. “I’m fine.”
“The tunnel was a bit… frightening.”
She breathes out, slow. “I’m still here. That’s what matters.”
It’s the same answer I would’ve given.
Ashton catches up, a branch in his hand. He twirls it, then offers it to her like a sword. “In case any more tunnels try to eat us.”
She takes it, grins for real, and tucks it into her belt beside the dagger.
Cassius lags a few paces behind, silent, thoughtful. I can’t tell if he’s replaying the conversation or erasing it from his mind.
Oberon keeps the group moving. The path narrows again, so that we’re forced into single file once more. Alette ends up behind me, her footsteps so light I can barely tell she’s there.
After a while, when the path begins to widen a little once more, I risk a glance over my shoulder.
She’s lost in thought, lips pressed tight.
I slow down, letting her catch up until we’re walking side by side at the back of the group.
My mind scrambles for something to say, but I’ve never been very good at this stuff.
“You handled that well,” I murmur. “Most fae don’t care for sadness unless it’s their own. Or unless it makes them look strong.”
She considers this. “That’s stupid.”
I smile, not hiding it. “You’re not wrong.”
Alette is quiet, just for a moment, then she changes the subject. “Did you grow up with your family?”
Ah, she’s trying to get to know me. This is a huge step up from the human who kneed me in the groin and ran from me the first time we interacted.
I nod. “I did.”
She smiles. “What was that like?”
I think about it and decide to be honest. She won’t learn to trust me if I don’t trust her. “A little challenging. See, well, my parents wanted me to be different than I am.”
“Different how?”
It’s weird. I don’t think I’ve ever admitted this out loud before. “I was born tiny and sickly. For many years my parents were disappointed in me and felt I wouldn’t make a good leader, but then I got healthier. I got bigger. And they still weren’t happy.”
“Why?”
“Because they felt I was too soft still. That my body might have gotten stronger, but not my heart.”
“So you’re not cold and cruel. Who wants cold and cruel?” she asks, and then gives me a little smile that warms my whole heart.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I’ve always known I should be tougher. Harder. But Alette makes it sound like maybe me being me isn’t such a bad thing.
“No, really, there are enough cold, cruel men in the world. There’s a lot of room for sweeter men.”
I like the way she says sweeter. Does she think I’m sweet?
“Normally, women are the softer ones.”
She wrinkles her nose. “And isn’t that a sad thing? Who wants to raise their son to be some kind of statue that doesn’t bleed? I don’t think that should be any mom’s goal.”
I think that was my mom’s, but I don’t say that. “Perhaps you’re right.”
Ahead, Oberon calls back, “There’s a clearing up ahead. We can stop there for the night.”
We break out of the hedge and see a decent-size clearing. Moonlight can actually filter in past the shadows of the hedge. It’s not exactly where I want to spend my night, but it’s promising.
Wordlessly, we drop our stuff and go through the same process as the night before. Each of us collects wood from around, and under, the thick hedges, then throws some of them into a pile. Oberon lights the fire, and we all set up our blankets and find our places on the ground.
I sit on the far side of the fire, watching the flames light up Alette’s face.
Somehow, I’m having trouble reminding myself that fae women are supposed to be far more beautiful than human women.
In fact, I’m struggling to remember what a single fae woman looks like.
There’s just Alette, her long brown hair braided down her back, and those huge blue eyes of hers.
Her skin is pale, and her cheeks are permanently a pink hue.
She’s tiny, beautiful, and fascinating to look at.
You have to stop staring.
The crows call again. Their voices sound closer now.
Cassius says, “If I die in this maze, I hope I come back as a crow. They look out for each other.”
Ashton laughs, but there’s a thread of something sad in it. “If I die in this maze, I hope you come back as a duck. That would be hilarious.”
Alette laughs, too, a real one this time. For a moment, everything feels almost normal.
Then she glances at the walls of the labyrinth, at the way the hedge looms over us, waiting for us to relax. She visibly shivers, but I know it’s not from the cold.
“Let’s sleep,” she says. “I want to be ready for tomorrow.”
No one can argue with that logic.
We settle in, everyone a little closer to the fire than we need to be. I lay down last, eyes open, watching the flicker of flame on the inside of my eyelids, wondering what tomorrow will bring. Can we really save our people? Can we really bring back their magic?
Alette was supposed to come in here with four powerful kings, but in my eyes, she couldn’t have been paired with four worse people. We might wear crowns, yet I know for a fact that everyone of us is a miserable bastard who lives for their duty, while feeling completely empty inside.
How can we possibly be the ones to save our people, if we can’t even save ourselves?
But even in my dreams, I don’t find the answers.