Chapter 7 #2
He glances toward the stone beneath us, toward the walls, as if listening for something that no longer answers.
“The stone used to speak. The roots would bend at my will. The soil itself would shift beneath my command.” His mouth tightens faintly. “Now… it’s distant. Faint. Like trying to grasp something just out of reach.”
Then his gaze lifts back to us, intent. “And you’re telling me that could be restored?”
“Possibly. The goddess, Varua, has stated that our powers will be restored, and this maze destroyed, if we can make it to the end of the labyrinth,” Sylvian offers with a shrug.
There’s no hiding it now. The hunger. The hope.
“When the labyrinth came, it didn’t just trap us and cut off from the rest of the fae,” he continues, leaning forward slightly. “It dulled what we are. Left us with fragments of what should be whole.”
His eyes lock onto Sylvian.
“But if you reach the end… if you truly can break the curse…” His voice lowers, but the intensity in it deepens. “Then you would be giving us back everything.”
“Well, hopefully we’re coming close to the end,” Ashton offers.
“We haven’t seen it yet, but that’s possible,” Lord Ferngull says, but I can sense the doubt in his voice.
Are we really not even close to the end?
His attention returns to us fully, something like eagerness beginning to take shape beneath his composure. “You know, as crazy as it sounds, I was glad to find you in that pit tonight.”
Oberon’s gaze sharpens slightly. “Glad?”
“Yes,” Lord Ferngull says simply. “You’re the first fae outside of my court that I’ve seen since the labyrinth rose. The first connection to the outside world in…” He pauses, as if the number no longer matters. “Longer than I care to count.”
A quiet heaviness settles over us both.
“But now,” he continues, leaning forward just slightly, “you tell me you intend to end this curse. To restore our magic. And in doing so, maybe destroy this fucking labyrinth.”
There’s a sharp, hungry intensity beneath his words.
“I would be a fool not to help you.”
Ashton lifts a brow. “Yeah?”
Lord Ferngull’s smile returns. “You’re offering hope,” he says. “That tends to inspire enthusiasm.”
Cassius watches him carefully. “And what would that help look like?”
“Guidance,” Ferngull replies without hesitation. “There are paths through the labyrinth most never find. Places where the terrain shifts less. Creatures that can be avoided… if you know how.” His gaze sharpens slightly. “I can show you routes that will save you days. Possibly even save your lives.”
Oberon studies him for a long moment, unreadable. “So, you just expect us to trust you?”
“I expect nothing,” Lord Ferngull replies lightly. “But I am offering.”
Then Oberon leans back slightly, though the tension in him doesn’t ease. “How did you come to be here?” he asks, changing the topic. No doubt wanting to be the one to gather information, not give it.
Lord Ferngull doesn’t seem bothered by the question. He settles more comfortably into his chair. “These were once my lands,” he says. “Long before the labyrinth sprouted and consumed them. My castle was… caught within its bounds. My people and I remained. Adapted. Survived.”
“And how exactly have you managed that?” Ashton asks, tone casual, but his eyes remain sharp.
“Carefully,” Lord Ferngull replies with a small chuckle. “The labyrinth is dangerous, yes, but not without its… patterns. Its resources. We’ve learned where to step. Where not to.”
Cassius leans forward slightly. “You speak as though it can be understood.”
“Not understood,” Lord Ferngull says. “Not fully. But… anticipated.”
“And the creatures?” Cassius presses.
“When necessary, we coexist,” Lord Ferngull replies smoothly. “Some are less hostile than others. Arrangements can be made.”
Oberon’s expression doesn’t shift. “You expect us to believe you’ve negotiated with whatever’s in this place?”
Lord Ferngull’s smile shifts, amused. “Believe what you wish. We are still here, are we not?”
A silence follows. Heavy. Measuring.
“I don’t recall ever hearing your name,” Oberon says after a moment, sharper now. “Lord Ferngull.”
Lord Ferngull lifts a brow. “Is that so?”
All eyes move to Sylvian.
He shifts slightly, uncomfortable under the attention. “There are many lords and courts on the lands of the earth fae,” he says. “More than anyone could reasonably keep track of. Especially those from… more distant regions.”
Lord Ferngull’s smile widens, just a touch too slow. “Exactly. I am but one among many. It’s no surprise I’ve escaped notice.” His gaze flicks back to Oberon. “Even from one as esteemed as yourself.”
Oberon’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing more.
“The storms here are fierce,” Lord Ferngull says, gesturing toward the windows where rain lashes violently against the glass. “They linger. Days at a time, sometimes longer.”
His gaze moves between us again, thoughtful now. Intent.
“You are welcome to remain here until it passes,” he adds. “And when you’re ready… I would be more than willing to help guide you further.”
There’s a pause. “It is the least I can do to see this curse finally broken.”
The words are smooth. Generous.
His gaze shifts again. To me. “You are not fae.”
“No,” I answer, tensing.
His eyes flick briefly to my dagger. “That blade… it carries power. Not loud, but distinct. Unusual.”
My fingers tighten slightly. “It was given to me.”
“I can see why,” he murmurs, his gaze lifting back to my face. “You wear it well.”
His attention lingers, not just on the blade now, but on me.
“A rare weapon,” he says, his tone almost thoughtful now. His gaze lingers on the blade before lifting back to me. “Which makes me curious how a human woman came to possess something like it.”
My shoulders tense.
“And more than that,” he adds, his gaze sharpening just a fraction, “how someone so… delicate ended up here at all.”
The word sits wrong. Delicate.
His eyes sweep over me, slower this time. Assessing.
“Beautiful,” he corrects softly. “Striking, even. But the labyrinth is not kind to things that can break.”
The shift is immediate.
Ashton moves first, like he can’t help it. His arm slides along the back of the chair behind me, his fingers brushing my shoulder as he leans in just slightly. “Careful,” he says, voice easy. “That kind of interest in our Alette tends to end badly.”
Lord Ferngull doesn’t seem offended. If anything, he looks more interested.
“And you?” he asks me directly, as if the others haven’t spoken at all. “Why are you here?”
All their attention shifts to me at once.
I choose my words carefully. “I’m guiding them.”
It’s the truth. Just not all of it.
Lord Ferngull hums softly, like he’s turning that over. “Guiding,” he repeats, his gaze still fixed on me. “Interesting.”
A pause. Then, casually, “And are you… spoken for?”
The air goes still.
I don’t even get a chance to breathe, let alone answer.
“That’s none of your concern,” Oberon says immediately, his voice low and sharp.
“Not even a little,” Ashton adds, the easy humor gone from his tone now.
Lord Ferngull lifts his hands slightly, a gesture of mock surrender, though the faint smile never leaves his lips. “Curiosity, nothing more.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the saying that curiosity killed the cat?” Cassius asks, softly, his words a threat, but his tone light.
A flash of something passes through Lord Ferngull’s eyes, gone too quickly to name.
Then, as if shifting the conversation entirely, he looks back to me. “Perhaps, later, you would like a tour of the castle,” he offers. “There is much here that might interest you.”
Ashton huffs a soft laugh. “Tempting offer,” he says, draping an arm behind me again. “But she’ll be busy with us.”
My cheeks heat. “I’ll be busy resting. He means.”
Sylvian shrugs. “In bed, but not resting.” Then winks.
I feel like I could melt into the floor.
Lord Ferngull’s gaze moves between them, then back to me. His expression is more than a little fascinated.
“So, Alette,” he presses lightly, looking back at me again. “You’ve said very little. No home you’re eager to return to? No ties that would pull you away from a journey like this?”
Oberon doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His jaw locks, his gaze fixed on Lord Ferngull with a kind of quiet, simmering anger that feels far more dangerous than words.
Sylvian’s grip on my arm grows firmer, his thumb sweeping lightly across my skin. “Her place is always by our sides.”
Lord Ferngull’s gaze flicks between them, taking in the unspoken warning threaded through their every word. Their every move. Something knowing touches his expression before it smooths again.
“How reassuring,” he says lightly, leaning back. “Loyalty like that is… rare.”
His eyes drift back to me, slower this time.
“Still,” he adds, voice softening, “after all this time… Lady Alette is a sight for sore eyes.” His smile curves faintly. “I could see myself very happy with someone like her on my arm. Someone so beautiful… and yet brave enough to walk willingly into a place like this.”
Cassius speaks before anyone else can move, his tone quiet but cutting. “I suggest you look elsewhere for a wife.”
Lord Ferngull’s brows lift slightly. “Is that so?”
“Very,” Cassius replies, his gaze unwavering. “She is not available.”
“My apologies,” he says smoothly, though there’s no real regret in his voice. “It seems I overstepped.”
His gaze flicks to Oberon, something almost pleased lingering there.
“Clearly.”
No one relaxes. Not even a little. Because if anything… the room feels far more dangerous now than it did before. Then he leans back, slow and deliberate, his expression smoothing into something pleasant again.
“Forgive me,” he says lightly. “It has simply been… a long time since we’ve had guests worth speaking to.”
“I guess this place could make even the most gentlemanly among us misstep,” Sylvian offers, but his eyes are cold.