Chapter 16
Cassius
The moment the door shuts behind us, everything changes. We move quickly, efficiently. Changing into our leathers. Packing our bags. No one speaks. There’s no need. The conclusion is shared.
We leave. Immediately.
The halls feel altered as we move through them, the temperature lower, the air heavier. Whether that is perception or reality is irrelevant. It affects our responses all the same. Shadows deepen. Light sharpens. Every variable becomes suspect.
I remain aware of Alette.
Always.
Her breathing is elevated. Her steps slightly uneven. She stays close to Oberon, her hand gripping his arm, and I adjust my position accordingly, close enough to reach her, far enough not to impede movement.
“Try that one,” Ashton says, already redirecting toward another exit.
Sylvian reaches it first and applies force, but there’s no movement. It’s locked. Again.
I move to the next door without comment. Test the mechanism. Reinforced. Sealed. I proceed to the next. Identical result.
All exits are secured.
The pattern is deliberate.
“This is bad,” Ashton says, tension stripping the ease from his voice. “What kind of castle locks every exit?”
Oberon answers immediately. “One that plans to keep us here.”
Accurate.
Alette’s grip tightens. I note the change without looking directly at her. She’s bordering on panic. We need to keep her as calm as we can. We continue moving. Stopping serves no function.
“There,” Sylvian says.
There’s a light source up ahead. Consistent. The kitchen. Logically, it remains accessible. Kitchens in castles are busy all day, and the servants have to be able to go outside frequently. Even under hostile conditions. But even though there should be an exit there, there’s likely also people.
We reduce our speed as one. No verbal instruction required. Oberon shifts slightly, positioning himself between Alette and the corridor ahead. I raise a hand, signaling silence.
We listen. Voices.
The door is partially open. Light spills into the corridor. I advance first, positioning myself just enough to see without exposing the group.
The space is extensive. There are high ceilings. Multiple workstations. Copper suspended overhead. Heat sources active.
Too active. Their preparation levels exceed necessity. Their food volume is disproportionate to the visible occupants. My conclusion… they’re preparing for a celebration.
Hearing the murmuring of voices, I adjust my position and shift closer until I can see that Lord Ferngull stands near the central hearth. Back turned. Voice controlled. Measured.
“…each one prepared properly.” The phrasing is precise. Intentional. “The human female should be tender,” he continues. “Handle her carefully.”
My thoughts freeze. Not from uncertainty. From confirmation.
“The fae will require additional effort,” he adds, tone shifting slightly. “More seasoning. Longer preparation.”
I withdraw immediately, stepping back before I’m caught. Behind me, the others are still.
I step closer without hesitation, lowering my voice. “Do not react,” I say quietly. “Not here.”
Her eyes meet mine. There’s fear, but also comprehension. Good.
I maintain my proximity to her. “He’s outlining preparation methods,” I continue, tone controlled. “For us. Confirming what we’ve been told.”
Ashton exhales sharply. Oberon curses under his breath, fists tightening. Sylvian’s attention flicks toward the corridor, already recalculating. Alette sways slightly.
I steady her immediately, one hand on her arm. I don’t blame her the least bit for her fear, but we can’t afford it right now. If we don’t keep our heads, we’re likely to lose them.
“We can’t stay here,” Sylvian says. “We leave. Now.”
Agreed. But our movement must be precise. And Alette must remain protected at all costs.
I nod once, the conclusion settling into place with uncomfortable clarity.
“This may be our only exit,” I say quietly.
No one argues. They understand.
“But we can’t just… stay here and wait to be caught,” Sylvian says.
Oberon makes a suggestion, his voice as sharp as a blade. “We could kill all of them and run.”
Alette draws in a sharp breath. “Maybe there’s a better way.” And I can tell she doesn’t like the idea of killing anyone, even cannibals.
I consider her words. “We could wait in the room across the hall and keep an eye on the kitchen. When there’s fewer of them, we can escape, killing only who we have to.”
Oberon looks irritated. “Or there could end up being more people in the kitchens if we wait.”
“But with how few fae we’ve seen here, and the strength of our magic, we should even be able to handle that if we have to. As long as it isn’t the full-force of the castle’s fae guards,” Ashton argues.
We look at Alette.
She straightens her back. “Let’s wait and see.”
Oberon doesn’t look happy, but I suspect Ashton and Sylvian are committed to doing whatever makes Alette happy, even with cannibals sharpening their blades for us.
We withdraw before the risk increases, moving to a door opposite the kitchen.
I test it. It’s unlocked. Glancing inside, I find it empty.
Acceptable.
“Inside,” I murmur.
We slip in one by one, closing the door without a sound. The room is small, likely a storage space, empty enough to serve our purposes. I position myself near the door, listening.
Alette stays close. I remain aware of her breathing, still uneven. I want nothing more than to hold her and promise her that she’ll be okay, but I don’t like giving promises I might have to break.
“We wait,” I say.
Time stretches on. Then, there are more voices. Not Lord Ferngull’s. Different ones filled with urgency.
I shift closer to the door, listening as footsteps approach the kitchen.
“My lord,” a servant says from the hall, breathless. “There’s a problem in the lower gardens. The storm has damaged the harvest. The outer rows are flooding.”
Lord Ferngull’s voice follows, sharper now. “All of it?”
“Not yet, my lord, but if we don’t act quickly—”
“Fine,” Lord Ferngull snaps. “All of you, with me. We salvage what we can. Leave the preparations. We’ll return.”
Footsteps shift immediately. There’s movement. Multiple people leaving.
I wait and count the steps. Track the direction. Ensure distance. Only when the sounds fully fade do I move.
“This is it,” I say. “If there’s anyone left in the kitchens, we can handle them.”
I ease the door open just enough to confirm the corridor beyond is empty. There’s silence. No voices. No footsteps. Not even the scrape of movement. The corridor lies unnaturally still, as if the house itself is holding its breath.
I glance back once to Alette. She’s pale, but looks ready. Good.
“Stay close,” I tell her.
It’s not a suggestion.
I slip into the corridor and move quickly, the others at my back. The moment we cross into the kitchen, the air changes. It’s warmer, thicker, carrying the faint scent of herbs and something far less pleasant beneath it.
Then I see it. At the far end of the kitchen, a door hangs slightly open. Rain lashes through the gap, driven sideways by the wind. The storm beyond is a blur of silver and shadow, the labyrinth barely visible through the downpour.
Freedom.
“Back exit,” I murmur, already moving.
My pulse slams hard against my ribs as I cross the room, every step expecting a shout, a hand, a blade… but nothing comes. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll all get out of this in one piece. If the gods are on our side.
I reach the door and shove it wider. Cold rain spatters across my skin, sharp and real, washing away the suffocating heat of the kitchen.
“Now,” I snap, glancing back at them. “Move.”
And I step out into the storm.
The cold rain pelts against our skin as we run, sharp and stinging like tiny needles. The labyrinth looms before us, its twisted paths barely visible in the downpour, swallowed by sheets of silver that cascade from the heavens.
We’re almost there.
I glance back. A figure steps out onto a narrow balcony above the kitchen doors, silhouetted against the dim glow of torchlight. For a single, suspended heartbeat, they just stare down at us, taking in everything. Four figures. Running. Escaping.
Then their mouth opens. “Stop them!”
The shout rips through the rain, loud and carrying, echoing off stone and winding paths.
My blood turns to ice.
“They’ve seen us,” I snap, urgency slicing through every word. “Run!”
I don’t look back again. There’s no time. There’s only the storm. The maze. And the desperate, narrowing chance to disappear before they close in.
The storm roars around us, thunder cracking overhead as we weave through the labyrinth’s winding paths.
The rain blinds me, each step a gamble as we search for a way out.
My lungs burn with the effort, but I don’t dare slow down.
The shouts grow louder behind us, echoing in the air, and we all move even faster.
The labyrinth is a maze of dead ends and false hope, each turn leading us deeper into its twisted heart.
The storm makes everything worse, the rain turning the ground to slick mud and the lightning casting eerie shadows that make my stomach churn.
The world feels chaotic, the storm and the labyrinth converging into a nightmare brought to life.
Alette stumbles beside me, and I catch her arm before she can fall. “Keep going,” I urge, my voice barely audible over the storm’s roar.
“They’re right behind us,” she gasps, her eyes wide with fear.
We take another turn, only to find ourselves facing a solid wall of hedges. A dead end. My stomach drops, dread pooling in my gut as I spin around, searching for another path. The shouts are closer now, the sound of footsteps pounding against the ground like a war drum, relentless and unforgiving.
“This way,” Oberon says, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward another path. His grip is firm, and I follow without hesitation.