Chapter 16 #2
We run blindly, the labyrinth’s twists and turns disorienting us at every step. I can’t tell if we’re getting closer to freedom or deeper into its trap. Then, the ground gives way beneath me. There’s no warning. No time to react.
I drop.
A startled shout tears from my throat as my hands claw at empty air.
There’s no edge, no grip, no control. The world pitches, spinning into darkness.
The ground crashes up hard and unforgiving, pain detonating through my back as the breath is ripped from my lungs.
Bodies hit around me at the same instant, Alette and the others.
“Alette—!” Her name tears free before I can stop it.
Her cry cuts through the darkness, sharp and terrified, too close, and something cold and vicious coils tight within me. For a moment, there’s nothing but the aftermath. The ringing impact. Ragged breaths. The distant, muffled roar of the storm above.
I force air back into my lungs, pushing through the pain as I roll onto my side. “Alette—” My voice is rough, urgent. “Are you hurt?”
Flame blooms in Oberon’s hand, casting shifting light over the tight space around us. She’s there. On the ground. Breathing. I don’t realize how tight my chest is until I see her move.
“I’m okay,” she manages, though her voice shakes.
It’s not good enough, but at least she’s alive.
Relief floods me in a sudden rush, only to be swallowed by frustration. I drag myself upright, every muscle protesting, my gaze sweeping the tunnel. It’s narrow. Stone-packed. Slick with moss. The air cold and damp, thick with the scent of earth and something older.
Above us, the opening has vanished behind a heavy iron grate, rainwater slipping through in slow, unbroken lines. It’s far above us, but there’s no easy way back. Maybe with our magic.
But do we even want to go back?
“A trapdoor,” Sylvian says, his voice echoing softly off the walls.
I stare up at it, jaw tightening. A trap. The question is… whose?
My gaze shifts down the length of the tunnel, into the dark. Who built this? And worse…why?
If this is Lord Ferngull’s work…
I shove the thought aside, but it lingers, sharp and unwelcome. A hidden passage near his domain is not an accident. Not here. Not in a place like this. But with all the dangers in this place, it could belong to something else entirely.
“Alette,” Ashton says quietly, crouching near her. “Can you stand?”
She nods and rises slowly, shaky yet stubbornly determined.
That’s not enough.
I cross the space between us in two strides and catch her before she can fully find her balance. My hands move over her without hesitation, checking her arms, her shoulders, her sides, searching for anything wrong.
“Tell me if something hurts,” I say, my voice lower than I intend.
Her breath is uneven, but she shakes her head. “I’m okay.”
I study her face, not trusting the answer, not trusting any of this. Then I pull her against me.
It is not a gentle gesture. It is firm. Necessary.
My hand slides up her back, fingers tangling briefly in her damp hair as I steady her, as if making sure she is real, still here, not broken by the fall. She’s fragile in so many ways, but also surprisingly strong. The tightness in my chest eases, just slightly.
Only then do I release her, though my hand lingers on her arm for a moment longer than it should.
“Is us falling through this trapdoor good or bad? I mean, this is how we ended up at the man eating castle to begin with,” she says, her voice low, uncertain.
Oberon’s flame flares slightly as he scans the passage. “We’re out of sight. That’s something.”
“For now,” Ashton mutters.
I draw in a slow breath, forcing my thoughts into order. Above us is pursuit. Guards. Lord Ferngull. Whatever waits in that house.
Down here is something else entirely. Unknown. Dark. Unmapped. Possibly worse.
My gaze flicks once more to the sealed grate, to the thin streams of rain filtering through it. Then back to the tunnel. I’m calculating. Considering all angles.
“We’re better off down here, with the unknown,” I say, my voice calm despite my unease. “Up there, we’re prey.”
Down here at least we have a chance.
I straighten, ignoring the lingering stiffness. “We head down the tunnel. Stay close. Stay quiet.”
Sylvian nods. “And if anything looks bad, we run the fuck back here and get out. Between my earth magic, and Ashton’s magic fairy dust, we should be able to get ourselves out.”
“Okay, so into the creepy tunnel,” Alette whispers softly. “Which is somehow better than facing the cannibals.”
Oberon steps forward, his flame cutting through the darkness as we begin to descend deeper into the tunnel. The walls seem to close in as we go, the air growing colder, heavier. The sound of the storm fades behind us, replaced by something else… a low, constant rush.
Water.
It echoes through the stone, distant but unmistakable. I don’t like it. I don’t like any of this. But I keep moving anyway. Because whatever waits ahead, It’s still better than being hunted from behind.