“Don’t you?” I ask.
He seems to consider my words for a long minute. “Not at first, but I do now.”
Sylvian takes a sip of his water and explains, “When I first found her on that altar, all I could think about is how she would help us. Not just to get our powers back, but to fix things after the four of us ruined things and lost the fae powers when we spilled blood on a sacred day. She was just a human. A tool to use to get back what was lost. But now? She’s not just a tool. She feels more real to me than any fae has ever felt before.”
I’m not good with words, but he said my thoughts perfectly.
“There is… something about her,” Cassius admits. “But maybe it’s just the sword. Or that she’s the Chosen One.”
“Maybe,” I say.
Sylvian snorts. “Doubtful.”
“You don’t agree?” Cassius asks, sounding surprised.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Which troubles me.”
“Well, I do know. It’s not the sword or the fact that she’s the Chosen One. It’s something abouther,” Sylvian says, but even he sounds worried.
The world is very quiet for a long time as I finish my food and have some water, then pack it all back up, not looking forward to another long walk. Suddenly, something shifts. The ground. The hedges.Something. There’s a wet, obscene noise, like meat being pulled off a carcass, then the wall in front of us opens, the roots twisting apart to reveal a new path.
For a second, I expect something to attack us. I spring to my feet, grab the hilt of my sword, and wait. But it’s empty. Quiet. No danger in sight.
Cassius stands and dusts off his hands. “Well, this has got to be a sign.”
“You think we go that way?” Sylvian asks, sounding a little skeptical.
“I think every move we make is controlled by the goddess, and I think that path opened up because we’re supposed to be on it.”
I don’t know if I believe his theory, but it's a damn sight better than just walking around aimlessly, so I relax and grab my pack from the ground. Sylvian is on his feet beside me in an instant. Stretching my senses out, I try to detect any sign of danger, but I can’t. The path… it just seems like any other path.
Before we go, Cassius kneels down and makes a cairn, a pile out of sticks and stones. “So we’ll be able to find our way back if we need to.”
It’s smart, but I won’t compliment him. His ego doesn’t need the boost.
“Let’s go,” Cassius says.
Sylvian is already moving, practically jogging into the corridor. I follow, because it’s our best option, even if I don’t like it.
This path is different. The air is colder, and there’s a smell, something sharp and sweet, like blood in a river. Crows scatter overhead, black wings flashing through the gaps. I watch them go, trying to count them, but there are too many. A murder, they call it. I wonder if that’s an omen.
We walk for hours. Nobody talks, but you can feel the tension like a storm before lightning. I keep expecting the ground to open up, or the wolves to come back, or the maze to decide we’re done. But nothing happens, and the monotony is almost worse.
The new corridor is tighter, and it bends every ten feet, making it impossible to see more than a few steps ahead. After a while, the ground gets soft, mud sucking at our boots, slowing us down. Sylvian starts to complain, but I ignore him.
It gets dark, then even darker, until I can barely see my own hands. Cassius says it’s just a trick, that the light is there if you stop looking for it, but I don’t listen. I focus on the girl, on her face, on the way her hair looked in the last real sunlight I saw.
I remember how she smelled, too. Like something alive and sharp. I’d kill to smell it again, just once. Maybe I will.
We stop again to eat, if you can call it that. I chew a mouthful of leather jerky, which tastes heavy and tough. I’ve barely started when Cassius is already done. He never eats more than he has to. Sylvian picks at his food, watching me.
“What?” I say, mouth full.
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
But it isn’t nothing. There’s something in the way he looks at me, something wounded, like a dog that’s lost a fight but hasn’t given up on biting your ankle.
Cassius is the one who finally says it. “So, Oberon. You planning to share her, or just keep her for yourself?”
