I pick up a stick, poking the fire. “It means you’re both afraid to admit you care about her.”
Neither speaks, but their shoulders slump.
“I think,” I say, “we all care more than we should. More than what’s logical.”
That hangs in the air.
Oberon sighs. “Well. Isn’t that just tragic.”
I close my eyes. “It’s not tragic,” I say. “It’s human.”
No one corrects me. The fire crackles.
I think about Alette, about her hands in my hair, the way she gasped when I pressed my mouth to her throat. The way she looked at me like I was something worth wanting.
I want her back. I want her so badly it hurts.
“Tomorrow,” I say, “we start over. We work together. We don’t let the maze win.”
Cassius pokes the fire, sending up sparks. “Agreed.”
We sit in a rough triangle, backs to the black-green walls, watching the flames slowly growing. There’s not much to eat. All that I have in my pack is the last pieces of dried venison, a lump of bread, and some dried strips of fruit. Oberon pulls a piece of meat from his own bag and chews in silence, jaw twitching. Cassius peels the bark from a twig, fingers moving like he’s winding a clock. I pick at the bread, moistening the small pieces a little at a time.
Finally, Cassius asks. “Do either of you remember what it was like before the wars?”
Oberon grunts, not bothering to look up. “I wasn’t alive, genius.”
Cassius ignores the sarcasm. “I mean the stories. The old ways, before the houses started fighting.”
I shrug. “My parents didn’t talk about it. They barely talked at all, unless it was to tell me I’d ruined something for them.”
Oberon takes another bite of his meat. “If you want a history lesson, just give it.”
Cassius smiles, thin and sharp. “I just wondered if you knew how different things used to be.”
Oberon looks up, blue eyes narrowed. “Go on, then. Enlighten us.”
Cassius dusts crumbles of bark from his hands, then speaks in the voice he saves for speeches, every word clear and cold. “It’s not just the magic that’s dying. It’s the fae, and we all know it. Few children are being born. We’re seeing weakness and signs of old age for the first time. This curse is killing us slowly. But it’s not just this curse, it’s our way of life. Once, the four courts worked together on everything. Festivals, marriages, even raising their children. If the goddess had a favorite, it was unity.”
“Sounds miserable,” Oberon mutters.
Cassius shrugs. “But it worked.”
I’m surprised to realize I want to hear more. “How did it all fall apart?”
Cassius’s eyes go distant, like he’s seeing something through the hedge. “There used to be a tradition, higher than any law. The royal houses would share a bride—one woman, chosen by the goddess, who wed all four kings. She was the bridge, the bloodline. Every century or so, the cycle would repeat. It kept the peace for generations.”
I blink, letting that sink in. I knew fae shared everything, even lovers, but the idea of the courts tying themselves together like that… “But what about children? Who did they belong to?”
Cassius tilts his head. “All of them. None of them. The goddess’s will was above parentage. It was about the bond.”
Oberon snorts. “Bullshit. There’s no way the fire court would ever let a water prince father their heir.”
Cassius’s mouth twitches. “When the child began to show their powers, the child would become the heir of that court, but usually in these matches the mother had enough heirs for all the courts. This worked well… until the last bride was murdered.”
The words fall into the fire and sizzle.
Oberon’s voice drops. “By who?”
