The worm screams.
It thrashes in the shaft, slamming its body against the stone, tearing it apart in its desperation to follow. The ground itself seems to shake with its rage, its massive form coiling and striking again and again, chasing us, reaching for us?—
Too slow.
Too late.
We shoot up,out, into open air, and for a moment we’re flying for real. Then gravity catches up, and we land hard on the grass, rolling through moss and bramble.
We’re alive.
I don’t move. I’m shaking too bad.
Ashton groans, rolls onto his back, and stares at the sky, gasping. He’s scraped raw from elbow to shoulder, dirt packed into every line of his face. I crawl over and touch his arm, just to be sure he’s real.
He pulls me into his lap, wraps both arms around me, and buries his face in my hair.
“You did it,” I say, not believing it.
He laughs, breathless. “I almost killed us, but yeah. We’re out.”
The grass beneath us is spongy and damp. The air is sharp and cold, and deliciously clean. Basically, it’s perfect.
We sit there, holding each other, shaking and bloody, but alive.
After a minute, Ashton leans back, eyes wide and wild. “I promised I’d get you out.”
“I never doubted you,” I say, and this time it’s the truth.
He kisses me.
It’s not sweet or gentle. It's a desperate kiss that feels like we’re drinking each other in. It lasts forever, or maybe just a second, but when we break apart, I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning.
He stares at me, dazed. “Sorry,” he says, but he’s not.
I laugh, dizzy and half out of my mind. “Don’t be.”
We’re both breathing hard, covered in mud and blood and fungus, and I’ve never felt more alive.
For a while, we just lie there, side by side, watching the clouds move. Above us, the maze is silent. No sign of the worm. No sign of Zomas or his court. No sign of the other three kings.
Just us, and the impossible sky.
But I can’t help but wonder about the others.Are they safe? Have they faced their own challenges? And when will we see them again?Gods, I hope we see them again.
They can’t have just disappeared. They need to be somewhere.Right?
11
Alette
We don’t let go of each other’s hands, not the whole time we’re sitting in the brittle grass and trembling until the shakes finally stop, not even after our heartbeats slow and the cold blue sword-light dulls to a nervous shimmer. Ashton squeezes my hand tighter, like we’re welded together, or maybe fused at the wrist by the horror of what we just survived. I keep thinking it should feel awkward, or like a joke, but it doesn’t. There’s not a joke left in me.
The maze is dead quiet. Even the wind isn’t talking. Above us, the stars shine, their light barely penetrating the strange grayness that seems to hover over the labyrinth. The place where the worm’s tunnel broke surface is already scabbed over, the roots weaving so fast I can see them growing, writhing back and forth to close the wound. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was healing. That the maze cared about what happened to itself.
We watch it for a long time, neither of us saying a word. Maybe we’re waiting to see if the worm comes back. Maybe we’re just grateful for something to look at other than the dark maze.
Eventually, Ashton squeezes my hand, once, and lets out a sigh that comes out more like a laugh. “You realize,” he says, “we just spent our wedding night in a worm’s death trap.”
