I snort. “Beats my old honeymoon fantasy.”
He glances sideways at me, then up at the sky, like he’s afraid to look at me too long. “Did you ever have one?”
“A honeymoon fantasy?”
He nods, looking serious, like this is a real question and not just a way to kill time.
I think about it. I can’t remember ever dreaming of getting married. Maybe because I always knew if I did I probably wouldn’t have the luxury of marrying for love. “No,” I say finally. “If you grew up like I did, you didn’t fantasize. You just hoped it wouldn’t be bad.”
He considers that, then shrugs. “Seems reasonable.”
We sit. We don’t move. The air gets colder, and the sword dims even further.
After a while, I say, “We should go, right?”
He nods, but makes no move to stand. “You think they’ll come looking for us?”
I picture Zomas, his gold-ringed horns and belly laugh, the way he called me “Queen” and then sent me off to die. “If they do, we’re not going to want to be here.”
He grins. “Lead on, wife.”
I want to groan, but instead I just pull him up, trying not to notice the glint of the light off our rings. The hand-hold is still happening, and neither of us lets go.
We walk, and I pull the goddess’s sword back out. It’s our only source of light besides the far off stars and moon. The hedge is closer than earlier, if that’s possible, so close I can smell the damp and rot under the green. Sometimes the leaves twitch, as if listening. We go down a different path than the one we tookto get here, and the thorns don’t care that we’re already bleeding and battered.
I should feel more paranoid, knowing the satyrs and nymphs are probably out there, regrouping, maybe plotting a second round of worm-honeymoon for the happy couple. But all I feel is tired. A tired so deep it’s like I’ve been wrung out and left on a line to dry.
After a while, Ashton says, “Do you ever think about what it’ll be like to go back to your old life?”
He’s brought up this subject before, but I still haven’t come up with a good answer. “I think about going back, but not really what it’ll be like. I can’t really seem to let myself think about that,” I say, and it’s the truth.
He keeps walking, keeps my hand tight in his. “So we’ll get back, and we’ll give you the fae to kill? That’s the plan.”
Somehow, I’d been so focused on revenge against the fae who killed my mother that I hadn’t really thought about what it meant—that I’d be the one to kill him.
“I guess, yeah…. I guess I’ll kill the fae,” I say, flat. “Stop the sacrifices, no matter what new reasons you fae come up for killing us. Then—” I shrug. “Go home, I guess.”
He nods, like this is the answer he expected. “You think you could really do it? Kill a fae?”
“I killed at the farm when needed,” I say. “I think I could kill anything, if I had to.”
He lets that sit for a minute, then says, “That’s impressive.”
I’m surprised. “I’m not trying to impress you.”
He shakes his head, a real, slow smile this time. “Just saying I find you impressive. With the worm. With everything.”
I blush. I want to tell him to shut up, but I don’t.
He goes quiet again. We walk. At some point, the hedge opens up, just enough for us to see the moon better. It’s thinand mean, like the smile of someone who never got what they wanted.
I ask him, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What will you do, when you go back?”
He makes a face, like he’s just bitten into something sour. “I guess I’ll celebrate with my people. The fae people will have everything, once they get their powers back.”
