Oberon gestures at the pile. “Sylvian carried it.”
She nods, then drops to her knees and starts rummaging for socks. For a second, nobody says anything, but the silence isn’t awkward. It’s almost restful.
She turns to me, her face serious. “Thank you again, Cassius. For saving me. I really am very grateful.”
I want to say something smart, something to make her laugh, but I say, “It was nothing. You’re the Chosen One. We can’t do this without you.”
She makes a face, like she’s just bitten into a lemon. “That’s not—” she starts, then shakes her head. “Never mind.” She pulls her socks and boots on, then sits there, staring at the laces for a long time.
I wish I could take it back. I wish I could tell her what I meant. That I would have saved her even if she was nobody, even if there was nothing to gain. But by the time I figure out how to say it, she’s already tying off the last knot.
It’s late, and nobody wants to talk about what happens next, so we start making camp. It’s the first time nobody complains about who does what. Everyone goes to gather firewood, hoping to get enough to last through the night, while I go to fill our flasks with water.
As evening settles in, the wind is sharp and cold, but the sun is just enough to make it almost pleasant. The world looks different now, like the edges are less sharp. Maybe it’s the light, or maybe it’s the fact that for the first time in my life, I’m not alone.
When I come back, Sylvian has built a pyramid of sticks, and Oberon is looking at it with annoyance. Probably because he only needs a flick of the wrist to start a blazing fire, so Sylvian is just wasting time. Alette is arranging stones just so to make a fire pit, and when I hand her more stones, she gives me a sweet smile that makes my heart beat faster.
The five of us gather around the fire and then Oberon snaps his finger and a blaze sparks to life. Everyone jumps back just a little, and Oberon grins.
“Show-off,” Sylvian says, but there’s no real bite to it.
Alette is watching too, but her eyes are softer than before. “If only we had something good to eat.”
A thought occurs to me. “How about some fish?”
Ashton groans. “I’d definitely punch a few of you for some fish.”
I focus on the lake, reach out with my magic, and feel for the flicker of scales and muscle. The water is cold and deep, but the fish are everywhere, wriggling in the shadows. I find the biggest one, a fat trout, and with a twist of my fingers, send it flying through the air and right into Sylvian’s lap.
He yelps, drops it, then holds it up, grinning like a kid. “Dinner!” he crows.
I do it again, this time pulling out three more, and Ashton lines them up, inspecting them with the seriousness of a chef.
Oberon guts the fish with a dagger, quick and efficient. He slices them open, then hands the filets to Alette, who spears them on green sticks and sets them over the flames.
The smoke is sweet, and the air fills with the smell of roasting fish. My stomach growls loud enough that Ashton laughs.
When the food is ready, we eat in silence for a while. It’s the best thing I’ve tasted in months, maybe years. Alette devours hers like she hasn’t eaten in days, and Sylvian licks his fingers,then winks at me. “You did good, Fish Boy,” he says, and I roll my eyes but smile.
The sun dips lower, and the fire grows brighter.
After the meal, Sylvian starts telling stories about the good old days. He’s a natural storyteller, painting the air with words. He tells about the time he and Oberon got drunk on fermented honey and ended up sleeping in a giant bird’s nest. He tells about the time Ashton challenged a harpy to a singing contest and lost, barely escaping with his hair intact. He tells about the first time he ever saw a brownie, how small and fierce they looked, and how he never forgot it.
Oberon interrupts every so often to correct the details, or to call Sylvian a liar, but there’s no real malice. Ashton laughs at every joke, even the ones about himself. Eventually, they start recounting the stories of what we’d experienced in the labyrinth, and for the first time I realize how much we’ve all gone through together.
“Remember the vines?” Sylvian says, shoving Oberon with his shoulder. “How they almost ate us alive?”
Oberon grunts. “They didn’t like fire.”
“They sure as fuck didn’t,” Sylvian says, giving him a high five, which Oberon reluctantly returns.
Ashton shakes his head. “The best part was when you tried to cut them with your sword, Alette. I feel like they screamed.”
She laughs. “Maybe they did.”
“They were as thick as a horse,” Ashton says, spreading his hands to show the size.
I laugh. “And as strong as a fae.”
