Oberon says, “She kept her head through the whole thing,” and everyone nods at Alette, who blushes and looks away.
Then Ashton tells the story of the wedding again, but with more details. On the other hand, he givesveryfew details about the honeymoon, which I don’t like one bit, but the others are justbusy staring at the rings he and Alette still wear, not seeming to realize that what wasn’t said was just as important as what was.
Sylvian whistles, low, and says, “So when do the two of you stop wearing your rings? I mean, the wedding was fake, right?”
Ashton smirks. “Maybe… or Alette might just be stuck with me.”
They all look at me, waiting for my story, and I don’t know what to say. I could tell them more about the merman, about how I almost died. I could tell them about the way Alette saved me, about the kiss, about the feeling I had when I thought I’d never hold her again.
But I don’t. Instead, I say, “She’s tougher than any fae I’ve met.”
Alette looks at me, her eyes dark and shining in the firelight.
For a long time, nobody says anything. The fire crackles, the fish bones pop in the heat, and the wind shifts, carrying the scent of rain.
Sylvian is the first to speak. “It’s going to be a cold night,” he says, sniffing the wind. “We should stick close.”
“And rotate shifts again,” I say.
Everyone quickly agrees, and a rotation is agreed upon.
Oberon doesn’t seem happy about trusting one of us to make sure he doesn’t die in his sleep, but he moves his bedroll closer to the fire. Ashton stretches out, hands behind his head, and Sylvian arranges himself one spot over from Alette, not touching, but close enough that if she needed him, he’d be there in an instant.
Is it strange if I wonder if there’s room for me beside her too?
Laying out my own blankets, I watch her for a while. The way she stares at the flames. The way her mouth moves when she thinks nobody’s looking.
She glances up at me, then looks away, a tiny smile flickering on her lips. I wonder what she’s thinking. I wonder if she’s thinking of me.
Could I even be that lucky?
The night settles in, and the stars come out. The wind howls, and we all crawl under our blankets, closing our eyes to sleep. A sleep that we desperately deserve.
Especially since tomorrow is yet another day in the labyrinth, a place the goddess herself designed to torture us, and not one of us can forget that.
17
Alette
The cold is awful.How had I forgotten how miserable it could be?It amazes me how it can worm through clothes, two blankets, and a fire, and still find the hollow at the base of my spine, or the cracks between my knuckles, or the place behind my ears where the wind always seems to aim. My teeth haven’t stopped chattering for hours. The sky above is an obsidian dome, and the wind is a living thing, slithering in from the lake to punish anyone dumb enough to sleep in the open.
I’m not sleeping. I doubt anyone is.
Oberon’s body is still tense. Sylvian hums to himself for a few seconds every so often, like he’s forgotten he isn’t alone, then lapses into dead silence for whole minutes, then hums again. Ashton is curled on his side, using his arm as a pillow, but I can see him staring at the fire. Cassius sits nearest the fire, cross-legged, the only one whoshouldbe awake, since he’s first to keep watch. He pokes the wood every so often with a stick, but there's no fight in it.
I’m freezing. I’m not going to die from it, but I wish I could be warm, just for an hour or two. Even with the fire, the world above and below me are locked in a conspiracy to chill every inchof exposed skin. I pull my blanket tighter and try to remember the tricks to staying warm. I ball myself up, hands between the thighs, and breathe slowly. But it doesn’t matter. I’m shivering so hard my joints rattle.
Cassius must hear it, because he says, soft enough that only I can hear, “Come here.”
I pretend I’m asleep, eyes clamped tight, and try to will my body still. It doesn’t work. He says it again, a little louder, but now Oberon snorts and rolls onto his back.
Cassius stands up, wraps his own blanket around his shoulders, and shuffles over to me. I burrow deeper, stubborn, but he crouches right next to my head.
“Let me help,” he whispers, and there’s no demand in his voice, just a quiet certainty that, if I let him, he’d take every ounce of cold for himself.
I crack an eyelid. He’s so close I can see the strange shimmer to his white-blond hair, and the pure white-blue of his eyes. I want to say something, but my jaw feels frozen.
Ashton mutters, “Let the poor girl sleep, Cassius.”
