The flowers shift in the wind, a slow ripple of color. I close my eyes, just for a second, still thirsty, feet sore, body filthy, but relaxed. Is there more sunlight in this field? I don’t know, but it feels like it.
It starts so slowly that I don’t notice, or maybe I just don’t want to. One second I’m sitting in a bowl of flowers, warm for the first time in days, Sylvian’s daisy crown lopsided on my head. The next, I blink, and time has jumped. Oberon is closer, watching the horizon. Cassius’s posture is sharper, like he’s expecting something, but he’s lying back in the flowers. Ashton is on his back, hands folded on his chest, humming a tune I don’t recognize. And Sylvian is making another flower crown near me.
I try to stand and my legs don’t respond right away. The blanket of petals is heavier now, as if the weight of all that color is pressing me gently down.
A breeze comes up, low and slow, and brings with it a new scent that's heady, thick, a sweetness that lands on my tongue and blooms up the back of my throat. It’s good, so good I want to bottle it, carry it home in my bones, but it’s also wrong. My pulse jumps. Every hair on my arms stands up.
That’s when I hear the music.
It isn’t loud, or even clear. It’s just a shimmer at the edge of hearing, a string of notes that bend and stretch like honey inthe heat. It wraps around the air and settles on my shoulders, a weightless pressure that makes me want to close my eyes. The others hear it, too. Ashton’s tune falters. Sylvian lifts his head, face dreamy. Cassius glances at me, and his lips part, like he’s about to say something, but the words get lost in the song.
Oberon growls, deep in his chest. “That’s not good,” he says, but his voice is slow, slurred, like he’s speaking through a mouthful of molasses.
I try to draw my sword. I get the hilt halfway free before my hand goes limp, and I watch the blue-white blade lengthen, pulse, then fade in my sheath. I want to laugh. I want to sleep. I want to do anything but move.
It’s like my muscles are full of sand. Every heartbeat drags me closer to the ground.
Oberon is the only one still standing. He strides over, grabs my arm, and yanks me to my feet. My legs buckle, but he holds me up, one massive hand pinching my elbow so hard I almost cry out.
“Run,” he says, and it’s more a command to himself than to me.
He shoves me forward. I stagger, knees folding, but he doesn’t let go. He puts his other arm around my waist and hauls me upright, my feet barely touching the ground.
I look back and see Sylvian and Ashton struggling, too. Sylvian’s eyes are glassy, and he’s stumbling into the flowers, not quite walking a straight line. Ashton’s lips are blue, his hands trembling as he tries to slap his own cheeks awake. Cassius is last. He’s walking, but his face is blank, like he’s sleepwalking. He puts one foot in front of the other, slow as a funeral march.
The music gets louder as we move. Now it’s a voice, clear and cold, threading through the stems like a ribbon.Sleep, it says.Sleep, sleep, sleep.
Oberon is dragging me, and it’s all I can do not to go boneless in his arms. My eyelids are bricks. The flowers whip by, blue and yellow and red, until the world is just a smear of color.
I try to fight it. I try to bite my own tongue, to dig my nails into my palms, but even pain is soft here. It’s a mercy, maybe, that when I stumble and almost fall, Oberon lifts me clear off the ground. He throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and the sudden shock makes my eyes open for half a second.
I see the others behind us, all of them stumbling, arms out like they’re sleepwalking through like a wildfire. The song wraps them tighter with every step.
Glancing ahead, surprise bleeds through the strange feeling in my head. Somehow, we’re still in the middle of the field. Like every step we’re taking isn’t bringing us any closer to the end.
My head lolls against Oberon’s back. He smells like sweat and leather and something sharp. His steps are uneven, like the flowers are fighting him with every stride. He grunts once, then again, and I hear the strain in his breath.
He doesn’t stop.
The world goes sideways, then up, then down. Sometimes the flowers close over us completely, and for a few heartbeats it’s like drowning in velvet. Sometimes there’s a flash of sky, so blue it hurts, but then the song swells and I’m back under.
I lose more time. Minutes, maybe hours.
At some point Oberon drops to one knee. He’s panting, sweat running down his face, but he doesn’t put me down. He gets his breath, then stands and lurches forward, holding me in front now, arms under my armpits. My legs drag behind. I can feel the petals tearing under my heels.
He’s talking to me. I can hear the words, but they don’t make sense. “—not going to lose you, not to a fucking flower—” and “—hold on, you stubborn little—” and “—just a little farther?—”
I want to answer, but my mouth is full of honey. My tongue won’t move.
The others are behind us, but further now. Sylvian is crawling, his face pressed to the ground, clutching a handful of flowers. Ashton is down on all fours, trying to pull himself forward, but every time he moves, the song pulls him back. Cassius is closer, maybe a dozen feet behind. His eyes are open, and he’s locked on to me, but it’s like he’s moving through syrup.
Oberon finally stops. He falls to his knees, then to his side, cradling me against his chest. His arms are trembling. I feel his heartbeat through my cheek, fast and frantic.
He whispers something. It’s just for me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t?—”
I reach up, just barely, and touch his jaw.
He buries his face in my hair, his breath ragged. “I wanted to be the one to save you. To show you. I’m not so good with words.”
