I try to say his name, but the world goes soft. The music gets louder, then softer, then louder again.
Around us, the flowers bend down, closing over like a blanket. Oberon’s grip on me slackens, but he doesn’t let go.
In the last seconds before sleep, I see the others collapse. Ashton rolls onto his back and stares at the sky, lips moving in silent defiance. Sylvian curls around his flowers, hugging them to his chest. Cassius crawls forward, inch by inch, and when he reaches us, he wraps his arms around my legs, anchoring me in place. All of us, tangled close together.
The song is so pretty now. I can’t remember why I wanted to fight it.
Oberon’s eyes are closed. He’s still breathing, but it’s shallow, like he’s asleep. I rest my head on his chest. Cassius’s hand is on my ankle, his thumb moving in slow circles.
The flowers curl in, soft and warm.
I let go.
And the world goes dark.
19
Alette
I startle awake, my heart racing, confusion overwhelming me. The last thing I remember is the field of flowers, Oberon’s arms around me, Cassius’s hand on my ankle, the song in the air, and then nothing. Now, it’s the cold that greets me. The cold, and the stink of stone and wet hay.
My face is pressed into something prickly. Hay, I realize, layered over a slab of rock that leeches the heat from my bones faster than a lake in winter. There’s a noise, too. Breathing, not just mine, but others, heavy and uneven, echoing off walls that are too close for comfort.
I sit up so fast my head swims. It’s black, absolute, except for a dull orange glow somewhere far to my right. For a second, I’m sure I’m blind, but my eyes adjust, and the world slides into focus.
I’m in a cell. There’s no other word for it. The walls are rough-hewn stone, slick with condensation and riddled with centuries of moss. A single torch burns in a sconce, the flame so weak it looks like it’s trying to hide from itself, but there are other torches lining the walls, all unlit. The bars of the cell doorare thick, dark, and slightly warped, like they were melted in place and never bothered to cool all the way.
Scanning the room, I see that there are bodies, clustered in the shadows. Oberon is hunched in a corner like a wounded bear. Sylvian is sprawled on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes. Ashton is on his side with his hair fanned out beneath him, looking more like a painting than a prisoner. And Cassius is seated cross-legged against the wall, head bowed, hands on his knees like he’s in prayer.
Wh-what happened? Why are we here?
I try to stand, but my legs are dead from the knees down. I shuffle instead, dragging myself to the wall, feeling the grit and cold under my palms. I shake Oberon’s shoulder, hard.
He snaps awake, eyes wild. For half a second, I think he’ll punch me, but then he blinks, and the wildness bleeds away, replaced by a cold, measured anger. “Where are we?” he grunts, like he expects me to have the answer.
“A prison. I think,” I say, and my voice is hoarse, like I’ve been screaming for hours.
“A-are you okay?” he asks, reaching out and stroking my cheek, his gaze lingering on my face.
I lean into the warmth of his hand for just a second. “I think so.”
“Good.” Leaning forward, he rubs his lips softly against mine.
I stare back at him, surprised as he pulls back and his expression grows more serious. He stands, shaking off sleep, and stretches to his full height. He tests the bars, then the walls, then the seams around the door, all in quick, brutal movements, but finds nothing.
No way to escape.
Sylvian wakes next, mumbling and rubbing at his face like he’s got a hangover. He looks around, blinks once, then says,“What’d I do?” And there’s a lightness to his words, but his eyes are sharp, already searching for a weak spot in the walls.
Cassius doesn’t move, but his eyes are open. He hasn’t moved, but he’s breathing, shallow and precise, like he’s tasting the air for poison. Or planning his first moves before he even makes them.
“Weapons?” Oberon asks.
Everyone checks themselves. My blade is still at my side, but my men come up empty. I’m guessing whoever took their weapons wasn’t able to take mine. Our bags are gone too.
Ashton sits up, smooth and slow, then rolls his shoulders. “Charming,” he says, surveying the cell. He gives me a lopsided smile, then gets up and tries the door himself. “Locked, obviously. Window?”
I look up. There’s a slit in the outer wall, no bigger than my arm, set high and barred with rusty iron. It’s far out of reach for everyone though, even if the iron bars weren’t so close together.
