Sylvian looks up and says, “Give me a leg, will you?”
Oberon grunts and hoists him up without complaint. Sylvian hooks his fingers in the bars and hauls himself to chin-height, peering out.
“From this position, all I can see is more stone,” he reports. “Maybe a drop of sky… I think it’s morning time.”
“And the bars?” Cassius asks.
Sylvian tries the bars. “They’re solid.”
Oberon lowers him gently back to the ground. I try to ignore the pang that hits me when I see how easily these men work together now, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. They’re not fighting or competing. They’re… together. And I don’t know when that happened. Or what it means for me.
“This isn’t a human or a fae prison,” Cassius says, voice soft and distant. “Look at the mortar. It’s too thick. Too messy and uneven. And the stones, they’re the wrong shape for humanhands.” He runs his finger along the wall, then licks the residue. “Salt. Ocean rock.”
“Ocean creatures?” Ashton asks, raising an eyebrow.
Cassius shakes his head. “We’re too far inland. But whatever creatures built this, they’re big.” He looks at me, his gaze direct. “The question is,whyare we here?”
Ashton flops back onto the hay, folding his arms behind his head. “Well, we did fall asleep in a field of enchanted flowers. Maybe this is the dream.” He closes his eyes. “If so, it’s a shit one.”
Oberon ignites three other torches along the walls using the first torch. The room brightens, revealing more of itself. The floor is uneven, with grooves cut through the stone, like ancient rivers dried and set in place. There are three piles of hay, obviously meant as beds, and not a single other furnishing. Even the toilet is just a bucket in the corner, which Sylvian immediately investigates.
“Empty,” he says, sounding relieved.
Cassius moves to the door. He kneels and inspects the lock, then the hinges. He holds his palm flat to the bars, closes his eyes, and breathes in.
Nothing happens.
He tries again, this time with both hands. There’s a flicker of blue light, then the light dies.
He opens his eyes, and there’s something I don’t recognize in his expression. Not fear. But maybe uncertainty.
“My magic isn’t working,” he says.
Sylvian laughs, but there’s no happiness in it. “Not like it’s the first time.”
Cassius doesn’t look at him. “Are we sure it’s just me? Try it.”
Sylvian obliges, kneeling by a patch of moss. He concentrates, fingers pressing into the green, and for a second I see a shimmer of energy, a pulse of life, but then it snuffs out.
He shakes his head. “Suppressed.”
Oberon stares at the torches. He holds his hand over one, and for a second, it flares, burning twice as bright, but then it snaps back to normal. He grunts, not surprised.
“I can still feel it,” he says, “but it’s like there’s a blanket on top.”
“We should try touching Alette,” Cassius suggests.
All four men come closer and touch me. And try.
After a minute, their faces fall in defeat, and their hands drop.
Cassius sighs. “I think there may be enchantments in the stone itself.”
Ashton tires and says, “Luckily, I have a big cock. That’s kind of like having magic.”
My cheeks heat, and he sees, and laughs.
We sit together, huddled by the torches, letting the warmth soak in. There’s a sense of defeat, but it’s not absolute, more like a lull before the next disaster.
