After a bit of time passes, Oberon rises and paces the perimeter of the cell. “You think they’ll come for us?”
Sylvian shrugs. “Depends who ‘they’ are.”
Again, we all go around the room, searching for any way out. We try every corner and peer through the little barred window of the cell door, but we see nothing but stone. Oberon lifts me up to try the larger window high above our heads, but I find the same thing as before. There’s nothing much to see, and the bars are solid as steel. So after a time, we all end up back on the floor, unsure of what to do next.
Cassius is quiet, staring at the floor. Ashton picks at a straw from the hay pile, twirling it between his fingers. I wrap my arms around my knees, drawing them to my chest.
I want to ask if anyone else is scared, but I know the answer. I see it in the way Sylvian won’t meet anyone’s gaze, in the wayOberon keeps touching where his sword would be, in the way Cassius’s jaw clenches with every failed use of his powers.
It’s Ashton who breaks the silence. “So, what now?”
Sylvian grins. “We could take turns telling our tragic backstories. I’ll go first. I was born handsome. It’s been a burden ever since?—”
Oberon throws a piece of hay at him.
I laugh, and the sound is so jarring in the gloom that even Cassius looks up. I realize, in that moment, that Idoneed a distraction. If I think about where we are, or what’s coming, I’ll go crazy. So I blurt out, “Tell me about the fae. Your castles. Your homes. Anything.”
For a second, no one says anything.
Then Cassius, slow and careful, asks, “You really want us to just talk about nothing?”
I nod. “If we’re going to die here, I want to at least hear a story.”
Cassius considers, then begins. “Let’s tell her about our castles. She’s only seen the one. I’ll go first. The water fae live on the coast, in a castle of blue stone that rises straight from the sea. The foundations go down for miles, sunk into the rock. Glass bridges link the towers, and at night the whole thing glows from the plankton and creatures drifting through the tide pools below. The air is always damp, always cold. Every sound carries. Some say you could whisper in the west wing and be heard in the east.”
He looks away, and his voice goes softer. “They keep the halls clean. Still water is everywhere, for reflection, so you’ll never forget who you really are. Even the windows are mirrors. No secrets. Not for us.”
I’m stunned. It’s not the place I expected.
Sylvian picks up the story, not to be outdone. “Earth fae didn’t build their castle. They grew it. From a sapling, maybe, or a seed, no one really knows. The walls are alive, the rootsthicker than Oberon’s thigh. There’s moss everywhere, and the flowers never stop blooming. In spring, the whole place smells like honey and sunlight. There are tunnels under the floors, made by bugs or time or children with nothing better to do. It’s loud. There’s always birds, or wind, or kids running. But when the doors shut, it’s the quietest place in the world.”
He leans back, smiling. “If you’re ever there in the morning, watch for the way the dew beads up on the leaves. It’s like the whole castle is sweating out its dreams. We have other castles, less impressive ones, like the one you saw, but that’s my home.”
Ashton goes next. “Wind fae don’t have a real castle, not like you’re thinking. It’s high on a mountain with shifting bridges you use to climb up it. It’s white marble and silver, maybe, but mostly empty space. The halls are open, always full of light, and the wind whistles through every crack. You can stand at the edge of a balcony and see the world for a hundred miles. Or jump off, if you’re brave. The wind will catch you, sometimes. Sometimes it lets you fall if you wish it.”
He pauses, then grins. “If you ever want to know what it’s like to fly, go there. Just don’t expect a soft landing.”
Oberon is last. He’s quiet at first, then, “Fire fae live in a black fortress, carved straight into a mountain. The stone never cools, not even at night. The walls glow, orange and red, from the rivers of lava running underneath. It smells like ash and sweat and molten metal. Every room has a fire, not for warmth, but for pride. For proof. Even the children can start a flame with nothing but a look.”
He shrugs. “It isn’t pretty. But you always know where you stand.”
I let the images settle. I try to picture each place, the sounds and the smells, the way each of them would feel as a home.
Sylvian bumps his shoulder against mine. “You ever think about visiting?”
I smile, but it’s a weak thing. “All I ever thought was that I wanted to run from the fae as fast as possible.”
He looks at me, serious for once. “You still do?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Cassius clears his throat. “The castle we were in, where you met us, it’s not one of the old ones. In neutral territory. The four courts have met there for centuries, trying to work out how to fix…” He trails off, gestures vaguely at the air. “Everything.”
“Do you think things will ever get better between the fae?” I ask.
The question hangs in the air.
Oberon grunts. “Doubtful. Too many grudges. Too much blood.”
