[ Asterion ] Book Two, Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Finley dreamt the labyrinth still stood. She dreamt she looked down upon it from the salt and sand. She dreamt the bones of tiny fish rushed between her feet, pouring into the void cradling the labyrinth, and she dreamt she did not fear being pulled down, down.

She dreamt of footsteps behind her. She dreamt she could not turn around, knowing it must be that dreadful bird and its companion. She dreamt her heartbeat drowned out the rush of the ocean bed emptying itself into the dark of the labyrinth.

Finley dreamt a hand pressed between her shoulder blades. She dreamt it eased her forward, luring her to the very precipice, forcing her to take in what she had been so eager to overlook.

Finley dreamt the labyrinth still stood.

She dreamt she stared into it and saw herself at the centre of labyrinth etched onto the floor, one boot covering the fist-sized hole at the centre. She dreamt she stared back at herself, hands red with the blood of the Sunless.

Jolting awake, Finley clutched the bedcovers and frantically wiped her hands clean. No blood stained the fabric. Only faint traces of salt were left behind. She placed a hand on her chest, slowed her breathing, and did her utmost to shake off the dregs of the dream.

Finley felt the ghost of a touch linger between her shoulder blades. She closed her eyes, willing herself to turn, to meet the gaze of whoever stood behind her, but there was only darkness. There were only her own thoughts.

She fell on the bed, sighing. She’d been back at the castle since the previous evening, but Alexandria had yet to return from her expedition with King Lucian and Princess Rada. Prince Iyden had welcomed Finley, Luna, and Rydal back, far more upbeat than he’d ever been in Thisia, and made for good company over dinner.

Finley had curled up in Alexandria’s bed, missing her more than she had at Three Corners now there was a pillow that smelled like her to cling to.

Alexandria would return soon. The dream would fade. It wasn’t like those other dreams of the desolate ocean, the dreams that lured her towards a truth she could not comprehend; there was no labyrinth to look down on. It had been a dream of a dream, her mind’s attempt to make sense of the shifting world around her.

BUT WHY SHOULD IT NOT BE ITS OWN TRUTH? WHY SHOULD ONLY YOU BE BEREFT OF GIFTS? CAN YOU NOT ACCEPT THIS PROPHECY FOR WHAT IT IS?

Finley dragged herself from bed. She washed and dressed, certain the glimpse of the labyrinth she’d seen did not belong to the future. Delphine had brought down the walls. She’d turned the labyrinth and all within it to dust and sent it tumbling into the great crater below, lost to time and light. And it was not merely fear Finley clung to, it was not the result of taking Delphine at her word; Finley had seen the destruction for herself, ruinous and void.

YET YOU MAY NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT A LABYRINTH IS. PERHAPS YOU THINK OF IT AS THE PHYSICAL, AS ITS OWN WORLD CARVED FROM ROCK, A MAZE WITH NO DEAD ENDS, PREY TO NO MISDIRECTION. BUT NO BUILDING OR MONUMENT IS CONSTRICTED BY THE REAL, BY THE SOLIDITY OF ITS DIMENSIONS.

Finley had lived above the labyrinth for much of her life. During that time, the labyrinth had been as real to her as the palace proper; she knew it only in the context of stories, and those stories conflicted with one another depending on who told the tale. But that did not make any of those accounts false. The palace was two very different creatures to a queen and a servant.

THINK OF THE MONOLITH.

The plain, simple stone monolith took the form of an owl, a cat, a mouse; anything the faithful wished to project upon it. Yet it was a solid block of stone, unmoving, unchanging. The labyrinth had been like that. Its walls, tall, solid, and smooth, had been nothing but one monolith placed against the next.

THE LABYRINTH IS IN THE MIND. THE LABYRINTH IS THE PRISON ONE MAKES FOR THEMSELVES. IT IS A FEAR OF THE DARK IN THE SAFETY OF ONES HOME. IT IS A CHOICE MADE, A PUNISHMENT ACCEPTED. THE SUNLESS DID NOT KNOW THE CRYSTAL BARRIERS KEPT HER IMPRISONED; SHE THOUGHT THE LABYRINTH HER FREEDOM, HER HOME, AN ENDLESS CYCLE OF DEATH, HER HEAD FOREVER SEVERED FROM HER SHOULDERS, BLOOD POOLING ON THE LABYRINTH FLOOR, CREEPING TOWARDS THE CENTRE.

Finley opened the balcony doors, letting in the fresh air. She needed the chill to wake her up fully. Her mind was muddled, her thoughts drifting beyond her own understanding. She needed Alexandria or Rydal there to talk it through, to make sense of the labyrinth she saw each time she blinked. How long had the labyrinth been beneath the palace, exactly? How many hands had built it and how precarious had the work of building the palace above it been? Why had Thisia’s founders chosen to interlink the two? Surely Sparrow could’ve been kept miles from the heart of the kingdom, where only those with sword in hand would ever stumble across her.

THERE. YOU UNDERSTAND. THE LABYRINTH IS A STRUCTURE SHAPED BY THE SOULS THAT INHABIT IT, THE MINDS THAT DREAM OF IT. A LABYRINTH IS NOT A WINDING PATH. IT IS NOT A CAGE BUILD TO IMPRISON A BEAST.

IT IS THE PLACE MONSTERS ARE BORN. IT IS ITS OWN DREAM. A SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY. THE SUNLESS BECAME THE BEAST NOT WHEN THE WALLS WERE BUILT AROUND HER, BUT WHEN MORTALS IMAGINED THEMSELVES AS HEROES AND CLAD THEMSELVES IN METAL TO SLAY H

There! A carriage heading for the castle gates, flanked by soldiers on horseback, wearing the armour of Sine and Thisia alike. Finley gripped the balustrade, grinning. The echo of her dream faded to nothing. Alexandria was back, was barely minutes away, and Finley buzzed with excitement.

She darted around the chamber, made the bed and set all else right. When she returned to the balcony, she leant against the balustrade, faltering—

There was only the fjord below. The city could only be seen from the other side of the castle, out of sight and almost beyond hearing. Finley squinted at the fjord, one side illuminated by the low autumnal sun, half expecting to see a maze of walls rise.

LISTEN.

Finley dragged herself to the bed and stared at the ceiling. Had she truly exhausted herself so much during those days at Three Corners? There was always something to do, a mother to speak with, a cat to slowly earn the trust of, but she’d slept well every night and hardly done any demanding work.

THE LABYRIN

But what did the labyrinth matter? It was a dream, only a dream, and Alexandria would laugh at her for taking it so seriously. Well. It was easy for Alexandria to take such a stance. She’d never endured a single dream before. Maybe all Finley needed was a nap, one more hour of sleep to set her right. If she folded her arms over her face and thought of nothing but the black space behind her eyes, she’d drift off in no time.

WILL YOU PAY ATTEN

The chamber door swung open. Finley sat bolt upright, needlessly guilty, but only Alexandria and Rydal stood in the doorway. The Rydal who hadn’t taken Finley to Three Corners sat Alexandria’s bags down and scooped up Magpie in one hand. Alexandria made a fuss of Magpie before Rydal left, and Finley’s stomach twisted as she raised a hand to wave at Rydal.

“You’re back!” Finley said, rushing over to Alexandria once they were alone. “How was your journey? Did everything go well?”

Alexandria’s hands settled on Finley’s hips, her eyes half-lidded. Finley negated her own questions by leaning in to kiss Alexandria, arms locking around her shoulders.

“Finley, my love, I am afraid I am no good to you,” Alexandria murmured, stroking her back. Finley saw the dark marks beneath her eyes, the exhaustion engraved into her features. “I have been in a dreadful way. I think I shall scream if I do not get off my feet in the next thirty seconds. Well, I suppose I could always lie on my back, and if you were good enough to kneel and shuffle upwards, we could—”

Finley placed a hand on Alexandria’s face, laughing, blushing.

“Alex. I was excited to see you, that’s all. I’m not—I only wanted a kiss, I promise,” Finley said. She took Alexandria’s hand and led her towards the bed. “Sit here. Let me look after you.”

Alexandria obeyed. Finley was proud of her, proud Alexandria hadn’t forced herself to put on a show of strength for her. Oddly proud of herself for being a person Alexandria could show a perceived weakness around.

“I feel like I did when those cursed crystals were intent on destroying themselves around me, only without the luxury of hiding away in my own chambers. The itinerary was absolutely what I expected: King Lucian was far too considerate in his planning and we wasted no small amount of time dawdling. Yet it has taken a brutal toll on me,” Alexandria muttered. “What on earth is wrong with me, Finley?”

“I think it has something to do with those scars on your back,” Finley said, easing Alexandria’s boots off.

Six months ago, Finley would’ve taken the look Alexandria flashed her for the end of her life in the palace. Now she grinned lopsidedly up at her.

“Very clever,” Alexandria allowed.

“And you’ve got to remember that this isn’t just because of the last few days. A lot has happened in such a short space of time, you’ve travelled from one kingdom to another, and you’ve been through a lot emotionally,” Finley said.

“Hm. It is culminative, is it?” Alexandria asked, humming. “Fine. I shall cede my point and accept that I have risen admirably to all the obstacles in my path.”

Finley made bitterwillow tea while the bath ran. It was much more enjoyable now the weather was cooler, though Alexandria was capable of downing the most scalding of drinks without blinking. They bathed together, Finley washing Alexandria’s hair for her, both because she wanted to and because Alexandria needed the help. After, Finley rubbed salves across Alexandria’s back and left her with a crystal for a few minutes, always keeping it in her line of sight, lest it fizzle or crack.

“As enjoyable as this is, do you think you might move?” Alexandria asked after they had laid in bed long enough to drift in and out of sleep. “I ought to report back to Briar and it is the time of day when she tends to be in her study, fiddling with every conceivable object under the sun.”

Finley pried herself from Alexandria and fetched the communication crystal. Alexandria had used it a few times on the road to Waterdeep and twice since arriving, and her conversations with Briar never held the pretence of a formal briefing for long.

Finley saw herself to an armchair, giving Alexandria space for the crystal to work. She watched her hold the small, clear crystal in her hand, brow twitching as she focused on the magic threading through her. Alexandria had described it as an echo running through her bones, an image plastered over her eyes, creating the illusion of an illusion.

Finley could not comprehend any of it. Perhaps it was like seeing the real and the unreal at once.

“Ah. There you are,” Alexandria said after several minutes of silence. “Indeed, I returned to the castle but a few hours ago. Not particularly, no. You understand how it is: all for show, all to complete some social obligation we all know to be worth less than a superstition. But never mind all of that. Look at the fine company you have found yourself in, cousin. I see Ocari has once again proven theirself utterly invaluable. I only felt comfortable leaving Sunspire knowing that they were there. Well? Have they names yet? I’m glad you didn’t turn them away. You become a pathetic sort of creature in your forced isolation, all but unrecognisable. You look well now, though. Forgive me for being saccharine, but I am rather proud of myself for seeing you situated thus.”

On they talked for the better part of an hour. Finley pieced the conversation together from Alexandria’s half and watched her expression slip into something still and contemplative whenever their discussion took a more serious turn. Finley was beyond glad to know that Briar had accepted Alexandria’s gift and only wished she could see the spaniel puppies for herself.

“Well. That’s my obligations out of the way,” Alexandria said, dropping the crystal at her side. Evidently feeling better, she sat up and searched out another crystal. “We ought to speak with Heather next. It has been the better part of a week since we last contacted her, has it not?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Finley protested.

Using such remarkable magic to speak with a queen was fitting for a princess but surely should not be wasted on the mother of her former groom. Finley was torn between getting to her feet and taking the crystal from Alexandria, telling her she really didn’t have to push herself, and curling up next to her and kissing her.

Either way, she’d mute the magic. Finley held her ground.

In time, Heather happened to brush against the crystal. Finley imagined she kept it in the kitchen, close to the tea things and never far from her thoughts.

“Heather. There you are. Yes—yes, I can hear you. You’re doing it correctly, I assure you. Just—no. If you’d only—there. Stay seated, lest you make yourself dizzy,” Alexandria said, shaking her head to herself. “I do indeed have Finley here with me. Now, where do we start?”

Alexandria spent close to an hour conveying all Heather wished to say, echoing the conversation on both sides of the crystal so all parties might have a clear understanding of everything discussed. It wasn’t quite the same as talking to Heather directly, but it was such a momentously kind undertaking of Alexandria’s that Finley was almost grateful she couldn’t use the crystal herself.

Finley told Heather everything about her trip to Three Corners and Alexandria did not leave out a single detail. She heard all about goings-on in Heather’s street, next-door-but-one’s new baby, and passed a message onto Yda. The conversation came to an end not because Alexandria tired of being a go-between, but because Heather had promised to lend the new parents a hand of an evening.

Once the crystal was free of Alexandria’s grasp, Finley pried herself from the seat she’d been desperate to leave the moment she took it. She rested her weight atop Alexandria, elbows bracketing her head, and let Alexandria bear her scrutiny.

“You really do love me, don’t you?” Finley asked.

“Yes,” Alexandria said without flinching. “What makes you say so?”

“All of that. Spending an hour passing messages back and forth so I can talk to Heather, even though you’re exhausted and in pain. Doing that for me.”

“Heather is an excellent woman and a better conversationalist than most. And the bath, medication, salve, and rest have made an admirable dent in my pain,” Alexandria said, stroking her face. “But yes. I do love you, Finley.”

Finley did not close her eyes. As much as she wanted to absorb the words, to give herself stillness and darkness in which to feel their depths, she wanted to take in every movement of Alexandria’s face, too. Alexandria was not shy of her own feelings. She was not unsteady in them, certain they deserved to be met with the light of day.

“Doesn’t it bother you that I haven’t said it back?” Finley asked, voice but a murmur.

“No. Why should it? The only thing I have any control over, any say in, is my own feelings. I trust in your actions, Finley, and the care you show me,” Alexandria said, pulling her closer for a kiss. “I do not wish for reciprocation that is not freely given.”

Finley rested her head against Alexandria’s chest.

“I told Heather. When I told her about us, I said that I…”

Finley trailed off, focusing only on the rise and fall of Alexandria’s chest.

“You told Heather,” Alexandria repeated.

“I said that I thought I did,” Finley clarified. “And I do! I think I do.”

Alexandria tucked Finley’s hair behind her hair, easing her chin up to meet her gaze.

“Such high praise,” Alexandria said.

“No. No, Alex, it’s—it’s right there. Right here. How could it not be? I can feel it, even when I’m scared to. I know what it is. I know what I want. It’s right there but I can’t say it.”

Finley looked down at Alexandria, beautiful, stern, and vulnerable, hair askew where she hadn’t the energy to pin it back. Her eyes, dark and serious, shone with flecks of bronze impossible to see from a distance.

What was wrong with Finley? Where were the scars riddling her back?

“I am scarcely surprised, Finley, after the difficulties you’ve endured these past years. To lose that which you held most dear is no shallow wound,” Alexandria said. “Do not think I do not see how these things adhere to you, how they shape you. I cannot tell you how many times I have scolded myself for acting thus, for giving into my own desires, when your grief is so recent, so tactile.”

Finley buried her face in Alexandria’s neck.

She had told Willow she loved her a month after they first met at the servants’ ball. Her teeth ached with the effort of keeping the words back, heart forced into her throat each time she saw Willow, and Finley thought she’d cry with shame when the words slipped out.

Her horror wasn’t long-lived. Willow lifted her off her feet, span her around, and thanked god that one of them had finally slipped up and said it. They’d both repeated the words over and over that night, and Finley had been so certain they’d never stop saying them.

But what was Finley so scared of? Willow was not dead because Finley had loved her. The words had not started a countdown, had not signalled that Willow’s days were numbed.

Not loving Willow wouldn’t have saved her.

DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT YOU COULD HAVE HER BACK? THAT WHICH LINKS YOU TO THE DEAD, TO THE PRINCESS BENEATH YOU, IS A TETHER. IT PUSHES AND PULLS. DO YOU NOT THINK IT AN EASY EXCHANGE?

It was absurd to think that Willow could take the place of Alexandria, or that Alexandria could take the place of Willow. Grief was not something that could be bargained with. Dread cared for no reason, no logic, no reprieve. And it had been years, long, aching years. Willow’s soul had made its journey down the river.

BUT WHAT IF IT HAD NOT? WHAT IF THERE WERE NETS?

“Finley? You’re a hundred miles away. I hope I did not cause your thoughts to drift in unpleasant directions,” Alexandria said, bringing her back to the moment.

“No, no. I’m glad you can talk to me about these things. I’m glad you don’t avoid bringing Willow up, as if you were scared of breaking me,” Finley murmured, curling against Alexandria. “I was just thinking about… about—I can’t even remember.”

“Well, do not strain yourself. Here. Nap with me, won’t you? I am exhausted by all measures, yet do not wish to do without you.”

Finley readily accepted the invitation, entangling herself with Alexandria as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Finley slept soundly, dreamlessly, and the scattered sleep worked wonders for the last stubborn dregs of Alexandria’s pain.

They awoke, ate, had sex, slept more. They were left to their own devices until late afternoon, when a knock at the door saw a dinner invitation slipped into the chamber. Alexandria rose to collect it, unfolding it with a frown that soon faded.

“Ah. Princess Rada and Luna formally request my presence for an informal dinner. You are naturally invited, Finley,” Alexandria said, taking a moment to stretch. “I suppose I ought to give into Luna’s whims and attend her at my first convenience. I’m honestly surprised she didn’t barge her way in here within an hour of my return, though I suppose she does have the company of any number of Rydals.”

“Mm,” Finley said, prying herself free from the bed.

“You don’t sound too thrilled by the prospect. Don’t tell me you had some manner of falling out with Luna during your stay at Three Corners,” Alexandria said. “What could the pair of you possibly have to bicker over?”

“It isn’t that. You should go to the dinner, Alex. I’ll probably go find Rydal soon,” Finley said. “I want to make sure Ibis is settling back in. I think he made a few friends at the farm and probably misses them.”

Alexandria dropped the issue long enough to pick out an outfit and tend to her hair.

“You needn’t make excuses to me of all people. I understand your discomfort around Princess Rada. How you endure her parading me around like a prize to be claimed is beyond me, but this is a far from official get-together. It might do you well to see her in a different light, to spend time with her when she is free to be herself,” Alexandria said. “I know for a fact that she thinks rather highly of you and would sincerely appreciate the opportunity to prove herself, as it were.”

Finley, half-dressed herself, fell back on the edge of the bed. Her desire to keep up a pretence, to act as though all was well and nothing truly troubled her, eroded against her need to be honest with Alexandria.

Staring into her lap, Finley murmured, “I don’t like her.”

“As I said, that is to be expected,” Alexandria said, intent on being understanding.

“No.” Finley felt her pulse leap in her throat. Shaking her head, trying to keep her voice level, she said, “It’s not because of that. Princess Rada, she—she keeps…”

Finley exhaled heavily, frustration coiling within her.

Alexandria crossed the room and sat at her side.

“Finley. Look at me. Did Princess Rada do something to you? Did she threaten you in some way?”

Alexandria was perfectly serious. Anger simmered beneath her open, understanding expression, and Finley knew that Alexandria would throw the future of Sine and Thisia into jeopardy for her.

Finley almost wanted Alexandria to embrace that impulsiveness.

“It’s hard to explain. It started when we were in Thisia. I came across her and Rydal – her knight, I mean – in the temple, and she had all these questions. She kept talking about the god-crystal, the skeletal crystal under Waterdeep, and I don’t know how she knew its name! She even asked me to come back to Sine with her,” Finley said, certain she’d kept a terrible secret from Alexandria all this time. “And do you remember the first morning we were here? I said I’d been walking around the gardens, but Princess Rada, she—she came here at dawn and took me to the mines. Her and Rydal. She tried to assure me that they were the real Rydal, and she made me touch the god-crystal and darken it. She keeps talking about Asterion, about—about fixing the hole in the sky, as if she knew Sparrow.”

“Finley,” Alexandria said, taking hold of her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because—oh, because religion, and I didn’t want it to seem like I was making things up about the princess out of jealousy. I said I didn’t like her, but that’s not it. I think I’m worried about her. I know I haven’t known her long, that I didn’t know her before any of this, but I think there’s something wrong with her.”

“What does Rydal say? They’ve known her for many years,” Alexandria said.

“The Rydal who was with us, her knight, doesn’t think anything of it. They’ve been teaching her about Asterion, about the hole in the sky, like it’s completely normal,” Finley said. “But that Rydal—you saw what they did to your knight.”

Alexandria nodded slowly. She released Finley’s hand only to pace the room, deep in thought, giving gravity to the situation with her concern and consideration, resolved not to act solely on emotion.

BUT IS THAT CONSIDERATION WORTH GIVING? DO YOU NOT SPEAK MERELY OF YOUR OWN JEALOUSY, YOUR OWN INSECURITY? SUCH THINGS DO NOT BECOME YOU. YOU ARE AND ALWAYS HAVE BEEN BETTER THAN THIS. DO NOT SCORN THE OTHER PRINCESS SIMPLY BECAUSE SHE TOO UNDERSTANDS THE PLACE OF DIVINITY, BECAUSE SHE KNOWS THE NAME OF GOD. IT SHOULD BE A JOY THAT SHE SHARES IN YOUR FAITH, STRENGTHENING IT.

Religion had been one of the most special things Finley had shared with Willow. The temple was their refuge, prayer their unspoken secret. Willow had welcomed Finley into that world, enveloping her in faith, in an understanding that was not greater than anyone else’s but hummed to its own tune. Was that all that troubled Finley? That someone else had intruded on that sacred space, driving out the memory of Willow?

THERE. YOU ALWAYS SEE REASON. NOW, THE LABYRI

No, that couldn’t be it. It had meant so much to Finley when she’d met Rydal in the temple, when she’d had someone to sit and pray with after so many years of solitude.

“I think it best if we speak with Prince Iyden tomorrow. He’ll have a better grasp on what is and isn’t typical of his sister’s behaviour,” Alexandria said. “Should I cancel my dinner plans? Would you rather I stayed here with you?”

“No, no,” Finley said, feeling foolish for making such a big deal out of a little discomfort. “You should go. I bet Luna’s dying to see you.”

Far from convinced but willing to relent, Alexandria said, “And what of you? Will you eat here?”

“I really will go find Rydal and Ibis.”

They parted ways at a fork in the corridor. Finley found Rydal in the first place she looked for them, settled on their chamber floor with both Ibis and Magpie. The contrast between the tabbied cats was immense, but Finley truly saw Ibis’ age for the marvel it was after being amongst so many grown cats at Three Corners.

It was remarkable he’d lived as long as he had. His eyes were milky, his vision dimmed, but he still found it within himself to take playful swipes at Magpie as the kitten ran dizzying circles around him.

Finley didn’t bring up Princess Rada and her strange behaviour. Instead, she spent her evening leant against Rydal, indulging Magpie in all his demands.

There were clear signs of Luna all across the room. Finley doubted either Rydal would be willing to give up the chambers they considered their own, or Luna’s company. Finley wondered how that worked, if it did at all. Each Rydal put forth considerable effort to ensure they slept on different schedules, avoiding one another as much as they possibly could.

“Rydal?” Finley hummed.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I should get a cat?”

Magpie bolted from her lap, startled by his own tail. He ran clean into a table leg, was deterred for all of a second, and pounced on Ibis.

“Everyone should get a cat,” Rydal said, tugging Magpie close to ensure he hadn’t done himself any real harm.

“I’ve never had a pet before. What do you think I should go for? A kitten?”

“They’re a lot of work.”

“An older cat?”

“Not as old as Ibis,” Rydal said. “We’ll go back to Three Corners. Let a cat choose you. Best thing for it.”

Later, Rydal walked Finley back to her chambers, Magpie sprinting between their feet. They said their goodbyes at the door and Rydal kissed Finley’s cheek before scooping Magpie into their arms and gently threatening to file his claws down when they got back to their chamber.

Alexandria wasn’t back. Finley got into bed, lulled to sleep by the thought of Alexandria returning late and slipping into bed behind her, arms wrapped around her waist. In time, she could not distinguish between the pleasant thrum of her daydreams and the reality that unfolded.

She awoke before Alexandria did. She kissed her face and extracted herself from the bed, not wanting to disturb her. Alexandria had endured an exhausting few days – months – and had likely never let herself sleep as much as she needed to.

Finley felt better, having slept so soundly. There really was nothing to fret about; they would speak with Prince Iyden and he would have all the answers. Princess Rada would get the help she needed and Finley need not be the one to give it.

It was a fine morning, skies clear and air crisp. It was the sort of fleeting autumnal morning wasted indoors.

AND THE CASTLE HAS SUCH RICH GROUNDS, SOIL FED BY THE CRYSTALS FAR BELOW.

Finley ate breakfast while walking through the winding grounds, taking the wide, sweeping paths that cut across steep terrain, offering access to all. Fiery leaves covered the ground, crunching underfoot, and the gardens bustled with as much activity as a Sunspire market.

It was the perfect time to be there, a fraction of the day that existed only for the low sun to pour across the uneven ground, leaving behind dark swathes of shadow and brilliant glinting edges on grass blades. Mist gathered in the fields beyond the city and the harvest had fulfilled the promise planted by a thousand hard-working hands.

People gathered all they needed into baskets and sacks, some loading handcarts to share the bounty with those not there. Children ran across the paths and plots, faces and fingers bright with berry juice that moment crushed in their hands. A witch knelt before a group of fascinated five-year-olds, showing them something in the soil. Finley gave her a wide berth, not wanting to interrupt the magic threading itself into nature.

Halfway down the gardens, she caught sight of Rydal. She smiled, expression faltering as she realised which Rydal it was, and forced herself to smiled brighter, ashamed of herself.

“Hey,” Rydal said, offering out their arm.

Finley took it, pressing close to their side. Their warmth, their steadiness, was what she had always known it to be. Who was she to judge Rydal, either of them, to decide which of them was best dealing with a crisis she still could not fathom?

“I think I’m going to get a cat,” Finley said.

“Yeah? Go to Three Corners. My mums will help one pick you out.”

Finley squeezed their arm, smiling. They both accepted the offering of apples plucked from the tree spreading its branches overhead, eating as they walked, silent but for the crunch of fruit.

“I love it here. Sunspire could learn so much from these gardens alone,” Finley said.

“Glad you came,” Rydal said.

“Me too.”

“Glad you listened.”

“Listened?”

LISTEN.

Finley tilted her head, looking to Rydal for an answer. They stared ahead, skinning the last of the fruit from its core with their teeth, and continued on with a purpose Finley could not place.

“Remember when you first visited? We danced. You and me. That was us,” Rydal said.

“Right,” Finley agreed.

“And I was in Sunspire. That first time. We prayed together. Went into the labyrinth. You and me.”

Finley slowed her pace. Rydal tugged her arm, hurrying her along.

“What are you saying, Rydal? I know who you are. I know the things we experienced together and they’re all important to me. But that doesn’t mean…”

WILL YOU DENY THEM THEIR SOLIDITY, THEIR WORTH, SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU HAVE BEEN DISTRACTED BY THEIR REFLECTION?

“You came here this morning. You know why,” Rydal said.

Finley tried to pull her arm free. Rydal held it tight. They were a knight. She could not overpower them, could hardly keep up with the pounding of their feet.

Finley had not met Rydal in the gardens by chance. They were not enjoying the gifts autumn freely gave. They had been waiting for her. They had known she would come, had lured her there, and god—they had twisted their fingers in Rydal’s hair and beat their head against the monolith, had sunk a knife deep in their stomach.

“Rydal,” Finley said, voice low. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t see,” Rydal agreed. “You aren’t the Eyes of God. But trust me.”

“Okay. Let’s just—can we sit down for a minute? There’s a bench right there.”

Rydal looked down at her not with contempt but pity. Their mismatched eyes did not reflect the wealth of colour around them, did not glow with the trees’ falling leaves.

They shook their head. Their expression softened.

“Sure.”

Finley’s toes curled in her boots. This was Rydal, only Rydal. Whatever forces guided them, whatever their faith demanded of them, could never take away from who and what they were. Finley sat at their side, fingers knitted together, and allowed her heartbeat to slow.

“You keep going there, to that other world,” Rydal said. They reached out, lightly pressing their hand between her shoulder blades. Finley flinched, touch washing away the ghostly sensation that hadn’t left her since she stared into the labyrinth that no longer was. “You shouldn’t.”

“I know! I know that, Rydal, but I can’t control it. I can’t stop myself from dreaming,” Finley said.

Rydal’s touch relaxed, growing less purposeful. They rubbed her back and pulled her a little closer.

“I can help,” they said.

“You can?”

“We’ll go there. Together. You and me,” they said. “That will be enough. That will stop it. Go there once, then never again.”

Finley pulled her arms around herself.

“Go there? To that other world?” It was absurd enough a proposition that she felt no fear of the prospect. “I don’t think that’s possible, Rydal.”

HOW COULD YOU SAY SUCH A THING TO RYDAL? HOW COULD YOU SIT THERE AND DENY THE REALITY THEY FORCED THEIRSELF TO RECKON WITH? HOW CAN YOU PRETEND THAT THEY ARE REAL, THAT THEY HAVE WORTH, HOW CAN YOU CLAIM TO BELIEVE THEM YET DENY THE WORLD THEY WISH TO SHARE WITH YOU?

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! It’s not that I don’t believe you, Rydal. I just don’t understand, that’s all. Maybe you could show me how it works?”

Rydal rose to their feet, offering their hand.

Despite all Finley had seen of late, despite the tar they had beaten from their other self’s skull, Finley trusted them. She would follow them anywhere.

Together, they headed through the gardens, cutting across harvested plots and taking the steps. Finley clung to Rydal’s hand, knowing that though she might not comprehend what happened next, it would stay with her forever.

“It’s the dark. The dark of the god-crystal,” Rydal said. “Everything changes. Anything can move. Let the light back in and we could be anywhere.”

Finley froze. Not because of Rydal’s words; she’d always known where they were taking her and had not for a moment thought the god-crystal was not at the heart of this, the heart of everything.

She stopped because Princess Rada was there, waiting for her.

Princess Rada rushed over, gripping Finley’s hands.

“Finley! I’m so glad you changed your mind. I knew Rydal would make you see things clearly,” Princess Rada said. “I know I dragged you down there once already and I’m so sorry for hasty I was, but don’t you see? Don’t you feel it? Everything is finally in place.”

Princess Rada smiled so brightly, so earnestly, that Finley knew this could only be her fault.

She had done this to Princess Rada the first time she had muted the god-crystal, though the princess had been far from the caves. She had done this because of who and what she was; foil that she was, she had taken more than the light of the god-crystal within herself. She had taken something from Princess Rada.

YOU FREED THE LIGHT FROM THE LABYRINTH NOT YET PAVED. YOU GAVE IT SHAPE BEFORE THE MONOLITH COULD BE CARVED FROM STONE.

Finley pulled her hands free. Rydal dropped a hand on her shoulder, steadying her, but Finley jolted back. She’d taken something from Princess Rada. She’d drunk down something other than magic, wearing away all the barriers between what could be understood and what could only be experienced; she had taken her safety, her stability.

Finley ran. There were countless people in the gardens. She’d scream if she had to, would yell until her throat was sore. Her feet pounded stone and soil, breath ragged in her chest, and she had to get back to the castle, she had to, she had to find Alexandria, Luna, had to find the other Rydal, the Rydal who would never force her into something like this, and—

Finley grunted, colliding with the witch she’d seen entertaining the children earlier.

“Sorry. Sorry, I—” Finley spluttered. “I need help—”

“Finley, my dear,” the witch said, placing a hand on her face. “Goodness, what’s got into you? Don’t tell me you’ve come across more exploding crystals.”

Finley took a step back, feet unsteady.

Of all that had unfolded that morning, nothing startled her more than coming face to face with Violet Oban in Sine’s royal gardens.

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter —>