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“See?” He sat down next to her, grinning. Her best friend, who’d loved her for years, whom she loved, too. Apollius was like sunshine himself, his brown hair burnished copper, his green eyes sparkling. “I told you it was beautiful.”
“It feels like magic,” she said, and she meant it.
Something strange flickered across his face, there and then gone too quickly for her to parse out its pieces. “Come on.” He stood, pulled her up. “The others are up the mountain.”
“What’s up there?”
He grinned. “The magic.”
Calling it a mountain was an overstatement. Or at least it felt like one, with the ease that it could be climbed. Of the seven islands in this archipelago—one that seemed strangely deserted, just like Apollius had told them—this one was the flattest. An expanse of beach changed to an expanse of trees, then became gentle foothills leading to a taller plateau with a flat, wooded top. He’d been so excited to show them, when he returned from his exploration, his months of sailing after his family’s death. He’d been so beautiful, his face flushed with discovery as he held Nyxara close, as he told her that she’d have to see it to believe it. That they all would.
It didn’t take them long to make their way up the small mountain. It would’ve taken less time if they hadn’t stopped to kiss in a small pool in the foothills, just as blue as the sea, and if that kissing hadn’t turned to something more. In the silence of the deserted island, Nyxara was sure that their friends could probably hear her moans on the wind.
The thought of Hestraon hearing made her cheeks color.
When they reached the top of the peak, the other four were waiting. Braxtos was excitedly examining the leaves of a flowering plant Nyxara didn’t recognize. Lereal stood on an overlook, their eyes closed, a gentle smile on their face as the wind tugged at their tunic. Caeliar, her long reddish hair burning bright in the sun, was inspecting her nails, apparently unimpressed, her expression sour. She’d definitely heard them. Caeliar held a candle for Apollius, but not in a way that Nyxara really understood. She’d lived a hard life, with parents who cared more about money than their daughter, and she made up for it by trying to attach herself to people she thought could protect her. It wasn’t care for Apollius that made her jealous of Nyxara. It was the idea that, somehow, Apollius could keep her safe.
By the edge of the path, Hestraon just stared at them, his lips a thin line.
Nyxara looked away and tightened her grip on Apollius’s hand. Never again. It’d been one mistake, one they knew would wreck everything if it came to light. Apollius had been gone for a long time, looking for the answer to the question he’d been asking for years. They’d both acted on fear that he might not return, a want that had simmered unspoken, but it was done now. Done.
Apollius squeezed her hand in return, but didn’t waste time. They’d all been friends since they were children; they didn’t require ceremony. “Follow me, you lot. If you think this is impressive, wait until you see It.”
“See what?” Caeliar asked, arching a brow.
He grinned. “The Fount.”
“No.” Hestraon shook his head, his dour look perking into a grin despite himself as he tore his gaze from Nyxara. “There’s no possible way you actually found It. I thought you just wanted us to see the island?”
“I guess you’ll have to come look for yourself.” Apollius started off into the trees. It was uncanny, the forest on either side of them, how it dropped into open air where the plateau ended. One more otherworldly thing about this place, one more way it seemed outside of regular rules. Nyxara supposed that if one were to find the Fount, it’d be in a place like this.
The trees broke, opening up into a clearing. Crumbling stone columns held up the remains of a roof, the cracks in the rock filled in with moss and a profusion of blooming flowers. The ruined structure looked similar to the plazas built in every city, all housing a small fountain of their own, homage paid to the thing that had created their world.
But the fountain in the center of this ruined plaza was both finer and simpler than any Nyxara had ever seen. The pale stone gleamed with seams of gold, as if woven through with sun rays. A series of tiny carvings ringed the lip. A sun, a moon, a leaf, the swirl of a wind gust, the crest of a wave. A small jet of water burbled in the fountain’s center. She couldn’t see where it came from; there didn’t appear to be any mechanism within the fountain that would propel the water upward. And the water around it wasn’t disturbed, remaining flat and shining as a mirror.
Her ears rang as she drew closer, almost resolving into song—
A hand on her arm. Hestraon. He tugged her back to his side, away from the fountain, looking troubled.
“That’s It?” Braxtos didn’t sound convinced.
“Sure is.” Apollius eyed the fountain before them like one might watch an oncoming army, with a sort of grim excitement. “The source of the world. The essence of everything. All here.”
They stared at It, the six of them, awe stilling their tongues.
“How can you be sure?” Hestraon, ever the skeptic, who’d dropped Nyxara’s arm like it burned him. “I mean, yes, it’s a fountain on an island, but how do you know it’s the fountain on the island?”
“I asked It a question,” Apollius said. “And It knew the answer.”
Hestraon’s eyes slid to Nyxara’s, understanding a rope drawn taut between them. The three of them had known one another the longest, the best. They both knew what kind of question Apollius would ask the Fount, the reason he was searching for It in the first place.
“Well?” Lereal widened blue eyes, their ethereal face curious. “What was the question?”
“What happens after you die,” Apollius said, still staring at the Fount. That strange look had come back over his face, the darkness Nyxara had caught a glimpse of down on the beach. Part of her was surprised that he’d give up the question that had long pulled at his heart so easily, but this place felt like one that wouldn’t tolerate untruth. Like any question asked here would get the correct answer, even if it wasn’t one you could understand at first.
“Care to share what It said, then?” Caeliar twisted a strand of hair around her finger, trying to look bored, though her eyes were keen.
The shadow stayed on Apollius’s face, his green eyes narrowing at the golden fountain he’d brought them to, the supposed source of all power the earth was made from. He snorted half a laugh. “I said It knew the answer,” he said. “Not that It told me. It said I wasn’t ready. That no one living should know what happens before their turn.”
