The silence swallows his name whole.
But I call again. Louder. Desperate.
“Daedalus!”
A hand clamps over my mouth as the Golden Son pulls me close. His blue eyes, so piercing, so starkly bright, seem almost too pure for the suffocating dark that swallows us whole.
“Quiet,” he warns, his strained voice still threaded with pain. His gaze sweeps the shifting shadows, muscles taut, every line of him sharpened with tension. “We are not alone, and we do not want to draw attention.”
His hand drags away from my mouth, lingering for just a breath too long, fingers grazing my skin as he withdraws his touch. He tips his chin towards Ashen.
“Can you command this beast to get us out of here?”
Suddenly a fresh wave of nausea twists through me, a deep, curling discomfort that is not just mine. My hand finds my stomach instinctively, fingers pressing against the source of that strange stirring.
The Golden Son notices. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, too quick, too clipped. I grip Ashen’s mane. “You must take us home. Now.”
But Ashen does not obey. He drifts forward, unhurried, his paws pressing weightless against the swirling black, carrying us deeper into the abyss.
The Golden Son’s jaw tightens. “He’s brought us here on purpose. This is a trap.”
“No,” I snap back, defensive. “This is my fault. I asked him to take us home. He is a creature of the void. He only misunderstood.”
“Then make him understand,” the Golden Son growls. “We cannot stay here.”
His words fracture into a brutal, hacking cough. He lurches forward, clutching his throat. A thin, writhing thread of smoke spills from his lips, alive, curling, vanishing into the abyss.
“What the fuck!” he gasps between coughs, voice raw. “What was that?”
My throat bobs, my pulse a wild thing. I shake my head, though my confusion isn’t entirely feigned.
The void is not meant for humans. It never has been.
The Fae can walk its endless dark and survive. I can breathe this air, perhaps because something within me is neither wholly human nor Fae, but something in between. A child of smoke and vine. And yet, even with that possibility, the pain twisting through my stomach is something else entirely.
The Golden Son is right.
We must get out.
Before my body betrays me. Before the void seeps into his lungs and suffocates him. Before the master of this place wakes and finds us trespassing.
I tighten my grip on Ashen’s mane, my voice steady despite the unease curling in my gut. “Ashen. Can you hear me? You must void walk. We must leave.”
But he doesn’t respond. Not to my voice, not to the silent plea I send through our bond. The smoke and shadows have claimed him, twisting around his form, sinking their claws into something deeper than obedience. He is not mine to command. Not here.
“He cannot help us,” I murmur, biting down against the sharp twist in my stomach. My gaze drifts to his paws, gliding effortlessly over a sea of darkness and mist.
If I climbed down, would I find solid ground beneath my feet? Or would I plummet into the dark? I’m not willing to take that risk.
The next wave of pain is sharper, tearing through me like a blade, and I lurch forward, collapsing against Ashen’s neck. He doesn’t react. Doesn’t so much as flinch.
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing again,” the Golden Son growls.
Smoke spills from his mouth, his fingers digging into his chest.
I press a hand to my belly, my breath catching. My brow furrows. It’s impossible, but Souls, I swear it’s larger. Rounder. Firmer. The silk of my gown, once flowing, clings too tightly now, stretched taut over my skin.
