Page 63 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

Like everything in this garden, the maze is alive in a way that plants back home simply aren’t. It’s been drawing my eye ever since we got here and when Lark’s uncle approached me, I was sorely tempted to sprint inside it and hope he couldn’t find me.

I didn’t do that. Obviously. I don’t need to make things harder for Lark. But it’s hard watching him and Ophelia together, even if I know they’re faking.

Aodhan didn’t help. Dickhead. Maybe he knows the truth like Oisin does, but it doesn’t matter much either way. He will not keep you. My nephew’s attention is only enraptured by pretty things.

I growl under my breath as I stomp into the maze. I know he was just trying to get under my skin, but intellectualising it doesn’t stop it from working. Mostly because it doesn’t matter whether Aodhan is right or not. Lark can’t keep me and I can’t keep him.

The walls of the maze shift around me, subtle twitches of leaves and branches, giving me a sense of eagerness and interest. I reach out a hand and stroke a finger over one of the yew leaves. It flutters at my touch. I can’t hear the party from here, even though I’m not far away at all. That’s fine. It’s nicer. No one is here to look at me, to judge me. I don’t have to watch Lark and the others; even Ophelia seems to belong here more than I do.

I scoff and shake my head, walking further into the maze. It’s hardly the best time to throw myself a pity party, but I’m not sure I can go back and watch Lark announce that Oisin will rule beside him either. Forget what Grant insinuated to Zomo about me and Lark and Ophelia; she and Oisin are clearly wearing matching outfits.

They’ll all expect…

“It doesn’t matter,” I say aloud. The words are faint, ring hollow. It matters to me, even if it shouldn’t, even if it’s a tiny blip in the grand scheme of what we’re supposed to be dealing with right now. It hurts me. It’s not going to stop when I go home, either. I want to come back. I want to spend time with Lark, now that it seems like he wants that too, whenever I can. But I know the truth. How often would I come here? How welcome would I feel?

Leaves whisper behind me, and when I glance back, the way I just came is now blocked by branches. “Well, that’s just rude,” I mutter, and the walls around me shake like the maze is amused.

Oh, am I losing it? Maybe. But maybe not, because I’m fairly sure this maze is alive and I shouldn’t have walked in here, but I don’t feel any of the panic I expect at the idea I might be trapped.

Trapped in here means I don’t have to go back out there, so I keep walking.

It’s not long before I find what seems to be the centre of the maze. Not long at all, so I run my fingers over one of the walls, hoping that the maze understands, if it can understand anything, that I’m grateful. The ground here is covered in lush grass, foxgloves and bluebells quivering in a faint, cool breeze. I wander into the centre of the space and sit down, careful not to crush any flowers, then, after a few seconds, stretch out on my back to stare up at the sky.

With the suns out and high, of course I can’t see how many stars there are. I can’t see if any more of them have gone out.

And that’s the crux of the matter, too. Lark is only here because of me, because the deal he struck with the witch means that helping me and Ophelia has him trapped wearing a crown, but it is important that he does it. If this realm collapses, what would happen to the fae here? What would happen to our realm, too? That much magic, held back only by a magical barrier anyway—

I shiver. It’s terrible to think about.

Blades of grass around me shake and I push up onto my elbows, blinking away the glare of the suns as a figure comes into view.

Lark. He emerges from another path, breathing hard, all his hair in disarray. I frown at him.

“Are you all right?” I ask. He looks like he’s been running. Why would he run?

“Me? Yes. I am fine. You—” The words are quick, short, and I don’t understand why.

“I’m fine,” I reply with a little shrug. “I like it in here.”

“You… like it?”

I huff and flop back down again. It’s easier to talk to Lark when I don’t have to look at his face. “Yes. It’s peaceful. No one is looking at me.”

He lets out a little growl. I don’t lift my head. Not even when his footsteps draw near, which I can’t hear, but the grass brushes against my skin and tells me he’s getting closer. The magic here is heady, even if it’s not for me.

“I can tell them not to look at you,” Lark says.

I open my eyes, not sure precisely when I closed them, and let out a bark of laughter. Lark is standing over me now and he purses his lips mulishly.

“You’re joking,” I say.

“I am not.”

“Lark…” I sigh. He’s been so forbidding for such a long time. Even when he found Vasile and called me to come and help save him, he didn’t seem ruffled or panicked. The memory makes me want to laugh, dark as it was. At the time, I couldn’t work out why Lark would ring me. Drew was working at the café by then and Ophelia has always been our healer, even when she and Sam and I weren’t officially a coven.

Why would he ask for me?

I study him through narrowed eyes. Maybe he wanted some comfort too. Maybe he wanted to be sure I was safe.