Page 12 of Lakesedge

She fills a pot and starts to spoon in leaves from a small hand-labeled jar, making tea. The monster watches her from the doorway as she finishes, then comes forward to take a cup when she holds it out to him.

There’s no table, nowhere to sit except for the folded blankets that have been laid out into four makeshift beds. They’re all together in a neat row. I take the endmost two and drag them away to the opposite side of the room. Arien and I huddle together, so close that our shoulders touch.

Florence passes us each a cup of tea and a plate with a square of almas cake, spiced and sweet, made of dried apples and brown sugar.

“We’ll have a long ride tomorrow.” She takes a sip from her own cup. “Finish that, then try and get some sleep.”

I can’t remember the last time I ate, but there’s only a numb hollowness in my stomach. I pick at the cake until it crumbles apart under my fingers, then drink a wary mouthful of the tea. It’s bitter, with a faint sweetness that stays on my tongue. I put the cup aside and lie down on top of the blankets as Arien stretches out beside me.

There’s a scrape from the stove drafts as Florence banks the fire, then the rustle of blankets. The room lulls into a tense silence.

Arien lies on his back and stares up at the thatched ceiling. His face is creased with worry, and there are tired, leaden shadows beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry, Leta. I’ve really messed everything up.”

“Arien. This isn’t your fault, not at all.”

He sighs. I reach across and touch his hand, trying to think of a way to comfort him. “Do you want me to tell you a story?”

The stories are my clearest memory of our life before. And now, whenever I tell them to Arien, I hear the low rumble of my father’s voice as he read aloud to me. I feel my mother’s hand as we went to the village, how she promised another tale if I’d walk just a little farther.

“Mm?” Arien rolls over to face me. His mouth curls into a faint smile. “Yes, please.”

“Which would you like? The knight and the prince?”

It’s his favorite: a forgotten prince, rescued by a clever knight. I’ve never asked if he imagines himself knight or prince, rescued or rescuer. But I’ve seen the pleased, secretiveglow on his face when I tell stories that end with two boys falling in love. I know that some things are close kept, too precious to share.

“No.” He rubs tiredly at his cheek. “Tell me your favorite one instead.”

I wriggle closer to him and put my arm around his shoulders. The words of the story rise easily, making me feel warm and pleased as I speak them. “Beyond seven forests, beyond seven lakes, there was a labyrinth. Inside, there lived a monster. And one day, a brave maiden went in search of a wondrous treasure…”

I’ve loved this story for as long as I can remember. My parents would both tell it to me, over and over, as many times as I could convince them.

The labyrinth is deep beneath the earth, with walls that are made of trees. And at the center, a terrible monster sleeps on a bed made from bones. No one who enters has ever come out. But the maiden—when she goes inside—has a ball of twine hidden in her pocket. And as she walks, she unravels the twine behind her.

“The monster chased her, but she was fast. She followed the twine back through the trees…”

Arien smiles drowsily as I go on with the story. And for a moment it’s like we are back in the cottage, with the walls around us and the world far away. When it still felt almost safe, before everything changed.

Then I look past him. Across the room, Florence lies still,her breath drawn out in sleep. But the monster… he’s awake. Reflections of the flames dance in his eyes as he watches me. As helistens.

I cut off abruptly. When he realizes I’ve noticed him, he turns over swiftly and drags the blanket up around his shoulders. My cheeks burn. I feel peeled bare. Could he tell, from my voice, how I long to be as unafraid as the girl in the labyrinth? Does he know how much I wish I had my own safe path, clasped tight in my hands?

I stay close by Arien as he falls asleep. The door has been left open to let a breeze through the room, but the night air is dense, motionless. I look out through the doorway at the unmoving branches of the olive trees. Suddenly I’m aware of how quiet the room is, how still. The monster is a darkened shape, his breath slow and heavy.

“Arien.” I put my mouth against his ear. Shake him quietly awake. “We can’t stay here. We can’t stay with him.”

He stirs with a groan. I sit up slowly, hardly daring to breathe. Understanding lights his face as he looks toward the open door. We stand up. Each shuffle of cloth and creak of floorboards is endlessly loud. I keep my eyes pinned to the monster, but he doesn’t move.

On tiptoe, we cross the room. Outside the doorway, we pause. Arien spares the monster one wary glance, then nods at me, resolute. We run, together, into the barren, moonlit forest.

We run for a long time, on and on through the tight rows of the olive groves. I don’t know where we’re going, onlyaway. I have to put as much distance between the monster and my brother as I can. I let the woods close round me, until finally the spindle-leafed branches part and give way to the wilder forest.

Arien stumbles as he tries to keep up with my swift pace. “Leta, why didn’t you run to the road?”

“He’d see us there. We can circle back once we’re out of the trees.”

My feet catch on a fallen branch, and I stumble forward. My knees hit the ground, and I’m stunned by the pain. I dig my fingers into the detritus of leaves beneath me and let out a frustrated hiss. “Ash.This damned forest.”

Arien crouches beside me, his frightened eyes shifting from ground to trees to sky. “Are you hurt?”

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