Page 136 of With Wing And Claw

Didn’t matter, damn it! She was leaving the island, and she no longer wanted to think about Thysandra, because thinking about Thysandra hurt more than it had any right to. The Labyrinth, though …

The Labyrinth hadn’t done anything wrong.

And she didn’t want the mountain to be angry with her if she never returned without any sort of goodbye.

She changed course mid-step, trotting in the direction of the bone hall at the heart of the castle. New plan, then. Leave the castle through the Labyrinth. Say goodbye to the trees of Faewood, too, while she was at it. Then make the walk around the mountain to the north coast, where the houses and the ships were waiting – a long walk, admittedly, but she had all day, and what else would she be doing with her time anyway?

She no longer had anyone to protect. There would be no more stealing lunch from the kitchens because Thysandra would forget to eat without her. No more sitting through meetings and making faces when no one but Thysandra was looking at her. No more of that unwilling smile, the amusement she couldfeelrather than see, and—

No.

The breathless sobs bubbling from her throat, the sticky tears misting her view … they had gotten it all wrong. She didnotcare.

Bone hall. Labyrinth. Faewood. As long as she kept thinking very, very hard of her plan, she did not need to think of anything else.

The demolished heart of the Mother’s reign was empty as always, although she could feel traces of a large group of people not too far away – shreds of triumph and joy emanating from their distant presence. Stupid Nicanor with his stupid army, probably. Would Thysandra be lying in his bed soon? Not that she cared, of course. If Thysandra wanted to waste that perfectly shapely body of hers on mediocre lovers, then—

No.No. Not the time to think about anyone’s body – Thysandra’s least of all.

She descended into the Labyrinth, still sobbing.

The mountains balmy concern was like a soft blanket around her shoulders, and eventhatcouldn’t stop her tears from flowing, as if some tap had broken inside her that could not be shut off again. She’d been here with Thysandra. Thysandra had told her sheneededher in these same bejewelled tunnels. Thysandra had told her she wasn’t scared, that she understood the demon mind, and even if that had turned out to be all wrong, even if it turned out shewouldin fact never trust Naxi no matter how trustworthy she was …

It was still too happy, that memory.

Which was stupid. Demons did not do happy memories.

She staggered onwards over the warm stone floor, blubbering apologies at the silent walls of the Labyrinth. At least the mountain wasn’t scared of her. At least she could pretend for another few minutes that she would never need to return to the world outside, where even the most genuine of smiles would always come with that little sting of reserve, where no one,no one—

Why hadn’t she just made the stupid bargain?

Would it really be that bad to live the rest of her life under the constant weight of suspicion, to have to defend herself over and over again? To be reminded time and time again of who she was,whatshe was, and that there would be no way for her to ever escape the very nature of her own callous heart?

She no longer even knew.

She just ran.

Lingering was dangerous. Lingering might lead to pausing, and pausing might lead to giving in and running right back to where she’d come from – and so she kept moving and moving and moving, all the way to the Faewood gate of the Labyrinth. It felt like half a century had gone by since she’d stepped out of Thysandra’s rooms that morning, and yet the light that welcomed her outside was still the pale sunlight from the east. The dew hadn’t even dried on the leaves and petals yet.

She spoke her last teary goodbyes to the Labyrinth, then stumbled on through the tangles of Faewood. Yesterday’s hunt had left its traces. Marred tree trunks, arrows sticking into roots and branches. Splatchesof blood. The occasional tuft of animal hair left behind in thorns and brambles, and—

Voices.

Familiarvoices.

Naxi did, of course, not care.

She did not give a rat’s arse about the Crimson Court. She never had and never would. And Thysandra had accused her, insulted her, and deliberately flung the memory of her family’s death into her face, which reasonably had to mean she did not care about Thysandra, either … so she had no reason, no reason atall, to wonder why in the world Silas and Inga would be standing in the heart of Faewood.

Or what they were arguing about.

Or why they would be feeling worried and furious and … nauseous? As unexpected as that may be, it wasn’t her problem in the slightest. She did not care she did not care she did not—

She changed course.

The voices grew louder.

‘… can’t just stand aside andwait!’ That was Inga, more vehement than Naxi had ever heard her before – no longer hindered, somehow, by the persistent wariness that usually lay over her every word and movement. ‘At least it’s still recent now. If we give it too much time …’