W
hen the mare of nightshade and moonbeams explodes into shatters of light — so bright that Caine flicks a night black wing over his aching eyes — he is reminded of a night, years ago, when he had conjured a meteor shower.He drew up short when he spotted her. A peasant girl, hidden behind a stack of crates, so steeped in shadow he had almost missed her. Silver eyes impassive, the boy continued on his way — she wasn't a target, and the first rays of morning light were already staining the inky sky lavender; he was late, and Agenor would be furious — and stopped, again, when he felt his magic wake.
Sometimes, when he was especially tired, his magic would burst from him like shadowy fingers when it sensed a dream it hungered to see.
He hesitated only for a moment before kneeling down next to the sleeping girl and slipping inside her dreams.
The beauty of her dream stunned him. Stars fell out of the sky like tears, breaking against the ground in a shower of prismatic light. One after one, the night bled constellations. He had never seen anything like it. The magic in his blood boiled red-hot and scalding, begging to be released. And release it he did.
In the depths of a shadow-steeped alley, stars fell like rain onto the sun-bleached cobblestones. As they hit the ground, one after one, they vanished back into the world of dreams.
When the tornado of petals finally settles, leaving behind a nauseatingly strong perfume, Caine lowers his wing.
Looming in front of him like chasmic eyes are two holes in the hedge where there had previously been none. For a moment he stays rooted to the spot, far too troubled by how much the maze has unsettled him. "The Night Queen has outdone herself."
Quickly, though, Caine recovers. Wings flattened against his side, ears perked, he inches towards the twin openings and peers through at what lies beyond.
The first path disorientates him. It reminds him too much of Agenor's Hall of Mirrors, a room made for the sole purpose of delighting the Consul's guests at his weekly dinner parties. Caine had been the one to construct it, and he had never hated one of his creations more.
Too eagerly does he turn towards the second path. When he sees it, he is so surprised that he chokes back a laugh.
A path of candy floss. Perhaps this maze truly will fulfill my dreams tonight, Caine muses, a boyish gleam to his quicksilver eyes.
When the others turn down the path of mirrors, their hooves tinkling like a chorus of bells on the glass, Caine stretches his neck forwards to catch a wisp of sickly sweet floss on his tongue.
And smiles.
Tonight, it is time to indulge.
PATH OF CANDY FLOSS
