A HENRY STORY 1: Memories Of The Fallen Prince

XXVI. Alliance

In the midst of pitch darkness, the eerie cave was alive with the constant scurrying and buzzing of its inhabitants. The spinners were many things, but they were not lazy.

Nobody had expected a change anytime soon, so when it came into view, every spinner present turned toward an unexpected brightness in the exit. Three of them instantly took positions to greet the trespasser accordingly.

When the curtain of webs that covered the entrance finally parted and the intruder with the light stepped into the cave, he instantly found himself surrounded.

"Hey—!" After only a single word, he ceased to yell and even dimmed the bright flame of his torch by hastily wrapping a cloth around it. "Hey," he said more quietly. "You needn't web me. I come to do trade."

The flier's ears twitched the second he heard the voice, and, for the first time in what felt like years, his eyes jerked open. He could barely make out the silhouettes at the entrance from where they had strung him up in the far corner of the cave, hidden out of sight by thick layers of web. Only through his echolocation did he perceive the commotion, but even without it, he would have recognized that voice.

Was he really here? Or did his lethargic mind play a trick on him? The flier stirred. No . . . the boy could not really be here. How would he have even found him? And why would he have . . . bothered?

Despite his reluctance to believe what his ears were telling him, the sound of this voice managed to revive the flier's limbs, which had long ceased to respond. A shudder of life ran through his constrained body.

The spinners around the boy remained silent. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and crossed his arms. "I am not interested in trouble," he said. "But a while ago, you kidnapped a friend of mine, and I have come because I would like him back now."

The spinners all gave a collective hiss and drew closer, mandibles poised.

"Hey!" The boy raised his hands defensively. "I did not lie when I said I had come to do trade. Rest assured, I am more than willing to compensate you handsomely for his freedom."

The boy . . . was here. The flier could no longer even attempt to deny it. He trusted his own memory not enough to so perfectly recreate his voice. That overconfident and taunting tone he was putting on constantly, like he meant to challenge everything he addressed, even the world itself.

Still, even knowing he was truly here, the flier suppressed the uprising wave of hope. It was not time to hope yet. Even if the boy was here . . . what could he possibly have to offer the spinners?

And yet, he had found him; the flier allowed the thought to sink in. Found him here after all this time. And it suddenly became incredibly difficult to not have hope. The concept of having hope again was still foreign, but it had always been difficult to remain hopeless around the boy.

Once it had been the girl—the last figment of his mind that had still had hope—who had always found him and restlessly chased him across the entire Underland.

But the boy was alive; he was not in his imagination, and he was really here. The boy was . . . real. And so was the hope he brought. Whether the flier wanted it or not, he could not run from the boy's hope the way he had run from the girl's . . . From his own.

Suddenly, a single, enormous spinner lowered itself from the ceiling and dropped inches in front of the boy. The flier recognized her when the boy's light met her strikingly striped legs. The others drew back respectfully as she rose to her full height.

"I am Queen Wevox of the spinners," she said in a low but commanding voice, rubbing one leg against her chest. "Our only prisoner is the flier. He is already sold. You must leave now or we will web you."