Chapter 17
Huntyr
Anxiety curls in my stomach the morning of the first trial.
It reminds me of the first time Kristona sent me out alone with a target and a mission. That day changed the course of my life and undoubtedly led me right here to this moment.
But just like I’ve done every day since, I dress in silence, letting each layer of leather settle over me like armor meant to protect me. Not just against blades and claws, but against the fear, regret, and trepidation that threaten to crawl up my throat.
I’m the Huntress. I can do this.
I lace my boots tightly, strap an assortment of daggers onto my body, and pull my hair into a tight braid, throwing it over my shoulder.
I will not let them know who I am today.
But I will not let them take my life, either.
We meet Taric, Rhen, and Parker in the training yard, their faces impassive as they lead us silently beyond the fortress walls.
The cold morning air feels heavy with magic.
I’ve almost adjusted to the constant feeling of it against my skin, but this morning it feels suffocating again, like it did that first day I stepped foot into this cursed kingdom.
Grey clouds hang in the sky, blotting out the morning light and sending an ominous fog rolling around our ankles. A storm is rolling in, and either Derian’s creating it, or he’s doing nothing to stop it.
We walk in silence, the absence of any sound just adding to the overall dread curling around us. The Mortals, thankfully, have all dressed in protective leathers. Their weapons, strapped haphazardly in some cases, glint under what light peeks through the clouds.
I glance at Alexandria. She walks with her head held high, but there’s tension in her jaw… fear.
Good. She should be afraid.
Fear will keep her sharp.
I see that same fear mirrored in some of the Fae women, too.
Everyone understands the seriousness of what is about to happen.
The moment we step into the arena, the ground beneath our feet seems to change. This dirt is packed and worn, as if it has seen countless battles, countless deaths. How many other men and women have died on this ground in the name of this ridiculous competition?
The stands surrounding us are already filled. Fae warriors have gathered to witness the trial, their faces impassive. In the raised box above them, the fortress’s elite have taken their seats.
Even from a distance, I spot Derian. He lounges back, one arm draped over the side of his chair, as if this is nothing more than a spectacle for his amusement. His friend Caldren sits beside him, along with the Fae I’ve begun to recognize as those who lead the fortress.
I make the mistake of meeting Derian’s gaze.
The bastard winks.
I don’t bother hiding the way I roll my eyes before I turn away. Even after I’ve directed my attention elsewhere, though, I still feel his eyes on me.
“Roland will explain the rules,” Taric announces, nodding toward the older Fae who steps forward, his golden tattoos gleaming under the torchlight. “Follow them or die. The choice is yours.”
That’s all that’s said before our trainers retreat to the stands. No words of encouragement or last-minute advice. Rhen is the only one to linger slightly, giving me a small nod when he catches my gaze before we’re left alone with Roland.
He studies us in silence, his steely gaze sweeping over our faces as if already predicting who will survive and who will not.
I wonder where I fall on that list.
When he finally speaks, his voice is sharp and emotionless.
“Today, you will face your first trial. Today’s trial is known as the Labyrinth.”
The ground trembles beneath us. Some of the women stumble, looking down in confusion with anxious gasps, but I keep my balance. I refuse to respond to the feeling of something ancient awakening around us.
“This is not a game,” Roland continues. “Nor is it a test of beauty, grace, or charm. This is a Conclave, where strength alone is rewarded. The labyrinth you will navigate is built for one purpose: judgment.”
His eyes flick across the group, measuring us.
“Once the trial begins, you will see only the labyrinth. The walls will rise around you. The path will close behind you. The shadows will move when you are not looking.”
The magic in the air makes itself known again, tightening around my skin. It squeezes me uncomfortably.
I keep my breathing even, though. I hold my hands steady at my sides.
I will not show weakness.
“We will be here. Watching. Waiting. We will not help. If you hesitate, you will die. If you choose wrong, you will die.”
Seraphina lets out a quiet snort, a smirk curving her lips.
“That’s it?” she asks, a challenge laced beneath the words.
Does this girl have a death wish? No one can be that confident. No one can feel this tension in the air and not have a healthy sense of appreciation for the gravity of the situation.
Roland turns his gaze to her, eyes like sharpened steel.
Then, his voice drops, quieter and heavier than before.
“At the end of your journey in the labyrinth, you will stand before the Eshari.”
Another ripple of magic pulses through the arena, and my stomach roils.
A hush falls over the competitors, the Fae going deadly still. Finally, Seraphina has the good sense to press her lips together and flex her fingers in the slightest indication of hesitation.
Their reactions only make the Mortals more nervous.
“For those unfamiliar with the Eshari,” Roland continues. “They were the companions of the Vaereth, our Fae Gods. Their watchers. Their hunters. Their executioners. And today, they will be your judges.”
A chill skates down my spine at his words, and I clamp it down under a controlled breath. Magic fills the air once more, and this time I can’t stop the way my fingers twitch once, then still against my thigh.
The women all look around at each other warily.
Roland lets the silence stretch, lets the tension choke us.
Then—
“Some of you, they will find worthy. Some of you, they will not. And the Eshari do not offer second chances.”
Another pulse rolls over the ground in warning.
Then, it strikes.
With a sudden force that knocks the breath out of my lungs, magic curls around me, locking my arms and legs, twisting slowly from my feet, up my thighs, and around my torso.
Roland steps back, his amber eyes burning. “The trial begins now.”
That coiling magic finally climbs up to my eyes, and the arena dissolves, melting into nothing more than shadows.
Before my eyes, the stands fade away as the walls rise sharply around us, stone and shadow twisting together until they’re shifting, warping.
The air changes, becoming heavier and darker.
The scent of damp earth and ancient magic forces itself down my throat until I gag on it.
We are alone inside the labyrinth.
And there is no way back.