Chapter 7
Pagnus Ender turns and slices the challenger next to him clean in half.
A man with a graying beard, without armor. He had no chance. His torso hits the grass.
I run.
The wealthiest have armor. I don’t. I’m faster. I use that advantage by running until Kira isn’t by my side anymore.
I hope I don’t have to kill you.
An arrow slices through the air just inches from my ear. I watch it get buried in the grass in front of me. Fuck. That was fast.
There’s nowhere to hide.
A bow twangs as it’s released, and I duck low, barely escaping an arrow that would have been buried in my skull.
The ground starts to slope—but the arrows don’t stop. The archer must have crested too. Down below, there are walls, though. Some sort of towering structure. Somewhere to use for cover. Just a little farther—
An arrow hits my spine, knocking the breath out of me. I fall from the force, tumbling down the hill, the cut on my cheek ripping open against an errant root, hot blood streaming, before I finally go still, face down.
I gasp for air, dirt filling my lungs. I wait for the wave of pain. Wait to feel the crushing sadness that I’m going to die in the king’s fucking garden. That, after everything, after Stellan dying, I didn’t even make it to the gates.
But there’s nothing. It doesn’t make any sense.
I felt it.
I reach back, expecting blood, only to find the arrow buried in the blade on my spine. I remember Valen’s arrows now. Iron-tipped. A lesser metal.
My titanium sword stopped it.
I close my eyes, grateful for Stellan and the swords he gave me, made from scraps of metal collected over time, far nicer than I would ever be able to afford.
He saved me.
Relief and desperation have me up and running faster than I ever have in my life.
I reach around and wrench the arrow from my blade, then break it in half before discarding it, so it can’t be used against me a second time.
Kira is ahead of me now, her red hair already slipping out of its braids. I wonder if she saw me go down.
And if Valen is readying her bow again.
The structure isn’t far. I can reach it. My lungs burn. My legs are already sore. Still, I keep pushing. As I get closer, I realize that it isn’t a structure at all. It’s nature. Part of the garden.
Ten arched entrances stand tall, framed in twisting vines. Ten paths. I race into the last one, grateful to see it empty. No one follows. They’ve all picked different roads.
I collapse over my knees, my breaths wild, my heart beating too quickly.
I’m alive. For now.
My gaze slides up. Walls five times my height box me in. I take a step toward one. A hedge? No. It isn’t made of shrubs or trees.
I brush my finger against the wall with the slightest touch—then tense. A thin line of blood spills down my hand.
Thorns. The walls are completely made of thorns.
They might as well be walls of daggers for how sharp they are. Distant yells echo around me. Can’t stop now. I start to run, careful not to brush against the barbs.
When I reach the end of the path, I expect something new. Gates, if I’m lucky.
Instead, it’s another trail, with more openings. A dozen of them. I swallow, realizing that this isn’t just a pathway.
This is a labyrinth.
A maze of thorns.
Panic spikes through me. I don’t just have to find my way out—I have to do it quickly, before the rest.
I think of the king sitting up on his balcony, with a clear view of the maze, and us, and the exit.
The bastard.
Screaming pierces the air, and I run in the opposite direction, picking a corridor. I bolt, arms tucked in.
This one is shorter. I turn a corner only to see another challenger, a blond woman with long cuts down her side, as if she’s been scraped against the maze walls. We both look at each other and run in opposite directions.
Another scream—then silence.
I’m in the middle of a path so long, I can’t even see the other end. The maze doesn’t have a pattern. Or if it does, I haven’t figured it out yet.
Hissing pulls me out of my thoughts. I unsheathe my blade and turn.
A snake weaves through the wall of thorns, protected by silver skin like armor.
Silver. Did it get trapped on this side of the gates? Did the king steal it from its home, to add to his vast collection?
The serpent stops. Its head turns, and we look at each other for a moment. I don’t make a single movement, but it lingers, as if it could possibly sense the silver beneath my clothes.
Then the world turns as I’m shoved to the side. My head hits the compact ground. My ears ring. A challenger runs by, not bothering to kill me on his way. His calf is shredded, a chunk of skin hanging off his leg, revealing muscle and bone.
What? From the ground, I turn to look behind me.
And I see the end of the path … is gone. The thorns along the walls … they’re lengthening, quickly, becoming meter-long barbs, both sides meeting in sharp clashes. It’s happening in a ripple. The thorns around me begin to tremble, like a mouth readying to close.
Run.
I do, and the faster I move, the faster the hedges close in behind me, as if they’re carnivorous, like the thorns are teeth and the maze is starving.
A light. There’s a light at the very end.
I just need to make it.
As if sensing my hope, my own desperation to make it through, the walls shake, thorns shooting out until they’re daggers, then long as swords, all rushing toward me. I can hear the rustling on both sides, the hissing of snakes within, the screams of those being eaten by the labyrinth.
I’ve survived so much already. This maze will not kill me. A grunt scrapes against the back of my throat as I push my legs harder, painfully, as I ignore the thorns just inches away.
But they’re so close. I turn sideways, buying myself seconds, their sharp points scraping against the scabbard on my back with a high-pitch screech, and then I launch myself through the closing gap, hoping I don’t hit another wall.
My body lands hard on the compact ground, the air stolen from my lungs. I gasp, turning around—only to find a wall of thorns.
The path I was on is gone.
I turn again and see more entrances. More pathways.
And something else. A towering figure, stalking toward a short woman with dark hair, tied back. Her name is Helra.
She’s my age, barely twenty. Instead of a sword, she has throwing knives, a pack of gold ones she’s trained with for years.
I overheard her telling another challenger about them during dinner.
They were her grandmother’s. She survived the last Questral.
Helra’s completely oblivious to the giant right behind her.
My lips part, but it’s too late to warn her.
I watch in horror as Pagnus picks her up—and throws her against one of the walls, the thorns already lengthened into barbs.
Her body gets stuck in them. She dies instantly. My hand muffles a scream.
Pagnus picks her pockets. I watch him slide those gold throwing knives out of her pants and into his own before moving on. Anger churns as I remember Stellan’s missing dagger. Was Pagnus the one who stole it?
Someone here did. Someone here killed Stellan.
All of a sudden, Pagnus turns in my direction, and I throw myself through another entrance, hoping he didn’t see me.
I wait one second. Two. I’m not breathing.
Heavy steps sound just feet away.
I swallow. Reach back for my sword.
Just when my fingers curl around the hilt, a yell echoes from the other direction. Cadoc. I don’t move a muscle. Neither does Pagnus.
See you in the Culling. That was his promise. He’s walked with noticeable strain since I stabbed my dagger through his shin.
He takes another step forward. I inch my sword out of its scabbard.
Then Pagnus turns around. I hear him getting further away, until his footsteps all but disappear. I don’t release my breath until a few moments after that.
I look around the corner. He’s gone. The corridor is empty.
Cadoc’s and Pagnus’s houses are now working together. Great.
Still … if they haven’t found their way out of the maze yet, maybe most of the challengers haven’t either.
Or maybe they have. Maybe some have already reached the gates. Maybe I’ve already lost—
Think, Aris.
I try. I walk along the path, considering each entrance, head pounding. So many roads. I barely survived the last one I picked.
The king said the Culling was a test of resourcefulness and ruthlessness. I look around, but I don’t see a solution. All the paths look exactly the same.
I turn in circles, until panic finally roots me in place.
Move.
But I don’t know where to go.
Indecision will get you killed. I can almost hear Stellan’s voice in my head. At night, we would walk down to the ancient graveyard and duel beneath the stars. Instinct is your heart telling you the truth. Listen.
He said it whenever I hesitated. Whenever my mind got in the way.
There isn’t time. Heavy armored steps are approaching. I hear labored breaths just walls away. Far in front, there’s a loud cheer. Someone must have made it out.
If your eyes fail you, then close them and listen, Stellan once told me.
I do now.
I listen, beyond the screaming. Beyond the footsteps. Beyond the rustling of the ever-changing maze.
I listen, until I hear it. Metal against metal.
A familiar sound in a forge. That’s how I know, without a single doubt, that a large weapon just hit something.
And that thing shattered.
It happened immediately. No multiple strikes needed. A far superior sword just bested lesser metal.
I keep listening.
More metal splits apart.
Again.
Again.
Only one blade could break four swords so quickly.
Harlan Raker is near.
Instead of terror, hope rises to the surface. If anyone is making it out of this maze, it’s him.
I take off before I can think better of it. I race right toward the sound, listening. And soon enough, I see his hood going around a bend.
I follow, careful to stay far enough away, running then stopping, making sure I catch him before each corner he turns.