Chapter A Living Nightmare
A LIVING NIGHTMARE
Slaide watched from his seat as the competitors filed in, listening to the names as they entered. When at first he didn’t see Hazel, he worried she might have already gotten herself into trouble.
But at last, he spied the top of her auburn head bobbing as she brought up the back of the line.
It was shocking to see such a stark difference between her and the men that surrounded her.
They were so much larger, so much more intimidating than she was.
He hoped she would remember to use that to her advantage.
The announcer called her name as she walked into the makeshift stadium the king had set up in the tilt yard. Of course, the men around him were quick to comment on things that set his pulse pounding.
“Hazel Callahan… of Larksridge… representing—no, that’s not right, excuse me. Participating as a captive of the crown, held on charges of… conspiracy and unauthorized magic use… as well as assault on a knight of the King’s guard.”
Murmurs rose in the crowd, and Slaide watched as her opponents glanced at one another.
It would be a double-edged sword, but one they could hopefully use to their advantage.
For on one hand, the target on her back became exponentially larger for those who wanted to remove her expeditiously.
On the other hand, more than a few of them would likely steer clear of an accused witch.
He was counting on the latter.
When her gaze met his, it wasn’t lost on Slaide how her posture changed. She relaxed, if only for a moment. He lost sight of her again as she took her seat among the others.
The briefing was quick. Painfully quick. The rules were laughable, in that there were almost none. He’d half expected a rule against magic usage, under the guise of it providing an unfair advantage. But then again, Magnus still wanted to see her powers for himself. He needed solid proof.
The pair was reunited briefly on the way to the castle gardens, where the hedge maze awaited.
“Well?” Slaide asked by way of greeting.
“Dinner was awful. They killed one of the competitors. Granted, he killed two men first…”
A moment later Slaide discerned why she trailed off. The gargantuan hedge loomed before them, stealing her breath. He’d almost forgotten most people hadn’t seen such a thing before.
“Hazel,” Slaide started, grabbing her arm, “you can do this. Don’t worry about what anyone else does. Lay low, stick to the shadows, and keep moving no matter what.”
Her face twisted in an expression he couldn’t read as she looked over his shoulder.
“Hazel, look at me. Look. At. Me.” She did.
They were nearly to the hedge. Most of the competition had already entered, and the crowd was thinning.
“Worry about no one but yourself. Do not under any circumstances help anyone. Do not trust your senses, for they will likely betray you. And for the love of all the bastard gods, Hazel, do not stop moving.”
Still, she said nothing. What he wouldn’t give for any sign of confidence out of her, something to show she hadn’t given up.
At last, they faced the labyrinth. He stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder. Two knights approached, pushing him back from her and stepping between them.
She finally looked back at him, eyes glistening as the living wall behind her shuddered and groaned.
“Give ‘em Hel, Hazel,” he called to her. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
The knight to her left gave a brutal shove, and she fell to her knees just within the hedge.
And then it slammed shut, sealing her out of sight.
Every scream and wail grated on Slaide’s nerves.
Most of them sounded masculine, but who could really say, when a person was facing their death?
The labyrinth itself was sinister enough without the addition of men who would gladly see Hazel dead.
He could only hope that she would trust no one, nothing, and keep her feet moving.
The labyrinth fed on fear and stillness. The moment she stopped moving, she’d become prey.
“What did you think about the announcer’s addition of her charges?” came a voice from behind him. Magnus.
“Completely unnecessary, since you’re asking. Made the target on her back bigger than it already was, so if that’s what you were going for, then congratulations, you succeeded.”
The High King looked taken aback. “Careful, Slaide, or I might think you’re growing too attached,” he warned.
“Attached? Why, Your Majesty, you wound me. How can I not be concerned with her success? Her survival? Need I remind you, it’s personal for me. I have a lot riding on this.” Slaide folded his arms in an attempt to bolster his appearance of indifference.
“Indeed,” Magnus growled. “Well, in the meantime, your little underdog is making me a pretty amount of coin. It’s a win-win for everyone, really.
Not her, of course, but the rest of us. Our coffers will get nice and fat from bets placed on her, you’ll get your freedom if she wins, and I get to execute a powerful witch when all is said and done.
I have to say, Slaide, this has been one of your more profitable ideas. ”
Slaide stopped listening then. When he’d made the deal, he didn’t know Hazel. Knew of her, sure. But it wasn’t his concern whether she lived or died beyond his need of her. But now…
“Slaide? Did you hear what I said? Listen when your King is speaking, boy. I asked you what your thoughts were on bringing the mirror out of retirement for the second trial.” Magnus snapped his fingers in Slaide’s face, and Slaide fought the urge to snap the man’s wrist.
He feigned a smile. “An excellent addition, my King,” he lied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He made to step around Magnus, but the King stepped in his path.
Their gazes met, and the King’s eyes roamed Slaide’s face as though he could find some unspoken truth written there.
Without breaking eye contact, Magnus grabbed Slaide by the hand—by the fist, really—and placed something in his palm before closing his fingers around it. Not a single word was spoken as he turned and took his leave, his cloak the color of dried blood billowing behind him.
With Magnus gone, Slaide looked down at his hand, unfurling his fingers to reveal what the King had left him, though deep down he already knew.
A vial of black liquid Slaide was all too familiar with.
The Black Draught. Serum Noctis. Fellblood. It was known by many names across the alchemical community, but for Slaide, it represented the bane of his existence. His vice.
He hadn’t asked to be introduced to the life-altering substance. Hadn’t had a say at all. And now, he was a shell of himself without it.
The Magistry hadn’t known about dependency as a side effect of long term use. Or if they had, they hadn’t cared. And now… it was the one thing keeping him tied down to Ravenhold. To Magnus. Because Serum Noctis wasn’t available anywhere else in the world.
And while it wouldn’t outright kill him to go off of it completely, Slaide worried he would slowly lose control of his faculties. That his sharp mind would begin a slow descent into madness.
The High King’s act of placing the small vial in Slaide’s hand wasn’t a gift of goodwill; it was a reminder that Magnus owned him. A reminder of what Slaide stood to lose if he left.
Hours went by with no sign of Hazel. Admittedly, Slaide found himself worrying for her safety and regretting forcing her into this.
Witch or no, she was still a person in her own right, one whose company he didn’t entirely despise.
But it was just too soon. How could he have thought he could prepare someone with no combat experience, Hel, limited life experience for the tournament’s trials—in mere days at that?
Idiot. You’ve cost her her life and any shot you might have had at your own freedom.
Cheers arose behind him, tearing him from his wallowing. He sprinted to where they were coming from hoping, however unrealistic it was, that Hazel had been teleported out.
But as Slaide pushed through the crowd, he was almost annoyed at the presence of a greasy, middle aged man, not Hazel. The man was trembling, nearly foaming at the mouth as he ranted and raved incoherently about something he’d experienced within.
Something bright flashed over his shoulder, but Slaide ignored it as he tried to listen to what the rambling man was saying. Perhaps with any luck, he might find out what had become of her.
Someone coughed and sputtered behind him, and when he turned to see who was causing the ruckus, Slaide almost collapsed to his knees.
It was Hazel. Tattered, battered, and clinging to consciousness, but alive.
“Gods above, Hazel!” he shouted as he dove for her, cradling her weak form.
She could only groan in response, as if caught between this world and another.
Nemsen and a couple of other healers Slaide didn’t recognize rushed over, shoved him out of the way, and without a word, carted her off.
Before Slaide could comprehend what had happened, a heavy hand clasped his shoulder.
“Well, I suppose congrats are in order,” Magnus jeered. He was joined by Courtland Rhodes, First Commander of the Raven Blade. Slaide straightened slightly. He didn’t care much for anyone who kissed the King’s ass in the name of status, but Rhodes had at least earned his position.
“Congrats?” Slaide asked.
“Your little witch managed to survive the first trial. The crown earned a pretty penny off that, I must say. Many, many people expected her to die. Myself included.” He said it with a smile on his face, as though they weren’t discussing someone’s life.
“Yeah, that’s great,” Slaide said, voice purposely lacking excitement. He looked to Rhodes. The man didn’t just make appearances. Something was amiss.
“Ah, right,” Magnus said, as though suddenly remembering. “Rhodes received some disturbing reports from the competitors. Apparently, instead of simply fighting the labyrinth’s tricks, several of them were attacked by monsters.”
Slaide didn’t let his face betray his surprise. What had he sent Hazel into? What did she have to face?
“And these monsters weren’t part of your plan?” Slaide pressed, skeptical.
“Master Elias,” Rhodes interjected, “the men who survived have described things that are almost unbelievable. If it weren’t for the issues with the wards—”
Slaide interrupted him. “You think they were beasts from beyond the Border.” Not a question.
Courtland Rhodes shot a cautionary glance to Magnus, then nodded.
“Slaide, your skills are needed in the labyrinth. Besides retrieving bodies, I need you to see if you can figure out how they got in. We can discuss this further when there aren’t so many listening ears around,” Magnus grumbled.
Fantastic. So seeing Hazel would have to wait then.
“Well,” he said, “this could take all night, and I’d rather it didn’t. We’d better be going.”
Rhodes nodded his agreement, and the two of them approached the massive living hedge, which opened briefly just before swallowing them whole.