Chapter 12
The doors close behind me with a resonant thud, stealing away the light from the hall and plunging me into inky darkness.
And I go still.
My ears strain against the silence, searching for any sound—any hint of what lies before me—as I wait for my eyes to adjust. Slowly, a faint, spectral glow takes shape ahead of me, like a ghostly ember flickering in the void.
With my breath stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat, I take a few tentative steps toward it.
The light grows brighter upon my approach, illuminating the space around a pedestal as the glowing object takes form.
A golden frame is fixed to the marble of the pedestal, its surface carved with detailed marks and a strange glass vase with rounded ends and a tapered middle, the lower filled with water.
As I examine the curious object, the vase spins. The water—now in the upper bulb—drips, and my eyes widen with realization.
A clepsydra.
I back away from the water clock, retreating from its circle of light, but the sound of something sharp scraping across the marble floor makes me pause, and then an unnatural sense of dread creeps up my spine, freezing me in place.
“What have we here?”
The disembodied voice echoes throughout the chamber, but even without the acoustics of this room, it would have been enough to justify the terror clawing at my insides. A single feminine voice that sounds like a hundred speaking at once.
Whispering, hissing, singing.
Glancing down at the goosebumps crawling up my arms, I embrace the eerie sensation sliding against my skin, welcoming it as I curl my shoulders forward and glance around the darkened chamber with wide eyes.
Cautiously, I slip one hand through the slit down the side of my dress, hiding it from view as I grip the hilt of my dagger.
Recalling the advice to play defenseless, I force my words to tremble as I respond, “I am Princess Aella of the Sorrows.”
“A title, a name,” the voice says in its cacophonous cry. “But that’s not what you are.”
“And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
Laughter that sounds like twinkling bells and shattering glass fills the dark room.
“Such manners,” the voice says, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. “I am the holder of histories and worlds long forgotten. I am the keeper of secrets, and answers, and doors. But you may call me Sphinx.”
The words scratch the surface of a memory in the back of my mind. I shake my head, conscious of the time I’m wasting, the seconds draining away like fine sand slipping through my fingers.
“I’m here to answer a riddle.”
“And I am here to speak it.”
A flash of movement draws my attention, and I turn, only to once more find nothing at all.
“What is it, then?” I fight to keep my voice free from the irritation blooming in my chest. So far, all that this…creature has spoken sounds like an Anemoi-cursed riddle.
Something wet and rough brushes along my shoulder, making me shudder as I spin to face my foe. But the room behind me is empty.
“She tastes like wind, and fury, and mortality.”
“Is that the riddle?” I ask with a frown, my eyes darting between the darkest shadows.
“No.”
I bite my lip to hold back a frustrated curse, but then realization dawns on me. My eyes widen as I try to suppress the shudder that rolls through my body.
“Did you just…lick me?”
The laughter sounds again, and out of the shadows I was studying, a creature stalks toward me.
I was somewhat correct in my assumption that she was a woman.
Catlike eyes narrow at me from a sharp, angled face.
A mane of black hair tumbles in wild curls around her shoulders, concealing the nakedness of her breasts.
But that’s as far as her resemblance to tycheroi extends.
She prowls forward on strong but feminine arms, her otherwise elegant hands tipped with sharp claws.
Below her chest, tawny skin fades into the golden coat of a huge feline body.
The muscles of her powerful legs ripple, lethal clawed paws scraping across the smooth floor with each step.
Two wings are folded over her back, the same color as her fur at their base, darkening to the midnight shade of her hair at the tips.
The sight of her brings the memory of the troupe’s story roaring to the surface, tearing words from my throat. “You’re real…”
Sphinx sits back on her haunches and cocks her head at me, her tail flicking behind her like I’ve seen the irritated alley cats do so often back in the Sorrows. “You have heard of me?”
“I heard a story.”
“Don’t all stories start with the truth?” she returns with a smile sharp enough to cut stone. My throat constricts, and I tighten my grip around the hilt of my dagger. But she speaks again.
“Neither seen nor felt, its touch is naught,
Yet in your heart, a chill is brought.
It comes before, trailing in the wake,
A cloak of gloom, a path it makes.
It hides the truths that fear unveils,
In silence, it triumphs as courage fails.”
Her golden eyes bore into mine as she finishes the riddle, a predatory smile curling her lips. “What is it?”
Releasing my grip from the hilt of my dagger, I turn away from her. Probably a mistake, but I can hardly think straight beneath her penetrating gaze and the unnatural dread in the chamber that presses into me like a physical weight.
I repeat the riddle over and over in my mind. My thoughts race, grasping at answers that slip through my fingers like drops of water. I glance at the clepsydra suspended on the pedestal nearby; the liquid inside it trickles downward in a slow, inevitable stream.
What if the riddles were crafted specifically for each contestant, threads of their unique stories, knowledge, and experiences intertwined?
Such an approach could add a poetic complexity, crafting a personalized challenge for every soul—a puzzle as singular and intricate as the person intended to solve it.
What have we here?
Sphinx’s first words to me whisper and hiss through my mind. Perhaps they weren’t just born of curiosity—perhaps they were a clue.
“Sorrow,” I mutter, more to myself than to her. I spin back toward Sphinx, my eyes searching her out in the darkness, forcing the word out louder, “Sorrow.”
Her smile widens, but not in the way I hoped. A low, rumbling growl erupts from her throat, reverberating through the chamber as her eyes narrow.
“Wrong,” she says, her voice soft but sharp as a blade.
Sphinx lunges, and I stumble back a step, my heart hammering in my chest like the frantic wings of a bird. But she doesn’t attack me as I was expecting, only returns to the darkness she appeared from.
Three attempts, that’s what Master Cyril said. So, I am safe for now.
I inch toward the pedestal, placing it at my back as the sensation of being stalked has a bead of sweat trailing down my spine.
From the shadows, Sphinx laughs again.
Glass shattering.
Bells ringing.
Sensing the weight of time slipping away, I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder. The lower bulb of the hourglass is half full now, each droplet of water passing through the funnel at a faster pace.
I wipe my clammy hands on my gown, forcing myself to focus. The riddle loops in my mind, taunting me with its simplicity, yet the answer remains just out of reach. Neither seen nor felt…its touch is naught…a chill in your heart…
My heart skips a beat as I think over the words, and I pause, frowning as I take in the faint tremor in my fingers and the dread that seeps into my skin.
Could it be…?
“Fear,” I blurt out.
Sphinx’s golden eyes flash as she appears before me, and this time, her smile vanishes. I dart to the side, stepping around the pedestal and placing it between us. As I watch her, the glow from the water clock highlights the way her lips curl back, revealing rows of sharp teeth.
“Wrong again,” she hisses, and begins a slow, torturous circle, her muscles bunching as though she’s preparing to pounce.
I take a shuddering breath, forcing myself to think. Trailing in the wake…a cloak of gloom…hides truths and triumphs in silence…
The clepsydra catches my eye again, and my stomach drops—the water is almost gone.
If I’m mistaken again…I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block Sphinx out as we continue our deadly dance—but it’s no use. I run a hand through my hair, opening my eyes again to stare into the suffocating darkness surrounding me—
My hand freezes in motion, breath hitching in my throat.
“Darkness.” The word passes my lips in a whisper just as the last drop falls. I watch as delicate ripples cascade across the surface. I look up, meeting Sphinx’s gaze, and repeat my final answer with conviction, “Darkness.”
The silence drags out as I await her judgment, and I run through the riddle over and over in my mind, until Sphinx finally responds.
“Correct,” she says in that uncanny voice, a more genuine smile spreading across her face.
My breath comes out in a rush, draining most of the tension from my body. As it does, the sense of malice bleeds from the air as well.
I did it. I can leave.
But I can’t move.
I’m rooted to the spot, caught in this magnificent creature’s golden gaze. I know I should leave, but curiosity has always been one of my biggest flaws, and—without the pressure of time and imminent death—Sphinx has that very curiosity raging within me.
“Would it be rude of me to ask you something?”
“It would depend on the manner in which you ask.”
I don’t speak, even though the question burns behind my lips.
Instead, I watch her for a moment longer, taking in her lethal claws and lean, muscular body.
She is a power unto herself, a weapon in her own regard.
Could she be the one we’re searching for?
Or perhaps she holds the key to where it lies?
After a long moment of mutual observation, Sphinx breaks the silence. “Ask your question.”