Chapter 16 #2
Another tremor shivers through my limbs as his words send a rush of energy through my veins.
The winged men carved into the surface of the door Titaia and I entered through earlier flash to the front of my mind.
My eyes dart toward the back of the stage, where six burly tycheroi—each dressed in the supple leather armor of the Royal Guard—stand beside as many doors with similar carvings.
Trepidation creeps through me at the sight of quivers stuffed with wicked bolts.
“Ladies.” Master Cyril’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “If you would each select a door.”
I join the others as we cross the stage, coming to a halt before a door. My gaze shifts cautiously to the guard standing watch beside it.
“Let the trial begin!”
At Master Cyril’s command, my guard opens the door, revealing a gloomy tunnel beyond. I waver and then plunge into the shadows. The door closes behind me, sealing me in. My heart skips a beat at the sudden darkness and silence, the only light coming from the soft glow of the aura in my hand.
I close my eyes, breathing deep as I cast my mind back to the opening ceremony, recalling Leto’s story.
As they raced through the labyrinth, the Anemoi used an age-old trick, keeping their palms on the left wall to ensure they didn’t get lost.
My eyes take a moment to adjust when I reopen them, but when they do, the tunnel walls slowly come into focus.
The rough, uneven surface is damp, glistening faintly in the dim light, and I can see cracks running along the jagged stone.
I scan the surrounding shadows cautiously, trying to make out any shapes or movements hidden in the darkness, my ears straining for the faintest sound.
But there’s nothing beyond the sound of my breathing and the glow of the aura.
Breathing deep, I place my left hand against the wall and settle into a steady jog.
The twists and turns of the narrow passageway are utterly disorienting, with each corner blending into the next.
The dim lighting and the echo of my own footsteps don’t help, and it doesn’t take long before I find myself standing at a dead end, staring at an unyielding wall and wondering where I went wrong.
“Gods damn it,” I curse under my breath, following the wall. “I never want to see another tunnel after this.”
I exhale sharply, trying to shove the frustration down.
I take a step back and freeze as the ground beneath me shifts, a dull sound echoing in the space.
The change is subtle at first—a faint tremor beneath my fingertips, like the pulse of a restless beast stirring in its slumber.
The fine hairs on my arms rise in warning, and a shiver races down my spine.
The ground vibrates faintly beneath my feet.
My heart skips. A low thrum sounds deep in the stone, but it grows stronger, more insistent. Then comes a low grinding, like the earth itself is groaning. Panic claws at my chest as I spin toward the tunnel.
The wall behind me moves.
“No,” I whisper, the word barely escaping my lips.
The massive slabs of stone scrape loudly, grinding together as the entrance seals itself off.
“No, no, no!” I lunge forward, boots scraping against the rough ground.
My palms smack against the cool, shifting wall, but it’s too late.
With a final, deafening clang, the tunnel closes.
Locking me inside.
My pulse thunders in my ears. I press my shaking hand to the wall, the stone now unyielding and cold beneath my fingers, like it’s mocking me.
The silence that follows is suffocating, broken only by my ragged breathing.
I hold my aura higher, its dim glow barely cutting through the shadows.
The sealed wall looks smooth, seamless—like the entrance never existed at all.
“No,” I whisper, my voice trembling, teetering on the edge of desperation.
Memories claw at the edges of my mind—glimpses of the shadowy cells beneath the Aviary, of punishments no child should ever endure.
I shove them away, forcing myself to take a deep, steadying breath. “There has to be a way out.”
My fingers tremble as I search the surface in front of me, scraping against the stone in a futile attempt to find a crack, a seam, an imperfection.
Anything. My breaths come faster and more erratic, panic digging sharp claws into my ribs.
The poison isn’t helping—it seems to constrict and writhe inside me, twisting my limbs into dead weight.
My mind feels like it’s moving through sludge, slow and useless, while the faint nausea I’ve been holding at bay claws its way up my throat.
I close my eyes, drawing in another sharp breath through my nose—even when it feels like my lungs are fighting me for every fragment of air.
Palm on the left wall.
Although the effort feels futile, I place my hand on the rough, cold wall and begin tracing a slow circle around the space.
As my hand glides along, the stone disappears beneath my palm.
I freeze, blinking at the wall next to me.
Tentatively, I reach out again, and a bitter smirk twists my lips as my hand disappears through the stone.
I take a step back and raise the aura, casting light higher on the tunnel walls. A thrill runs through me as I spot the carved mark in the rock face, but it’s chased away by confusion.
The mark looks like goiteía, but also not any I know. Similar to the ones engraved into Keres’s sealed door and the hallway in the servants’ quarters. I narrow, peering closer at the mark, and my eyes widen.
Not just similar—it’s identical to one of the marks from the hallway: a pointed oval split by a jagged line.
The thought is pushed aside as a dull ache blooms at the base of my skull, spreading slowly as the poison works through me.
My heart thrums heavily against my ribs, its rhythm echoing in my ears.
One hour. Maybe less. I calculate again, counting the moments since the wine passed my lips.
The nightshade may not kill me outright, but it’s potent enough to twist the rules of survival, carving away my margin for error.
Failure isn’t an option—every second wasted will cost me more than just this trial.
I force my breathing to steady and press my fingers tighter against the small glow of my aura.
“Come on, Aella. Move forward. Keep moving forward.”
Steeling myself, I take a breath and walk through the false stone.