Chapter 24
Ceri
The mood was somber as we all stood in front of the same gardens we were in yesterday—only today, hedges rose up tall, crisscrossing the massive space and forming what looked like a maze.
Our crowns were back, no longer gleaming with the thick clouds covering the sun. I much preferred yesterday’s challenge to whatever this was.
“If this is the type of maze that eats people, I’m out,” Marsten said, studying his nails, which were painted a bright red to match the red lipstick he wore.
“It probably wouldn’t want to eat you,” Meera said. “Too hairy.”
He looked the cat up and down. “I thought you liked my hair.”
“I like looking at it, not eating it,” she said.
Siobhan grabbed my arm, drawing me closer, her wings fluttering in the breeze. “I need to talk to you.”
Right. Before we’d disappeared from the castle, she’d wanted to tell me something about Cillian. Something I did not want to hear, since apparently it had to do with their date.
“Well, if it isn’t my lovely contestants,” a voice said from the middle of the maze.
There Cillian sat on a throne hanging over the direct center. He looked fine, his dark waves as impeccable and shiny as always, his pale skin without a wrinkle or a mark, his blue eyes bright and searing. A shiver ran down my spine as he met my gaze, and I quickly looked away.
I was especially not in the mood for a trial today.
“Hello!” Morton said, voice jovial.
We all looked up to see the pink bookwyrm perched on top of the hedge wall that loomed over us.
“Are we all ready for trial number three?”
“You mean for one of us to be disappeared again?” Marsten asked with a cocked brow. “Sounds delightful.”
“I think that was sarcasm,” Morton said, “and it is not appreciated. Now, for today’s trial, your goal is to be the first to reach Prince Cillian.
The last person to find him will be eliminated.
” He lifted his tail and gestured toward the middle of the maze, where Cillian raised a hand and waved.
“If you could each take a place before one of these five entrances.”
“What . . .” I trailed off as the hedges shook and rattled, shifting before our eyes.
Meera jumped back with a yowl. “Next time you pull something like that, you’re getting a claw to the face,” she grumbled.
Morton remained stoic as usual. “I am going to pretend you did not just threaten the trials master.”
“I don’t even think that’s an official title,” Lila whispered.
I stepped forward and chose the second opening in the maze, ready to get this over with. My father would come home to an empty dress shop and no doubt be fretting. I just wanted everything to go back to normal.
Everyone else must’ve felt the same because they stopped grumbling and followed suit, choosing their spots.
Siobhan chose the opening next to mine. “I really need to talk to you,” she whispered, voice urgent.
“This isn’t exactly the best time,” I said out the side of my mouth while trying to listen to Morton’s rules.
“It’s urgent,” she said.
“And go!” Morton yelled.
The other contestants disappeared into their openings while Siobhan and I stood there.
“Later,” I whispered as an invisible force sucked me into the maze, the opening behind me closing.
I arched my neck, the hedges so tall I couldn’t see anything over them, the pathway suddenly feeling narrow and looming.
I walked down the path, swallowing as clouds blotted out the sun overhead, and the maze darkened.
Goose bumps pebbled my skin as I got toward the end of the path, which broke out into two choices: left or right.
I chewed my bottom lip, no longer sure about where I was and no longer able to see Cillian.
I had to go toward the middle, but it wasn’t clear which way led to the middle of the maze.
“I can help!”
The hedge parted to reveal a painting of Margaret. She beamed at me.
“What are you doing here?”
“You have one minute to memorize every detail of this painting,” she said. “If you pay enough attention, you’ll find the answer to your question.”
“About why you’re here?”
“No, the other question,” she whispered.
“About which way to go?”
She nodded.
Perfect. I squinted at the painting, which looked like a farmhouse with Margaret standing in front. I had absolutely no idea how a painting of a farmhouse could reveal which way to go. Tall grass surrounded the red house, and the sky was blue overhead, not a cloud in it.
“There’s nothing in this painting.”
“You’re not paying attention,” she said in a singsong voice that irritated me. Why did everyone treat this like a game instead of a life-and-death situation where one of us could possibly disappear?
“Are you grumpy about your fight with Cillian?” Margaret asked.
I searched every part of the farmhouse, trying to see if maybe a small arrow was hidden in the picture somewhere.
“No, I’m not,” I snapped, then paused. “Maybe I am a little. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m worried about my father. He’s going to be anxious that I’m gone, and . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to say anymore and get the usual:
“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“He’s a grown adult, you know.”
“He can take care of himself for a few hours.”
All things I’d heard over the years when I admitted why I didn’t like to stay out for too long.
“I can visit him!” Margaret said.
My gaze snapped to her, mouth hanging open for a moment. “You would do that?”
She waved a hand in the air. “Oh, I had such a good time yesterday, and Prince Cillian said I could visit as much as I wanted. He said your father loves visitors.”
My heart softened at that. I didn’t even know how Cillian knew my father loved visitors. My father loved when he visited, but I’d never even thought about bringing others to see him.
I sniffed back the tears welling in my eyes. “Will you tell him I’m okay and I’ll be home later?”
“Of course! I’ll stay with him until you get back.”
“You don’t have to do that,.”
“It’s no trouble at all. It’s nice having someone to sit and talk with. Everyone’s always walking by my painting, barely noticing me. I get a quick ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’ and most people don’t even stop to hear my answer. Everyone’s always got some place to be.”
I swallowed, feeling guilty that I was often one of those people, never taking time to stop and really listen to her.
“Margaret, you have no idea how much this means to—”
“Time’s up,” she said as the painting began to fold back into the hedges.
I reached out. “Wait! I haven’t had time to study anything!”
“Pay attention to every detail,” she said as the hedge completely swallowed her painting and she was gone.
“What? Wait! Margaret, that wasn’t a clue! There was nothing in the painting but a farmhouse.”
But it was too late. The painting was gone, and I was still left with no idea which way to go.
The clue had been in her painting somewhere. I started pacing, already feeling like I must be behind everyone else. I hadn’t even left the first part of the maze yet. I forced myself to stop, closing my eyes and picturing the painting in as much detail as I could.
Margaret had been standing there, wearing her typical beige dress that hung just over her bare feet. The sky was blue, that red farmhouse behind her, but it barely had any detail other than the red wooden planks and the thatched roof. I missed something. I must have.
I squeezed my eyes harder, going over every inch of that painting in my mind. I might not have been great at word games like my sister, but I’d always been good with puzzles, with details.
At least I didn’t have to worry about my father. Margaret had been so unbelievably kind to offer to stay with him while I was gone. I replayed our conversation, the way her head kept tipping up like she was admiring the blue sky.
I stilled, my eyes shooting open. Wait a minute. While we were talking, Margaret had been looking up at something. There was nothing in the sky. I was sure of it . . . but the rooftop of the farmhouse there had been . . . a metal rooster, sticking straight up, its beak pointed . . . right.
That was the clue. So simple yet I’d almost missed it. With confidence, I turned to the right, making my way through the maze.
In the distance, a scream echoed, and I stiffened, recognizing poor Lila’s voice as she said, “Hello? Anyone? It’s really dark in here.”
Oh no. Maybe she’d gotten trapped in a tunnel of some sort.
I continued on the pathway, winding and turning this way and that until I rounded a corner that continued straight toward a split in the ground.
I slowed to a stop, examining the dark pit, not sure how I was going to get to the other side.
I crouched, studying the gap. I could try to jump, but chances were I wouldn’t make it and would end up falling to my death.
So much for not being at risk of getting hurt in this competition.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, not sure what I was supposed to do.
“Well, look who it is.”
I looked up to see Siobhan on the other side, staring at me, her long lavender hair hanging over her fitted trousers and golden blouse with long sleeves.
“You just came from that way?” I pointed behind her. If she’d come from that way, and I’d come from this way, then one of us had made a wrong turn somewhere.
“I still need to talk to you,” she said.
I planted my hands on my hips. “And you think now is the time? Siobhan, whatever you have to say, it can wait until we’re out of this maze.”
“I’m not sure that it can,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Something is going on with Cillian. I was in his bed chamber last night with him—”
“Stop,” I gritted out, feeling sick at the thought.
“Oh, bloody godwitches,” Siobhan said, nostrils flaring. “I don’t give a damn that you have feelings for Cillian. This isn’t about that. It’s about what happened between us last night, and I think you might be the only one who can help him.”
“I don’t feel anything for Cillian,” I said defensively, so confused by this entire conversation.