Trial of Fury and Pride (Into The Labyrinth #3)

Chapter 1

Alette

The hedge looms high above me, twisting walls closing in on all sides, shadows stretching across the stone path like they’re reaching for me too. The air is thick, damp, heavy in my lungs, but I can barely feel it past the frantic pounding of my heart.

They’re gone. The thought slams into me again, louder this time, sharper. They’re gone, and I didn’t stop it.

My breathing turns shallow, uneven, my hands trembling at my sides as I spin, searching for something, anything, but there’s nothing. No sign of them. No sound of fighting. No trace of where they were taken.

Just silence.

I don’t know what to do. The realization creeps in, cold and suffocating. I don’t know how to do this without them.

Sylvian should be here, composed and calm, reminding me to breathe.

Ashton should be talking, filling the silence with something ridiculous just to keep me from thinking too hard.

Oberon should be pacing, angry enough to burn the whole maze down if it looked at me wrong.

Cassius should be watching everything, already five steps ahead, already figuring out how to fix this.

Instead, there’s nothing. Just me. And the terrible, creeping realization that I don’t know how to do this without them.

Something sharp and unfamiliar digs deep inside me. I shove it down, refuse to name it, refuse to let myself think too long about what it means that the thought of losing them feels like this.

I don’t have time for that. I don’t have time to fall apart.

And then, as I round another corner of the castle, I see them. The cyclopes emerge from a small entrance in the stone structure dragging my men behind them.

My men. The words carry more weight than they should, lodging somewhere deep inside me.

Oberon’s face is filled with anger, his jaw working even though he doesn’t say a word.

Ashton’s usual smirk is gone, replaced by a grim expression.

Sylvian’s usually bright green eyes are filled with a fierce determination that doesn’t quite mask the fear lurking beneath.

Even Cassius, whose intellect always seems to provide a solution, looks pale and defeated, his movements sluggish as they’re yanked along like prey.

Something inside me cracks. I’ve never seen them like this. Never seen them… vulnerable. It does something to me. Something dangerous.

They’re bound, ropes cutting into their wrists, the coarse fibers digging into their skin. I can almost hear their silent cries for help, muffled by the weight of my own helplessness.

My stomach twists violently. They’re going to die. The thought strikes me so hard I nearly choke on it. They’re going to die, and I can’t stop it.

A cyclops starts to turn in my direction, and I duck beneath the nearest row of bushes, pressing myself into the dirt, the cool earth grounding me even as my heart races.

I try to quiet the thundering in my chest, but it only seems to grow louder.

They keep moving, their heavy footsteps echoing as they lumber past.

My nails dig into the soil, the gritty texture biting into my skin as I fight the urge to run out and scream at them to stop. To do something. Anything.

I can’t just watch this happen. I can’t lose them. The thought crashes into me, sharp and undeniable. Not now. Not when I’m only just starting to understand what they mean to me… what I mean to them.

The urge to jump up and fight surges through me, wild and reckless, but the cold weight of reality crushes it down just as quickly. I’d only get myself captured, or worse, and then they’d have no one left.

No one to get them out. No one to save them.

My breath catches, sharp and painful. Because that’s what I’m doing now. Saving them. I don’t know how. I don’t know if I can. But I know one thing with terrifying certainty… I will try, even if it means I die trying.

Once their footsteps grow fainter, I crawl out from my hiding place, my gut clenching. The cyclopes lead them toward a cave poorly hidden near a giant row of hedges, its entrance glowing with the guttering light of torches, the flames writhing like malevolent spirits.

The cyclopes don’t seem to care about the negative energy radiating from the cave. They drag my men into the torch-lined darkness, disappearing into the depths of the mysterious place.

When they’re out of sight, I follow. Running toward the cave. Toward danger. Toward them. Unsure what I can possibly do against the cyclops, with only me and my sword there to stand between danger and my men.

Or maybe their magic will start working again away from the stone structure. At least when I get close to them. But I can’t bet on that.

A humorless breath escapes me. Gods. We’re screwed.

I hesitate at the cave’s mouth, my heart pounding as I weigh the consequences of my next move. But the memory of my men, dragged and helpless, pulls me forward.

The cavern opens into a massive chamber lined with dancing torchlight, long shadows stretching like grasping fingers across the rough stone walls.

The shadows seem to whisper secrets, and I keep to the edges, my heart pounding in a frantic rhythm as I watch the cyclopes lead the kings deeper into the dark tunnels.

The air grows colder as we descend, the smell of damp stone mingling with something metallic… blood, I think.

The cave tunnels lead us deeper and deeper still. The torches stretching on forever. A chill rises up from the earth, sending goosebumps racing along my arms. My breath comes in and out faster and faster. It’s like the worm’s tunnels, but maybe even deeper.

I trail them for what feels like forever.

Until the tunnel starts to open up wider, the torches not even attempting to chase away the shadows.

We turn a corner, and the tunnel ends, opening into a massive tavern with more torches scattered throughout it, but one clear path leading straight through the middle of the space.

At the center of the room sits a massive cyclops on a throne carved from rock, his single eye gleaming like a burning coal, merciless and full of malicious intent.

Around him are not only the cyclops who took my men, but dozens more, staring at the man who must be their king.

Thrown in a pile near him, something flashes, and I realize it’s the light reflecting off one of the king’s swords.

All our stuff has been thrown into a pile there like trash.

The floor before the cyclops king is carved from dark stone, etched with strange, jagged symbols that pulse faintly with a dull red glow. The markings form a massive circle, the light shifting beneath the surface like something alive… something waiting.

Iron chains are bolted into the stone along the outer edge of the circle, and another group of chains further in the circle, coiled and ready. At the center of it all is a shallow depression, carved directly into the rock. A basin of some kind, smooth and worn, like it’s been used before.

My pulse spikes.

The cyclopes drag my men forward and shove them toward the circle, forcing them apart, spacing them evenly along its edge. One by one, they’re driven down to their knees, rough hands pressing them into position.

The ropes come off, but it’s not freedom. It’s preparation. The heavy iron shackles are brought forward immediately, thick and dark, glinting in the torchlight as the cyclopes reach for their wrists, their ankles… and that’s when everything shifts.

They resist.

Of course they do.

Oberon jerks violently against the first cyclops that reaches for him, fire flaring at his fingertips despite whatever force dampens it.

Ashton twists sharply, knocking one creature off balance with a sudden burst of wind.

It’s not the level of power I’ve seen from him before, but it’s something.

Sylvian drives his shoulder forward, forcing space between himself and the one trying to pin him down.

Cassius moves with precision, calculating, striking where it matters to delay them even for a second.

They don’t go quietly.

They never would.

Oberon snarls like a caged beast, his voice deep and vicious, the sound echoing through the cavern like a threat. “Touch me again,” he growls, low and deadly, “and I’ll rip your arm off and beat you with it.”

One of the cyclopes laughs. Actually laughs. Then punches him hard enough to snap his head to the side.

Oberon spits blood… and grins. “I’m going to make sure you live to regret that,” then he jumps on the cyclops and starts pummeling the beast with his fists.

Two more cyclopes pile onto Oberon, forcing him down while he continues to struggle, chains slamming into place as he fights them the entire way, muscles straining, teeth bared. Even pinned, he doesn’t stop trying to rise.

Sylvian doesn’t go quietly either. Two cyclopes try to force him to his knees, and for a second, just a second, he holds them off. His arms strain, veins standing out as he shoves one back hard enough to make it stumble.

A third cyclops slams into him from the side. Then a fourth. They drive him down together, overwhelming him by sheer force, forcing his arms wide as the chains snap into place. He pulls against them immediately, jaw clenched, trying to tear free, but the chains don’t even creak.

Ashton is laughing as cyclops close in around him. “Really?” he says, breathless, even as a cyclops wrenches his arm behind his back. “Four of you for one of me? I’m flattered.”

He twists suddenly, fast, catching one of them off guard and driving his elbow into its throat. The cyclops stumbles back a step… and then another one slams a fist into Ashton’s ribs. Hard. The sound of it makes my stomach twist.

Ashton grunts, breath leaving him, but he still manages a crooked grin. “That all you’ve got?”

They chain him anyway. Even while he continues to struggle. Even while he shouts every insult under the sun.