7
Pagnus Ender turns and slices the challenger next to him clean in half.
A man with a graying beard, without armor. He had no chance. His torso
hits the grass.
I run.
The wealthiest have armor. I don’t. I’m faster. I use that advantage by running until Kira isn’t by my side anymore.
I hope I don’t have to kill you.
An arrow slices through the air just inches from my ear. I watch it get buried in the grass in front of me. Fuck. That was fast.
There’s nowhere to hide.
A bow twangs as it’s released, and I duck low, barely escaping an arrow that would have been buried in my skull.
The ground starts to slope—but the arrows don’t stop. The archer must have crested too. Down below, there are walls, though. Some sort of towering structure. Somewhere to use for cover. Just a little farther— An arrow hits my spine, knocking the breath out of me. I fall from the force, tumbling down the hill, the cut on my cheek ripping open against an errant root, hot blood streaming, before I finally go still, face down.
I gasp for air, dirt filling my lungs. I wait for the wave of pain. Wait to feel the crushing sadness that I’m going to die in the king’s fucking garden.
That, after everything, after Stellan dying, I didn’t even make it to the gates.
But there’s nothing. It doesn’t make any sense.
I felt it.
I reach back, expecting blood, only to find the arrow buried in the blade on my spine. I remember Valen’s arrows now. Iron-tipped. A lesser metal.
My titanium sword stopped it.
I close my eyes, grateful for Stellan and the swords he gave me, made from scraps of metal collected over time, far nicer than I would ever be able
to afford.
He saved me.
Relief and desperation have me up and running faster than I ever have in my life. I reach around and wrench the arrow from my blade, then break it in half before discarding it, so it can’t be used against me a second time.
Kira is ahead of me now, her red hair already slipping out of its braids. I
wonder if she saw me go down.
And if Valen is readying her bow again.
The structure isn’t far. I can reach it. My lungs burn. My legs are already sore. Still, I keep pushing. As I get closer, I realize that it isn’t a structure at all. It’s nature. Part of the garden.
Ten arched entrances stand tall, framed in twisting vines. Ten paths. I race into the last one, grateful to see it empty. No one follows. They’ve all picked different roads.
I collapse over my knees, my breaths wild, my heart beating too quickly.
I’m alive. For now.
My gaze slides up. Walls five times my height box me in. I take a step toward one. A hedge? No. It isn’t made of shrubs or trees.
I brush my finger against the wall with the slightest touch—then tense. A thin line of blood spills down my hand.
Thorns. The walls are completely made of thorns.
They might as well be walls of daggers for how sharp they are. Distant yells echo around me. Can’t stop now. I start to run, careful not to brush against the barbs.
When I reach the end of the path, I expect something new. Gates, if I’m lucky.
Instead, it’s another trail, with more openings. A dozen of them. I swallow, realizing that this isn’t just a pathway.
This is a labyrinth.
A maze of thorns.
Panic spikes through me. I don’t just have to find my way out—I have to do it quickly, before the rest.
I think of the king sitting up on his balcony, with a clear view of the maze, and us, and the exit.
The bastard.
Screaming pierces the air, and I run in the opposite direction, picking a corridor. I bolt, arms tucked in.
This one is shorter. I turn a corner only to see another challenger, a blond woman with long cuts down her side, as if she’s been scraped against the maze walls. We both look at each other and run in opposite directions.
Another scream—then silence.
I’m in the middle of a path so long, I can’t even see the other end. The maze doesn’t have a pattern. Or if it does, I haven’t figured it out yet.
Hissing pulls me out of my thoughts. I unsheathe my blade and turn.
A snake weaves through the wall of thorns, protected by silver skin like armor.
Silver. Did it get trapped on this side of the gates? Did the king steal it from its home, to add to his vast collection?
The serpent stops. Its head turns, and we look at each other for a moment.
I don’t make a single movement, but it lingers, as if it could possibly sense the silver beneath my clothes.
Then the world turns as I’m shoved to the side. My head hits the compact ground. My ears ring. A challenger runs by, not bothering to kill me on his way. His calf is shredded, a chunk of skin hanging off his leg, revealing muscle and bone.
What? From the ground, I turn to look behind me.
And I see the end of the path … is gone. The thorns along the walls … they’re lengthening, quickly, becoming meter-long barbs, both sides meeting in sharp clashes. It’s happening in a ripple. The thorns around me begin to tremble, like a mouth readying to close.
Run.
I do, and the faster I move, the faster the hedges close in behind me, as if they’re carnivorous, like the thorns are teeth and the maze is starving.
A light. There’s a light at the very end.
I just need to make it.
As if sensing my hope, my own desperation to make it through, the walls shake, thorns shooting out until they’re daggers, then long as swords, all rushing toward me. I can hear the rustling on both sides, the hissing of snakes within, the screams of those being eaten by the labyrinth.
I’ve survived so much already. This maze will not kill me. A grunt scrapes against the back of my throat as I push my legs harder, painfully, as
I ignore the thorns just inches away.
But they’re so close. I turn sideways, buying myself seconds, their sharp points scraping against the scabbard on my back with a high-pitch screech, and then I launch myself through the closing gap, hoping I don’t hit another wall.
My body lands hard on the compact ground, the air stolen from my lungs.
I gasp, turning around—only to find a wall of thorns.
The path I was on is gone.
I turn again and see more entrances. More pathways.
And something else. A towering figure, stalking toward a short woman with dark hair, tied back. Her name is Helra.
She’s my age, barely twenty. Instead of a sword, she has throwing knives, a pack of gold ones she’s trained with for years. I overheard her telling another challenger about them during dinner. They were her grandmother’s.
She survived the last Questral. Helra’s completely oblivious to the giant right behind her. My lips part, but it’s too late to warn her.
I watch in horror as Pagnus picks her up—and throws her against one of the walls, the thorns already lengthened into barbs.
Her body gets stuck in them. She dies instantly. My hand muffles a scream.
Pagnus picks her pockets. I watch him slide those gold throwing knives out of her pants and into his own before moving on. Anger churns as I remember Stellan’s missing dagger. Was Pagnus the one who stole it?
Someone here did. Someone here killed Stellan.
All of a sudden, Pagnus turns in my direction, and I throw myself through another entrance, hoping he didn’t see me.
I wait one second. Two. I’m not breathing.
Heavy steps sound just feet away.
I swallow. Reach back for my sword.
Just when my fingers curl around the hilt, a yell echoes from the other direction. Cadoc. I don’t move a muscle. Neither does Pagnus.
See you in the Culling. That was his promise. He’s walked with noticeable strain since I stabbed my dagger through his shin.
He takes another step forward. I inch my sword out of its scabbard.
Then Pagnus turns around. I hear him getting further away, until his footsteps all but disappear. I don’t release my breath until a few moments after that.
I look around the corner. He’s gone. The corridor is empty.
Cadoc’s and Pagnus’s houses are now working together. Great.
Still … if they haven’t found their way out of the maze yet, maybe most of the challengers haven’t either.
Or maybe they have. Maybe some have already reached the gates. Maybe
I’ve already lost— Think, Aris.
I try. I walk along the path, considering each entrance, head pounding. So many roads. I barely survived the last one I picked.
The king said the Culling was a test of resourcefulness and ruthlessness. I look around, but I don’t see a solution. All the paths look exactly the same.
I turn in circles, until panic finally roots me in place.
Move.
But I don’t know where to go.
Indecision will get you killed. I can almost hear Stellan’s voice in my head. At night, we would walk down to the ancient graveyard and duel beneath the stars. Instinct is your heart telling you the truth. Listen.
He said it whenever I hesitated. Whenever my mind got in the way.
There isn’t time. Heavy armored steps are approaching. I hear labored breaths just walls away. Far in front, there’s a loud cheer. Someone must have made it out.
If your eyes fail you, then close them and listen, Stellan once told me.
I do now.
I listen, beyond the screaming. Beyond the footsteps. Beyond the rustling of the ever-changing maze.
I listen, until I hear it. Metal against metal.
A familiar sound in a forge. That’s how I know, without a single doubt,
that a large weapon just hit something.
And that thing shattered.
It happened immediately. No multiple strikes needed. A far superior
sword just bested lesser metal.
I keep listening.
More metal splits apart.
Again.
Again.
Only one blade could break four swords so quickly.
Harlan Raker is near.
Instead of terror, hope rises to the surface. If anyone is making it out of this maze, it’s him.
I take off before I can think better of it. I race right toward the sound, listening. And soon enough, I see his hood going around a bend.
I follow, careful to stay far enough away, running then stopping, making sure I catch him before each corner he turns.
A fool jumps from behind one, in a desperate attempt at his weapon.
Raker doesn’t even look the man’s way as he cuts him down. More shattering.
An arrow flies right at his face. His blade stops it. A few steps later, the archer is gutted on the ground. I step over his entrails and keep going.
Raker doesn’t even walk around with his blade in his hand. No, it stays in the scabbard behind him until he needs it, and then it goes right back in.
His movements are fast. Precise. No one stands a chance. He’s carving a path for me, even if he doesn’t know it.
I scurry after him, careful not to touch the walls, the thorns lengthening as I approach. One of the passageways is so long, I lose sight of him. Fuck.
I sprint down it, then turn, hoping I haven’t missed his next move—
Only to run right into a wall of metal.
I fall on my ass, head spinning.
He knew I was following him. Of course. There he was, waiting.
I look up. Only darkness, with a glimmer of silver beneath, meets my gaze. He’s about to reach for his sword. He’s about to bury it through my chest.
The next time I see you, I won’t hesitate … Instead of begging for my life, I glare at him with every ounce of buried fury. I can’t see his eyes, but I hope he can see the pure hatred in mine.
I assume that will make it even more satisfying for him to cut me down.
But all he does is step over me, like I’m no more than garbage. Not worth
killing. Not competition.
The bastard.
I should feel lucky he let me live, but I just hate him more.
Still—just because he thinks I’m useless doesn’t mean he isn’t of use to me.
He knows I’m following him. No use in hiding it now, especially when he clearly doesn’t think I’m worthy of his blade. Now I follow close behind.
I take each turn. I run past thorns that grow in waves, narrowly escaping
their edges.
Until the maze ends.
Sunlight beats down from directly overhead, unblocked by the enormous walls—I was in there for hours. I squint against the sharp rays, taking in a stretch of grass leading into a forest.
A living one, with hundreds of leaves per tree. With … color.
I look around quickly, searching for Zane and Kira.
Only to lock eyes with Pagnus Ender.
Fuck.
His crooked mouth turns up in a smile just before he charges forward.
I run. I’m fucking tired of running, but I bolt. Already out of breath, already sore, I run for my life into the forest. It’s not just any forest, I realize, when I almost trip over a stone.
It’s a graveyard.
There are more challengers far ahead. But instead of racing toward the finish, they’re just … standing there, heads lifted skyward. Kira is among them. I feel a rush of relief seeing her whole. She made it.
Why isn’t she running?
Only when I’m closer do I see what they’re staring at. Hundreds of swords are tangled in the trees.
Stellan said great swords are buried with their wielders. I imagine some of the blades were ready to bond again. They cut up through the ground … and got trapped in the branches.
I look over my shoulder, hoping Pagnus has been distracted, only to see him barge right through a branch, wood chips flying.
Shit. I turn around again, just as Valen confidently reaches up toward the weapons, arm flexed taut. A blade soars down right into her hand.
It’s been claimed. They’ve been matched.
Magnificent. The silver sword she’s claimed, with an emerald in its hilt, is nothing short of brilliant. Every challenger is now reaching toward the swords, furiously trying to claim one. One of the blades, etched in intricate designs, wriggles back and forth before wrenching itself free. It soars down into an awaiting hand.
Kira’s. She grips it and beams. It’s old metal … rusted and chipped, but it’s silver. Better silver than the king’s, even. It has a glimmering purple stone in its hilt and flower designs up its blade.
She turns when she sees Pagnus crashing through the trees. We lock eyes, and hers widen.
I nod at her. Good luck, I hope it conveys as I keep running.
More branches snap like twigs. They do nothing to slow Pagnus. I hope a sword will fall and go through his skull, but I’m not so lucky.
Especially not when I see who’s waiting up ahead.
Cadoc and his friends. They’re standing below another cluster of swords, throwing rocks at them. Reaching for them clearly didn’t work.
He sees me, and Pagnus not far behind, and raises a hand.
Pagnus stops, like a trained dog.
I don’t. I keep going, until something hits my temple. The world spins before I hit the ground.
A rock. One of his friends just hit me with a fucking rock.
Cadoc slowly walks toward me. I wonder why Pagnus is listening to him at all when he could tear Cadoc in half with his bare hands.
“Look at you,” Cadoc says, smug as hell. “So close to the gates. You could join us, you know.” He smirks. “I have needs that require attending to.”
I get his meaning immediately and unsheathe my sword, standing.
That only seems to amuse him. “Is that a no?”
I spit at his feet. “It’s a never.”
His amusement falls away completely. “Very well.” He waves a hand, and I watch as one of his friends, a thin man in his early twenties with pale
skin, pulls an arrow out of his quiver.
I can’t duel against an arrow.
I take off. There’s a whistling as the arrow flies right over my head. I can feel its wind rustling my hair. Close. Too close.
I duck behind a tree and hear the bark break as another arrow pierces nearly all the way through.
There are just seconds between reloading, and I use them to run to the next tree. This time, the arrow nearly catches my arm. The next trunk is too far. I throw myself behind a massive tombstone instead, pressing my spine against the coarse rock. Its writing has been eroded by time.
Panting, one hand clutching dirt and the other my blade, I wonder if I can just stay here. If I can use this tombstone as a shield. If they’ll forget about me …
I don’t matter. I’m not important. Is Cadoc’s ego truly that big, that he
has to kill me for turning him down?
Apparently, yes.
“Hiding, are you?”
He’s not far. I hear a tombstone shattering, like he’s just swung at it with his new silver sword.
Then another. And another. He’s getting closer.
Pieces of rock fly around me, coating me in dust.
He’s right behind me.
I take off again, darting toward the next stretch of trees. A twig snaps just behind me, and I whirl around.
Only to find myself face-to-face with Cadoc.
I gasp as his sword settles against my throat. In a flash, he turns me against him. His arms band around my body.
I want to retch. I want to run.
I go very still. I’m not breathing.
“Now. Was it worth—”
I throw my head back as hard as possible and hear a crunch. Before his blade can slit my throat, I slip away, grateful for his clear lack of practice.
Reflexes aren’t learned easily. They’re developed with training. Not by hiding behind guards.
If I thought a broken nose would delay him, I was wrong. I turn my head, and he’s right behind me. Chasing. Teeth bared.
The look costs me.
I stumble over a rock, my knees hit the ground, and by the time I stand, I’m surrounded. Every direction I try is blocked by one of his relatives or one of the towering Enders. There’s no way out.
And he’s already raising his weapon.
I swallow. There’s nothing to do but lift my own lesser metal. My hands shake around the hilt. Stellan made this. I should be proud of it. Stellan made me the warrior I am, who won duels against men double my size in the desert tournaments, winning a prize that fed us for a month.
I might be better than Cadoc at wielding a sword. But it doesn’t matter.
The king was right. Silver is silver.
“You should have taken the king up on his offer,” Cadoc says through his teeth, coated in blood pouring from his nose. He wastes no time now. His
sword arcs through the air. I lift my own to block it. His silver hits my
titanium—
And it shatters.
The last piece of Stellan I have. Gone.
I’m knocked onto my back with the force, head just missing an ancient gravestone that has crumbled into ruins.
He takes a step toward me. A smile crawls across his face as he spits out blood. Sword lifted high, he pauses. He reaches his other hand into his pocket.
And pulls out a dagger. Stellan’s dagger.
No.
His smile widens. “Thank you for showing this to me,” he says, taking another step, twirling the Starside steel in his hand. His smooth, noble fingers touch the etchings I painstakingly made over years. The flames. The flames that cost me everything. The carvings I touched every morning when I woke up before Stellan to train, to remind myself of my fury. The reason I’m so eager to run full speed toward an almost-guaranteed death. I guess I’ve found it now. “I’m going to use it to carve my name into your corpse.”
Carved names.
My fists curl with anger. He gets even closer.
No one is going to help me. I’m surrounded. I don’t have a weapon. The hilt of my broken blade falls to the ground, useless.
But behind Cadoc’s head, something glimmers. One of the ancient swords stuck in the trees. Of course.
I reach up desperately to see if any of those blades might claim me. I reach out with every shred of fury, and pain, and desperation.
Nothing happens.
Cadoc laughs, the sound pealing through the forest. “Did you really think that would work?” His friends laugh with him. “Did you really think you were worthy of any of those swords, when we weren’t?”
Another step. He’s so close. I extend my arm, over and over, the same way the other challengers did.
Please, I beg the world. I know this will kill me, but not today. Not like
this.
Nothing.
I think of my sister, her eyes widening as she realized no one was coming to save us. Nothing was going to stop the flames.
As she realized she was dying.
Anything. I would give anything to see her again. But, since that isn’t possible, I will do anything to make sure the god who killed her will feel the same pain she did.
“Come on,” I scream to the heavens, my voice trembling not with fear— but with fury. Cadoc is right above me now. He slides the dagger Stellan once promised me back into his pocket. The one he died for. Cadoc killed him. My anger is an inferno, heating me from the inside out.
But it’s all for nothing. It’s over.
Cadoc reaches his sword above his head. He roars as he leaps forward, his blade aimed right at my neck.
And I surprise myself by not looking away. Not flinching. If this is my death, I will look it right in the face.
No. I don’t want to die. Not yet.
The piece of me that accepted my end now burns to ashes. Fuck that.
Fuck this. I didn’t come this far to be stopped by a man who has never wanted for anything, who killed Stellan, who will continue to bring back magic to enrich his greedy house.
From the cinders of that fear and doubt and acceptance, an ember of fight ignites. Not just rage—but resistance. A will to live strong enough to smother death.
I reach up, palm open, in one last attempt to claim a sword, as silver fills my vision. It’s the last thing I do.
A blade does not fall from the trees. No.
It cuts up through the ground, from the grave below, right into my palm, just in time to block Cadoc’s weapon.
And I watch his silver sword shatter into a thousand jagged pieces, in a storm of starlight.