And then it slammed shut, sealing her out of sight.
Every screamand wail grated on Slaide’s nerves. Most of them sounded masculine, but who could really say, when a person was facing their death? The labyrinth itself was sinister enough without the addition of men who would gladly see Hazel dead. He could only hope that she would trust no one, nothing, and keep her feet moving.
The labyrinth fed on fear and stillness. The moment she stopped moving, she’d become prey.
“What did you think about the announcer’s addition of her charges?” came a voice from behind him.Magnus.
“Completely unnecessary, since you’re asking. Made the target on her back bigger than it already was, so if that’s what you were going for, then congratulations, you succeeded.”
The High King looked taken aback. “Careful, Slaide, or I might think you’re growing too attached,” he warned.
“Attached? Why, Your Majesty, youwoundme. How can I not be concerned with her success? Her survival? Need I remind you, it’s personal for me. I have a lot riding on this.” Slaide folded his arms in an attempt to bolster his appearance of indifference.
“Indeed,” Magnus growled. “Well, in the meantime, your little underdog is making me a pretty amount of coin. It’s a win-win for everyone, really. Not her, of course, but the rest of us. Our coffers will get nice and fat from bets placed on her, you’ll get your freedom if she wins,andI get to execute a powerful witch when all is said and done. I have to say, Slaide, this has been one of your more profitable ideas.”
Slaide stopped listening then. When he’d made the deal, he didn’t know Hazel. Knewofher, sure. But it wasn’t his concern whether she lived or died beyond his need of her. But now…
“Slaide? Did you hear what I said? Listen when your King is speaking, boy. I asked you what your thoughts were on bringing the mirror out of retirement for the second trial.” Magnus snapped his fingers in Slaide’s face, and Slaide fought the urge to snap the man’s wrist.
He feigned a smile. “An excellent addition, my King,” he lied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He made to step around Magnus, but the King stepped in his path.
Their gazes met, and the King’s eyes roamed Slaide’s face as though he could find some unspoken truth written there.
Without breaking eye contact, Magnus grabbed Slaide by the hand—by the fist, really—and placed something in his palm before closing his fingers around it. Not a single word was spoken as he turned and took his leave, his cloak the color of dried blood billowing behind him.
With Magnus gone, Slaide looked down at his hand, unfurling his fingers to reveal what the King had left him, though deep down he already knew.
A vial of black liquid Slaide was all too familiar with.
The Black Draught. Serum Noctis. Fellblood. It was known by many names across the alchemical community, but for Slaide, it represented the bane of his existence. His vice.
He hadn’t asked to be introduced to the life-altering substance. Hadn’t had a say at all. And now, he was a shell of himself without it.
The Magistry hadn’t known about dependency as a side effect of long term use. Or if they had, they hadn’t cared. And now… it was the one thing keeping him tied down to Ravenhold. To Magnus. Because Serum Noctis wasn’t available anywhere else in the world.
And while it wouldn’t outright kill him to go off of it completely, Slaide worried he would slowly lose control of his faculties. That his sharp mind would begin a slow descent into madness.
The High King’s act of placing the small vial in Slaide’s hand wasn’t a gift of goodwill; it was a reminder that Magnus owned him. A reminder of what Slaide stood to lose if he left.
Hours went by with no sign of Hazel. Admittedly, Slaide found himself worrying for her safety and regretting forcing her into this. Witch or no, she was still a person in her own right, one whose company he didn’t entirely despise. But it was just too soon. How could he have thought he could prepare someone with no combat experience, Hel, limitedlifeexperience for the tournament’s trials—in mere days at that?
Idiot. You’ve cost her her life and any shot you might have had at your own freedom.
Cheers arose behind him, tearing him from his wallowing. He sprinted to where they were coming from hoping, however unrealistic it was, that Hazel had been teleported out.
But as Slaide pushed through the crowd, he was almost annoyed at the presence of a greasy, middle aged man, notHazel. The man was trembling, nearly foaming at the mouth as he ranted and raved incoherently about something he’d experienced within.
Something bright flashed over his shoulder, but Slaide ignored it as he tried to listen to what the rambling man was saying. Perhaps with any luck, he might find out what had become of her.
Someone coughed and sputtered behind him, and when he turned to see who was causing the ruckus, Slaide almost collapsed to his knees.
It was Hazel. Tattered, battered, and clinging to consciousness, but alive.
“Gods above, Hazel!” he shouted as he dove for her, cradling her weak form.
She could only groan in response, as if caught between this world and another.
Nemsen and a couple of other healers Slaide didn’t recognize rushed over, shoved him out of the way, and without a word, carted her off.
