Before Slaide could comprehend what had happened, a heavy hand clasped his shoulder.
“Well, I suppose congrats are in order,” Magnus jeered. He was joined by Courtland Rhodes, First Commander of the Raven Blade. Slaide straightened slightly. He didn’t care much for anyone who kissed the King’s ass in the name of status, but Rhodes had at least earned his position.
“Congrats?” Slaide asked.
“Your little witch managed to survive the first trial. The crown earned a pretty penny off that, I must say. Many, many people expected her to die. Myself included.” He said it with a smile on his face, as though they weren’t discussing someone’s life.
“Yeah, that’s great,” Slaide said, voice purposely lacking excitement. He looked to Rhodes. The man didn’t just make appearances. Something was amiss.
“Ah, right,” Magnus said, as though suddenly remembering. “Rhodes received some disturbing reports from the competitors. Apparently, instead of simply fighting the labyrinth’s tricks, several of them were attacked by monsters.”
Slaide didn’t let his face betray his surprise. What had he sent Hazel into? What did she have to face?
“And these monstersweren’tpart of your plan?” Slaide pressed, skeptical.
“Master Elias,” Rhodes interjected, “the men who survived have described things that are almost unbelievable. If it weren’t for the issues with the wards?—”
Slaide interrupted him. “You think they were beasts from beyond the Border.” Not a question.
Courtland Rhodes shot a cautionary glance to Magnus, then nodded.
“Slaide, your skills are needed in the labyrinth. Besides retrieving bodies, I need you to see if you can figure out how they got in. We can discuss this further when there aren’t so many listening ears around,” Magnus grumbled.
Fantastic.So seeing Hazel would have to wait then.
“Well,” he said, “this could take all night, and I’d rather it didn’t. We’d better be going.”
Rhodes nodded his agreement, and the two of them approached the massive living hedge, which opened briefly just before swallowing them whole.
NOT DEAD YET
Hazel slept the entire following day, and Slaide, despite his earlier agreement with Nemsen, wasn’t given leave to visit.
The other healers, Nemsen had explained, weren’t privy to their discussion, and Nemsen wasn’t comfortable exposing himself in such a way that might cost him everything.
Fine. Slaide supposed he could respect that. Even if he did smash a potted plant on the steps leading out to the gardens to vent his frustration. It was that or Nemsen’s head.
He took his meals in private, half expecting her to walk in the doors at any moment. At this point, he would just be grateful for her to regain consciousness before the next trial.
They had less than twenty-four hours. Magnus had confirmed in private that he was in fact bringing out the Mirror of Truth, and Slaide desperately needed to form a game plan with Hazel. He needed to know how the Hel she’d kept her wits during her first encounter and what it had revealed, though he wouldn’t bet his life on her sharing the latter.
Would it show her the same truths and lie? Would it concoct entirely new ones? Would she succumb to madness this time?
And yet, the most important question of all remained to be answered: would she even be awake by tomorrow evening?
Slaide took dinner by himself in the small dining room, the same room he’d teased Hazel about her manners until she left the room crying. He could almost see her sitting across from him, reaching for a slice of potato bacon pie before he’d scolded her. He’d been too harsh. He knew it then, and he knew it now. But she was too soft. She needed to learn that no one would coddle her there. Didn’t she?
Appetite lost and questioning everything, Slaide pushed away from the table and stalked to the window, fighting the urge to put his fist through something again.
As he overlooked the gardens, he was haunted by the things he’d uncovered in that gods-forsaken hedge. The body parts strewn about, the blood splattered leaves, the corpses sucked completely dry with only husks remaining… but no monsters.
The signs were there. The competitors surely didn’t do those things to each other, and the living labyrinth didn’t act alone. And yet, despite the carnage, there was no sign of their coming or going.
Except the black salt, but Slaide had kept that bit to himself.
Half the competition had been wiped out one way or another. Some died, some forfeited. And somehow Hazel had made it through. He wasn’t sure she deserved this anymore.
“Why here, Hazel? Why now? Why couldn’t you just have?—”
