“You’ll be slaughtered,” Commander Kaelix interrupts.
“Not if I trust you all to guide me.”
The words come out stronger than I feel. Around us, the mirror attackers press closer, sensing weakness in our pause.
Healing only works when the patient trusts me to help them. Maybe trust is the antidote to every wound the Sun King left behind.
“I can’t see the attacks coming. Can’t dodge or defend myself. I’ll have to trust all of you – both teams – to keep me safe, to guide me tothe crown.” My voice wavers. “Even though you have every reason to let me die.”
“Cyra,” Zevran says quietly, his eyes softening around the edges.
“You could let the maze kill me and call it justice. No one would blame you.”
“This is madness,” Lord Evander says, but his analytical mind is already working through the logic. “Though … if the maze truly responds to emotional states, demonstrating absolute trust could theoretically disrupt it and clear the path.”
“Theoretically,” Isolde echoes, her brows furrowed uncertainly.
I nod, then do something I pray I won’t regret.
I close my eyes.
The world disappears into darkness. Immediately the sounds of combat become overwhelming – steel on glass, shouts of pain and effort, the crackle of energy fields, the whisper of blades cutting through air. My other senses sharpen, but they’re not enough. I’m helpless, blind, completely at the mercy of people who should want me dead.
My sword hangs useless at my side.
“This is insane,” I hear Lord Castor mutter.
“Then guide her,” Zevran’s voice, sharp with command.
A hand settles on my left shoulder – Lord Castor’s, rough with calluses from weapon work. “Forward three steps, then stop.”
I obey, moving slowly into the void. The hand on my shoulder is my only anchor. The sound of combat shifts around me, and I hear someone – Lady Tavia, I think – deflecting an attack that would have taken my head off.
“Left turn,” Lord Evander’s precise voice comes from somewhere ahead. “The pedestal is twenty paces ahead, but there is a concentration of hostiles.”
“We’ll handle them,” Commander Kaelix says, and I hear the crackle of their energy gauntlets.
Lord Castor’s hand lifts from my shoulder, and immediately another takes its place – Lady Nerida’s, surprisingly steady. “The path curves here. Trust your feet.”
Step by step, they guide me through the chaos. The hand on myshoulder never lifts, each time one person’s grip releases, another’s replaces it instantly. An unbroken chain of trust. I feel the wind of blades passing inches from my face, hear the grunt of effort as someone intercepts an attack meant for me. The withdrawal symptoms make me shake, but their hands keep me steady.
“Get down!” Zevran’s voice, and the hand pushes me into a crouch as something whistles overhead.
“Up and forward,” Isolde’s melodic tone. Her hand replaces Lady Nerida’s on my shoulder. “Almost there.”
I can feel the crown’s energy now, pulsing like a heartbeat just ahead of me. The mirror figures are concentrating their attacks, sensing that I’m close to their source. Around me, I hear movement, footsteps repositioning, the hum of energy weapons charging.
“Circle formation,” Zevran commands. “Protect the centre.”
The sounds of combat shift. I sense bodies moving around me, forming a ring, creating a barrier between me and the attacking constructs. They orbit around me like planets around a sun, each one keeping their distance precise, movements coordinated.
“There’s one more guardian,” Lady Tavia warns from somewhere to my right. “Right in front of the pedestal. It’s bigger than the others.”
I stop, still blind, still trusting. The hand on my shoulder – Commander Kaelix’s now, I think – keeps me steady.
“On my mark,” Zevran says. “We all strike together.”
“Now!”
