“Well,” I say, surprised by the teasing lilt to my voice. “We both know I’m not very good at following orders.”
“That, princess,” he says as he walks to the door, “might just be the end of us all.”
Sooner than I would haveliked, the second trial is upon us.
Nyssa and I follow Titaia, our footsteps echoing through a narrowing tunnel, the sound chasing us into its depths. What began as a polished marble hallway has transformed, the smooth walls giving way to jagged, unrefined stone. The glow of faint auras along the ceiling now serves as our only source of light, casting flickering shadows that dance across the uneven surfaces.
Time becomes elusive—minutes or perhaps an hour pass before we finally come to a halt before a solitary oak door.
Looking at the door itself would be enough to set me on edge, if I wasn’t already.
The wooden surface is carved with gruesome battle scenes and omens. However, the image that fills me with dread is of four winged men running through a twisting maze of wrong turns and dead ends. The way before them is barred, and even from my perspective, I can’t seem to find a clear path to freedom.
“Ready, Aella?” Titaia says, turning over her shoulder to give me an encouraging smile that lights up her face, though I don’t miss the tightness around her eyes.
“As I’ll ever be.”
She pulls open the door, and we step into what looks to be a waiting chamber. Auras flicker in wall sconces, illuminating the other contestants as they hover in the small space. The other ladies turn my way,distrust and discomfort clear in every angle of their bodies as Titaia and I approach. Not that I can blame them for it—each of them wears a gown more suited to a banquet than an unknown trial.
After puzzling over Pan’s veiled advice, I dressed for survival and subtlety. The long sleeves of the pleated wrap top offer little protection from the chill in the air, but the matching pants conceal pockets that allow me to reach my dagger and the two small throwing knives strapped in my thigh holster.
If this trial involves a labyrinth like I believe it might, at least I’m somewhat prepared.
Lydia dismisses me as quickly as I had captured her attention, and both Helen and Zina follow suit, turning their backs toward me as they continue with the whispered conversation my arrival must have interrupted.
Only Cynna looks at me with guarded curiosity in her icy blue eyes from where she stands apart from the rest with her own mentor beside her—a wizened lady dressed in regal robes who smiles warmly at her charge. The other mentors and attendants hover at the edges of the room, but I signal for Nyssa to stay at my side.
“We’ll wait here until Prince Keres has arrived, and then Master Cyril will come and get you,” Titaia murmurs. I nod and slow my breathing, trying to minimize the almost tangible taste of fear that lingers thick in the air. I can’t help but wonder if Keres is trying to unsettle us, keeping us waiting until some reach their breaking point.
As though she can no longer bear standing still, Helen breaks away from the group, her movements abrupt and unsettled as she makes her way to a small table adorned with fresh fruit and a jug of wine. My pulse quickens as she drifts away from her flock, and I seize the opportunity to steal a moment alone with one of my competition. Helen pours herself a cup of wine and I step up beside her, reaching for another cup.
“Any thoughts on what this trial might be?” I keep my voice soft, but she still jolts, the wine spilling over the side of the vessel as she all but slams it down and turns to scowl at me.
“What are you doing here?” she snaps, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
I lean in front of her to claim the wine jug and fill my cup before holding it aloft. “Just trying to make conversation,” I reply lightly. “This trial has everyone on edge, don’t you think? It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”
“I have people to talk to,” she hisses before spinning on her heel and returning to the others.
Lydia smirks at me from over Helen’s shoulder, and I raise my cup to her with a smile of my own before bringing it to my lips and taking a drink. It’s all I can do to keep my body from stiffening up as the rich liquid spills down my throat and a honeyed, forbidden taste lingers on my tongue, masking the venom coursing beneath.
Nightshade.
How many times have I encountered that toxic scent during my training at the Aviary? How often have I been tasked with identifying its presence? Yet here I stand, too preoccupied to notice it swirling in my cup.
A faint tremor begins in my fingers, but I steady it, tightening my grip on the vessel and forging my features into a smooth mask of disinterest as I turn and catch Nyssa’s eye. Was the nightshade meant for me alone, or was the poisoner content to take out any rival who stood in their way? My eyes drift back to the table, settling on the untouched wine cup Helen had slammed down in frustration. Lydia’s smug grin flashes in my mind, and I exhale slowly through my nose, steadying myself. If Lydia and Helen are conspiring to eliminate me during this trial, I will not give them the satisfaction.
Nyssa comes to my side, her gaze gliding over my face before she frowns and leans in, keeping her voice low as she asks, “Why do you look so pale?”
“I need you to remain calm,” I say just as softly. “Someone poisoned the wine with nightshade.”
Her eyes widen before she reins in her shock, glancing down at the cup still clasped in my hands. “Aella, we need to—”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend it, but it silences her effectively. “We don’t have time. The trial is about to begin, and my failure to compete will eliminate me.”
I can see the urge to protest in her eyes, perhaps to argue that the trials aren’t worth risking my life—and she wouldn’t be mistaken. But her life means more to me than my own. Even if I were to perish in these trials, the Eagle’s threat would remain. And he would kill her, if only to spite me.
“I drank little, but I need you to go to the infirmary and find the antidote.”
