He stumbles—then pushes forward.
And the storm breaks.
Rain lashes at the world, transforming the dirt into thick sludge. The walls of the labyrinth glisten, rainwater pouring down like the earth were weeping. Lightning splits the sky overhead, followed by the angry crack of thunder. The crowd gasps and mumbles—whether for the stormor the show, I don’t know.
The final wall looms ahead.
Ten feet high. No ladders. No handholds. And completely drenched, falling apart in the downpour.
Dante braces and hurls the sack upward. It slams onto the ledge, just barely catching.
He jumps.
Slips.
Crashes into the mud.
The bull, now recovered, charges toward him.
Dante jumps again. And again. The sack begins to slide.
Fuck!
I raise both hands, ignoring the scream inside my skull. The magic splits from me, part of it coiling upward, reaching into the clouds themselves, the other part reaching for the path in front of the bull. The pressure builds behind my ribs, behind my eyes, threatening to tear me open.
I stare at the sky.Clear. Just enough. Please.
A patch of light breaks through the clouds, streaming above the far wall. The rain dissipates. Sunlight spills like a blessing onto the upper stones. Just enough for purchase.
Dante leaps again, his hands catching on dry stone. He pulls.
I focus on the tendrils of thorns between the bull and Dante. They shudder as they move away from the wall, just enough to block his path. The bull bellows, its hooves digging into wet ground, but it isn’t able to stop in time. It lets out a loud groan of pain as it crashes into the thorns.
My eyes go back to Dante. The vines by Dante’s feet coil again, snaking up now, sharp with thorns. They tear at his boots, his calves.
I grunt to myself, pushing again.
The burst is white-hot agony. My stomach knots, and I fall back, clutching my side. It feels like something inside me is splitting apart.
But the vines fracture, falling away from Dante’s legs.
Dante scrambles over the wall. He grabs the sack and pulls it with him.
Then he collapses beside it, gasping.
The Mersosian court explodes in applause. King Birchus rises. For a moment, I think he might actually smile. His movement is followed by King Gallor and Queen Shaylin.
King Silas stands, a proud smile on his reddened face. Dante has just passed the final test, and Silas is clearly pleased with his son’s accomplishments. If I know Silas, he’ll be taking full credit for it.
I sag into my seat, shaking. Nadya presses a cloth into my hand so I can wipe the blood from my nose. My head pounds like a war drum.
But he made it. Dante is safe.
Even if I feel like I’m falling to pieces.
ChApter
Thirty-Eight
