My mother had always called my mind a trap. An old memory floated to mind—me and twelve-year-old Theo on a rare sunny day.
“And what do you think is the logic?” I’d asked Theo.
Beside me, he’d stared into the sky as we lay on the ground in the shadow of the southern district’s spire. “What do you mean?”
“For getting to the other side of the king’s maze.”
“Logic? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s an oversized children’s toy. It’s just for fun.”
I hadn’t said anything else that day, but the question hadn’t left my mind. Perhaps there was a logic to it. My mother had told me there was a logic to nearly everything. But I’d never even seen the maze to find out.
We rode, we rode, we rode.
We rode until my thighs ached and I could feel the filly’s lungs moving beneath me like a bellows. Her breathing became audible, almost a cry, and I wanted to slow her, but Dorian had told me not to worry about running her.
I wondered if that were true, or if he simply didn’t care whether the horse lived or died.
I must have fallen deep into thought, because I jolted as the horse slowed to a trot. My attention crystallized on a desolate plain. No trees, no grass—only an endless stretch of brown.
This looked like my kingdom.
“We’re here,” Dorian said. His horse gave a great hacking cough as it slowed to a trot ahead of me. The coughing went on as Dorian patted the horse and murmured to it.
I sat upright and stroked Pettifey’s mane, willing the horse to calmness.
Ahead of us, left and right for as far as my eyes perceived, rose a dark hedge. At least twelve feet tall and so tightly grown, not even a single shaft of light penetrated through its leaves.
Some fifty feet off, several riderless horses milled, nosing at the dirt futilely for grass.
“We aren’t the first to arrive,” Dorian said. “But not the last, either.”
We reached the other horses and came to a stop. Dorian dismounted, led the roan back toward me, and helped me down. My thighs cried out with stiffness and ache; I hadn’t realized how hard I’d gripped the horse’s sides.
This close, the hedge wasn’t unbroken. An optical illusion of the light had made it seem so, but there was in fact a path in—an entrance.
“We move fast.” Dorian unhooked the horses’ bridles and threw the reins off the creatures. The straps of leather landed on the ground beside them, and the horses stood there swaying and coughing. As if sensing my next question, Dorian said, “The animals will be fine. They’ll gravitate naturally to the summer court’s lands.”
Which meant this would be the last time I would see Pettifey.
I turned toward the horse, set one hand on her nose, and pressed my forehead to her face. She didn’t move, as though she understood the moment. Her breath was loud, fast, a testament to what she’d done for me.
When I stepped away, Dorian slapped the roan horse’s rear and sent it cantering down the hedge. He did the same with Pettifey. “That’s the best we can do for them.” He took hold of my hand. “Now we run, too.”
We passed into the Eldermaze,Dorian’s iron grip around my hand. Before us, the path was three times as wide as a street in the Dip. We ran together down the first path and veered right when the hedgeforced a turn. That led us to a longer path, just as wide as the first. It continued so far into the distance I couldn’t see the end.
This was no children’s maze. This was something else entirely.
“Tell me where we’re going,” I said, breathless. “Tell me the logic.”
“We have to get deep enough,” Dorian said. “If we see anyone else, it’ll mean a fight.”
He meant the other fae in the trial. If we were killed, that meant one less pairing to contend with. How many horses had milled in front of the maze? Eight, there were eight. At least eight other fae already lurked in this maze.
A break in the hedge appeared to our left. The path was short; the hedge forced another left turn not far in. “There’s an opening,” I said.
Dorian didn’t slow down, didn’t turn. “We can’t take the first break,” he said. “It’s the most obvious spot for an ambush.”
He was right. The regiment commander had taught us the same concept.
