Page 234 of The Mortal Trials

“I have a terrible feeling about this,” Elias mutters.

Desperation and self-preservation clash within me. I want to help him, yet I can’t bring myself to move.

“Daedalus!” I shout.

His head flinches, not toward my voice, but downward, toward my prosthesis. Can he sense his magic in it? Does he remember I’m his friend?

He turns. And in the lamplight, his injuries are worse than I thought. The front of his skull is deeply dented. Thick saliva oozes from his slack bottom lip.

“What have they done to you?” I cry.

A tear falls as I start toward him.

“Callalie, no!” Elias shouts.

He and August lunge, grasping my arms. They pull me back into the circle, but it’s too late.

Daedalus’s stare snaps to me and sharpens. His nostrils flare. A predator marking his prey. A low rumble pours from his chest.

My breath frays.

I have made a very grave mistake.

Daedalus is the monster.

He turns to face me. His body, bones, muscle, and sinew stretch, bend, twist, and pop as he grows larger, becoming the beast we heard from the other side of the wall.

This – he – is our beast. Our test. Our trial. We found the center of the labyrinth. All that’s left is to slay the monster in its middle.

I don’t want to kill my friend. He made this leg for me. Gave it, and me, a piece of his magic. A piece of himself.

He was kind, I remind myself when the vessels in his eyes burst red, when slobber streams like strands of spider silk from his mouth, and two sharp horns emerge from his forehead, then elongate.

His feet buckle into hooves, and he releases a roar that startles the bats on the ceiling of this dark, damp place. They fly erratically, going anywhere and nowhere, desperate and afraid.

“My gods,” Ulani breathes as Daedalus grows even taller, broader, and more furious.

The Daedalus I knew is gone. Every trace of him erased.

This is his punishment for being kind to me.

Heartache smothers my breaths. The only way to set him free from this labyrinth, protect my friends, and win this gods damned trial is to end his life. If we don’t kill him, none of us will make it out of the maze alive. And I must be the one to do it. I owe Daedalus the dignity of not dying at a stranger’s hateful hand.

I walk forward, spear poised. Ulani and Vailea flank me with their golden weapons drawn.

“It has to be me,” I tell them.

They both nod, but I see it in their eyes. They’ll kill him if I can’t. If I don’t.

Before we take another step, Torsten and his championed allies rush out from another corridor, then shout for us to help them surround the minotaur.

“No!” I don’t want them to scare Daedalus. He deserves an honorable death. One that’s swift and as painless as possible. Torsten’s a cruel bastard. He won’t care if Daedalus suffers. He doesn’t know him.

Torsten roars and lunges at Daedalus, brandishing the broadsword he’d gained since the last trial.

Daedalus bellows his fury at Torsten’s show of aggression. One of his hooves paws the stone. Froth builds in the corners of his mouth. He lowers his head, positions his horns, and charges the Norseman.

I sprint toward the minotaur’s back, draw back my spear, plunge it between Daedalus’s ribs… and push until bone crunches and the sharp tip punctures his heart.