“Dristan—”
“Don’t start with me, Bran,” my brother answers, giving me a warning look.
“If something were to happen to us both, Stuart would inherit Triblue.”
He crosses his arms, knowing that’s not why I’m hesitant to bring him with us into the maze. The others watch us, staying silent on the matter.
“Dying is one thing,” I say. “Giving him our family’s crown is another.”
I won’t ask Dristan to stay back, won’t actually say the words. I respect him too much for that.
He pins me with a glare. “For you—for our parents—but not because of my leg. Are we clear?”
I nod.
Looking resigned, Dristan steps next to Percival.
“Thank you,” I tell him, almost lightly so as not to make too much out of it, but he knows how sincere I am.
With that settled, I pull a dagger from my sheath and walk to the solitary opening in the wall of water.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Elodie
The sea labyrinth came from a time long ago, when humans still feared us and our power, when mermaids were forbidden from marrying human men. If a girl did fall in love with a human, the only way the pair could be together was if the man rescued her from the labyrinth, proving that he loved her enough to face mortal peril and temptation for her hand. It was a deterrent for any human who was simply hungry for her power.
After we were forced to hide from the humans, the sea maze became a thing of sport. Every year, a mermaid is chosen to construct a maze. She fills it with horrible obstacles, and our men attempt to find her. If she stays hidden until dusk, she wins. It’s a game, one I looked forward to watching when I was young. It’s all for fun.
Aristos’s creation, however, is as deadly as it is beautiful, not unlike the original labyrinths of centuries past.
I traverse it easily, swimming through walls, letting just enough magic encompass me that I can make it through without fully shifting. In the dead center, I find the place where I must wait. I sit cross-legged on the ocean floor, spreading my skirt about me, and take the ancient vial in my hands. It’s fairy crafted, made of bottled light. Pretty, but worthless. I was too young when I left Isle Milayle to ever have been selected to create a maze, so I’ve never seen the vial myself.
I’m still studying the dancing light through the frosted glass when Aristos steps into the room.
“Your maze is impressive,” I say without looking up. “Whose magic did you steal to create it?”
“I don’t remember her name,” he says absently, walking the perimeter of the water, gazing at fish on the other side. “But you needn’t worry about her. After your game is finished, we will return home, and you and I will marry. I’ll release her, and we’ll rule together.” He almost sounds as if he’s doing all this to please me, like the trial is just a lark I’ve created to amuse myself.
“Did you kill Greer?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know.
“No,” he answers, his eyes still on the fish. “Croissin did that. I didn’t lie when I said he wanted you.”
And though it was in no way my fault, I feel the merqueen’s blood on my hands.
I drag my eyes away from the vial to meet his. “You never told me what happened to Cassia.”
He winces when I say the name. “She deserved justice.”
“Is that what you call what you did?”
Aristos turns to me fully, his eyes flashing with hurt. “They deserved that and more.”
“Then why did you stop? Why agree to give me the labyrinth?”
His face softens marginally. “They fear me now, as they should. We are done hiding, done cowering behind our enchantments. And when they forget our power, we will remind them what we are capable of.”
“What I am capable of,” I say softly, turning back to the vial. “You are as weak as they are.”
He’s quiet for several moments before he speaks again. “This is a game, isn’t it, Elodie? You didn’t truly fall in love with that human king?”
“He’s kind and loyal—even you must admit it. Did you see? You threatened to level his kingdom with dark magic, and he still refused to hand me over to you.”
“He covets your power.”
“He cares for me.” But like every mermaid who’s waited for her human love to rescue her from the maze, I have niggling doubts.
“Well.” Aristos looks back at the water. “We will see, won’t we?”
I set the vial in front of me. “I suppose we will.”
The game has just begun, and I’m already anxious for it to be over. But we still have hours upon hours.
“How could you seek out the dark magic?” I ask when I can’t take the silence any longer, barely whispering. “You know what will become of you.”
He snorts. “I know what would become of you. No one knows what would happen to me.”
Siren—that’s what becomes of mermaids who dabble with dark magic, trying to make themselves even more powerful. They’re nasty, evil creatures who call innocent sailors to their deaths. But the mermen who play with the forbidden? Eventually, the darkness takes them, whisks them away into the unknown depths.
I turn to the man who was once one of my very best friends and wait until he meets my eyes. “Promise me you’ll leave it alone.”
His face softens, and he kneels in front of me, gently placing his hand on my cheeks. “Don’t you see? I won’t need it. I’ll have you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Bran
The sun is high in the sky, and we’ve circled this blasted maze for hours.
“I think we’ve already come this way,” Irving says, peering at the water walls. “It looks familiar.”
“It all looks familiar, you idiot,” Lionel growls. “It’s water.”
Galinor and Archer chuckle, but I’m preoccupied with the crossroad we’re standing in.
“No, I think Irving’s right.” I motion toward the left. “That leads to the pool of flesh-eating fish.”
Galinor grunts, remembering that pleasant encounter. One of the wretched things ate through half his boot before we realized what was lurking in the knee-high water. Fortunately, he skewered the fish with his sword before it had a chance to feast on his flesh.
“How can you tell?” Lionel asks, scrubbing a hand through his short blond hair. “It looks the same as the last crossroad.”
I motion to the sandy ground. It’s littered with shells, soggy seaweed, and oceanic debris. “See the large red pebble there? We’ve passed it before.”
Irving grunts, agreeing. “Which way do we go?”
“Not left,” Galinor mutters.
“Let’s go straight,” I suggest, though I have no idea.
“I’ve decided I hate labyrinths,” Irving says flippantly.
I couldn’t agree more. “Once this is over, I’m ordering the castle gardeners to cut down our hedges. I never want to step foot in another maze again.”
The pathway grows narrow, which I take as a good sign since I don’t remember passing this way before. We’re forced to walk single file through the narrow canyons of water. The farther into the ocean we travel, the deeper the water becomes, and the higher the walls.
“Does anyone else see that?” Irving asks from two places behind me. I stop and turn to see what he’s gawking at.
Archer’s directly behind me, and he too narrows his eyes at the sea. There’s no room or walkway beyond, nothing but open water. We must be in the very outer circle of the labyrinth.
“Why does that fish appear to be swimming right toward us?” Irving asks, bemused.
Archer’s already reaching into his quiver for an arrow. “There are more.”
Irving turns to him, laughing. “What are you afraid it’s going to do? It’s on the other side of this impenetrable—”
At that exact moment, the man-sized fish spits a stream of liquid from its mouth. It penetrates Irving’s impenetrable water wall and coat
s a patch of seaweed. Instantly, the plants begin to sizzle before they turn black and wither.
“Run!” Galinor yells, giving Irving a shove from behind.
More fish join their companion as we race through the narrow passage. Lionel curses loudly behind us, saying words that convince me that the prince I remember is hiding in there after all.
“Where did it get you?” Irving hollers behind him, nearly out of breath.
“My arm.”
“Does it sting?”
To which Lionel answers with words not suitable for polite conversation.
Ahead, the wall opens to another room. Archer hisses behind me, just as the back of my neck is splattered with droplets of the acidic poison. I suck in a harsh breath, reminding myself to keep moving.
Thank goodness Dristan agreed to stay behind.
Finally, I burst into the room. The rest of my companions are right on my heels. We gasp for breath, safe. The fish watch us, harmlessly spitting their poison near the water wall.
“What kind of demon fish are those?” Irving demands, doubled over. He alone appears to have made it through unscathed.
I ignore him, however, because in the middle of the room, a fountain bubbles with inviting, sparkling water. My neck aches, and I want nothing more than to wash the acid away.
Irving glances up, eying the spring. “What are the chances that’s fresh water?”
As soon as he says it, I realize how thirsty I am as well.
“Don’t risk it.” Archer grits his teeth as he wipes away the poison that splattered his neck with a ratty embroidered handkerchief. It looks like he got the brunt of the acid, and I only suffered a bit from the splatter.
But does Irving listen to Archer’s advice? Of course not, because he’s Irving.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Irving asks as he cups his hand and scoops it into the crystal-clear pool.
I wait, prepared for something to rise from the water and attack.
Irving takes a tentative sip and then grins like he’s struck gold. “Not only is it fresh; it’s cold.”
Lionel begins to step forward, but I place a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. “Let’s give it a minute, make sure Irving doesn’t keel over.”
Irving rolls his eyes, takes another long gulp, and then tosses some over his face. “It’s fine.”
Despite his reassurances, we wait, studying him. Several minutes go by, and Irving still doesn’t seem to suffer any ill effects. Perhaps Archer and I are being overly cautious.
“See?” Irving says, holding out his hands. “What did I tell you?”
And then he titters. It’s not a manly chortle, nor a loud guffaw. It’s an honest-to-goodness, three-sheets-to-the-wind, drunken giggle.
Quickly, the king sobers, clearing his throat. He rubs the back of his neck, and then he suddenly starts laughing again. In fact, he becomes so overcome that he stumbles sideways, toward the wall of water.
“That’s not a good sign.” Archer watches Irving like one would watch a dog chasing his tail—slightly worried about his mental state, maybe even a bit amused, but not overly concerned.
I make my way toward him to make sure he doesn’t wander too close to the water and the acid-spitting fish.
“Irving,” I say, grasping his arm and yanking him back. “Somehow you need to get a hold of—” I stop abruptly because the fish are gone. Vanished.
In fact, all the fish are gone. It’s an eerie thing, seeing the ocean this empty.
Irving takes advantage of my surprise and jerks his arm free. “I told you; I’m fine.”
The momentum sends him careening for the wall of water just as a massive, dark shadow descends from above.
“What in Elden…” Galinor mutters as he reaches for his sword.
I barely catch Irving in time and drag him back just as the giant octopus lands on the ocean floor. Its tentacles writhe, moving independently but working together as they propel the creature through the wall.
“It’s coming over!” Lionel yells, reaching for his sword as Archer’s first arrow meets the octopus.
“Stay here!” I command Irving when I deposit him next to the bubbling spring. “And don’t drink any more of the water!”
The beast is two times the height of a full-grown man, and its tentacles seem to go on for miles.
Galinor lunges, going in for the kill, but he’s forced back by the beast’s ever-flailing body parts.
Lionel hacks at a tentacle that attempts to wrap around his body. The creature jerks as the prince’s blade slices clean through. Lionel wears a satisfied look, but then he realizes the severed appendage is flopping about, still trying to grasp him.
“Don’t cut off the tentacles!” Galinor yells.
Archer shoots arrow after arrow at the sea beast, but the octopus is intent on its mission—which is to digest us.
Careful to not let it grasp hold of me, I swing for the beast’s bulbous head, slicing into its flesh. It lets out an inhuman shriek and turns to me, seven remaining tentacles flailing for all they’re worth.
“Get back!” Archer hollers.
Even though I’m already leaping out of the way, I assume his words are directed at me—at least until I see Irving wandering forward in a daze.
“Look at the size of him,” our loopy companion says. Irving turns to me, his eyes fully dilated. “Do they normally get that large?”
“Irving!”
But it’s too late. The octopus snares the drugged prince in its tentacles, stretching out the membranes between the appendages and trapping him in place. Then the beast begins a hasty retreat into the ocean beyond the wall.
We race forward. Archer sends arrows, and Lionel, Galinor, and I hack at anything that moves, but we’re not fast enough. Irving, though armed, is helpless in his state.
I won’t let him die, not like this, not because he volunteered when my most trusted knights abandoned me.
Without thinking, I inhale a deep lungful of air and plunge through the wall, into the sea on the other side. Immediately, the water cradles me, pulling on my hair and clothes, but my heavy boots help to keep me anchored to the ocean floor.
With my sword at the ready, I swim for the octopus, which has luckily stopped so it can snack on my friend. Only Irving’s leg sticks out from under the beast, but I refuse to dwell on the horrors that he is facing.
My lungs burn, but I fight back the pain and stab the creature in the meatiest part of its body. It shivers, its limbs twitching. It turns to me, abandoning Irving. Archer, Lionel, Galinor are behind me, dragging Primewood’s king back into the labyrinth.
The beast rolls toward me, using its tentacles to propel it forward, and I stab its flesh as it grasps hold of me.
My consciousness begins to blur, and I know I don’t have much longer. With the last of my strength, I lunge one more time.
And then the octopus goes limp.
I kick myself free, and Galinor is already here, yanking me to safety. I gasp for breath as soon as I’m past the boundary and fall on my knees. Shaking, I wipe sea water from my eyes and turn to Irving.
“Is he all right?” I ask, but I know he’s not. Eyes closed, he mumbles to himself. But at least he’s alive. His shirt is ripped, and his arm is bloodied.
“He needs care,” I say, and then my eyes move to Lionel and Archer. The flesh where they were struck by the poison is not only raw, but it’s swelling. “You both do as well.”
Irving begins to sing under his breath, a tune about unicorns of all things.
“I’ll be all right,” Lionel argues. “But Archer should take Irving back. With the racket he’s making, I’d lose my patience and end up feeding him to the next octopus I come across.”
“I sincerely hope that was the only one,” I say. “But both of you go. If Irving wakes, Archer might not be able to handle him alone.”
It’s a lie, and Archer knows it. The truth is, Lionel’s arm is in bad shape, and I’m afraid if he doesn’t
seek help soon, the physician will have to amputate. Seeing as how we’ve just forged a tenuous friendship with the former prince, I’d rather not let that happen.
Archer, keenly aware of the issue, nods in agreement.
There’s movement from the path directly across from us, and we immediately draw our weapons.
“I will escort your men safely back to the entrance,” one of Aristos’s men says.
We share suspicious glances. Have they been lurking around the corners, watching us this entire time?
Archer and Lionel pull Irving off the ground, each of them shouldering some of his weight. The king’s head flops to the side, onto Lionel’s bicep.
“Soft like bunnies,” Irving mumbles. “Pretty daisies, all in a row.”
“Is there a chance we’ll encounter another octopus?” Lionel asks the merman.
“No.”
“Hmmm.” Lionel shoves Irving’s head off his arm. “That’s a shame.”
I watch them turn the corner, worried.
“They’ll be all right,” Galinor assures me. “Even with Irving drugged, the two can take a merman if the need arises.”
I hope he’s right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Elodie
Even though the walls of water are high, I can tell the sun is low from the golden hue of the light. I nibble my bottom lip, growing anxious. Aristos has stayed with me all this time, though he mostly paces.
I gave up on having a rational conversation with him hours ago. He’s tormented by Cassia’s death, and he just can’t see that a whole kingdom shouldn’t be punished for one man’s actions.
And he cannot believe Bran will be any different from the man who killed his love. In fact, it’s like he’s connected the two, put a face to the nameless murderer, not caring that it’s the wrong one. Aristos is bound and determined to prove that the king of Triblue wants me for my power—because if Bran actually cares, it will show that not all humans are as evil as the one who destroyed Cassia, and Aristos might have to find closure in a way that doesn’t involve maiming innocent people.
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