Page 157 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

But knowing the depth of his natural skill doesn’t stop my pulse from spiking when the first trap springs.

This maze doesn’t seem designed to be conquered. It’s like it was built to test the limits of the most powerful men and women in Virendrell, to expose ones who rely too heavily on magic instead of instinct.

Arrows burst from the hedges without warning. Not a single volley, but a storm.

Dark blurs slice through the air from multiple angles, crossing paths, meant to herd him into failure.

Rian doesn’t hesitate.

He dips and twists between the arrows, his body anticipating the attack before it fully reveals itself, ducking where no opening should exist, shifting a step as metal kisses the air where his heart was a moment ago.

I grip the railing harder.

The maze answers with fire.

Flames roar to life in a wall that surges as high as Rian’s chest. Heat shimmers through the air even from this distance.

My throat tightens as Rian clears the inferno in a single, powerful leap. His boots skim the blaze so closely that sparks lick at his soles. He lands without breaking stride.

A shaky breath slips past my lips.

The ground vanishes beneath his feet next, crumbling away in a violent rush of stone and dirt.

I gasp out loud this time as Rian lunges right and then runs up the hedge wall itself.

As if the greenery were made of solid stone.

Disbelief momentarily eclipses my fear.

Rian shouldn’t be able to do that…

Not with those dark manacles locked around his wrists.

Icy spikes crash down from above without warning, ripping me away from the question forming in my mind.

A scream tears from my throat.

Rian slides, rolls, twists—always a breath ahead of the blows.

One spike grazes close enough that my vision blurs.

Don’t get hit. I lean over the railing as if I can somehow reach over and pull him out of danger. Please…don’t get hit.

Through it all, Rian doesn’t falter.

Not once.

Even stripped of his shadows, Rian reaches the end of the maze…untouched.

No blood seeps from a wound.

No skin is torn.

Hells, I don’t even think a strand of dark hair is out of place.

The spectators erupt.

Cheers thunder through the air, loud and frenzied. They celebrate the spectacle. The danger. The gamble with his life.