Page 31

Her sword fell from her fingers as she raced past the fruit trees, down the path, around the corner, and ducked into a thick cluster of vines. She yanked them around, burying herself into the wall as her chest pounded, holding her breath when the woman appeared around the bend, eyeing the path ahead with black eyes. Through a narrow slit in the curtain of foliage, Ryn watched, keeping her bell-adorned feet still.

A loud horn note blasted over the maze, and Ryn jumped, the vine snapping in her shaking, squeezing hand. The horn covered the brief rattle of bells.

The woman released a curse, then looked both ways down the path. Cold wind rippled her hair as she marched several paces, then broke into a sprint. Her red dress disappeared beneath an arch of thorns, and she was swallowed into a wall of mist beyond.

Ryn breathed a shuddering sigh of relief, her palm crushing her chest damp with sweat. The wall was icy against her back. A sharp pain entered her shoulder as she shoved the vines aside, and she glanced over, realizing a thorn was lodged into her flesh. She winced as she pulled it out, breaths heavy while she patted her empty hip, looking for her sword. Her gaze sailed back the way she came.

A puff of blue mist coiled over the wall, racing down like a waterfall and pluming at the bottom. Ryn’s toes curled in her sandals. She reached for her veil, a finger sliding over the torn fabric. Had that woman’s curved blade come any closer, Ryn’s face would have been marred forever.

Ryn dragged a foot forward to climb out of her hiding place, the quiet taps of her bells sounding like banging gongs in her ears. She swallowed to wet her mouth as she turned down the path in the direction of her sword. But she slowed, wondering if it was worth it to go back. She hadn’t even heard music when she’d first drawn it. Others were probably already racing through the labyrinth to the finish line.

A figure stepped around the bend ahead.

Ryn’s sandals skidded to a halt as she beheld a black rippling coat hugging a tall body. She staggered back, blinking at the shadows going in and out of focus around him. Her hand flew out toward the nearest vine branches to steady herself but found nothing, and her heel hit the ground, bells clattering together.

He turned his head in her direction.

Ryn froze, fingers outstretched, her other hand on her empty hip.

The man broke into a sprint, drawing a long thin blade with a sharp echo. Ryn danced over her feet as she scooted back, searching for a place to hide; vines, curled thorns, moss-covered walls—a narrow arch was half-hidden in mist down the alley. She turned to run but stopped short before the white-haired woman standing there, deep lips curled into a dark smile.

“Oh look. You’re trapped.” The woman rolled her curved blade in her grip, ruffling her red skirt.

Ryn’s stomach dropped and she darted toward the vines, grabbing the thickest one to climb. She planted her foot against the wall as she pulled herself up, but her hands slipped down the dew-covered stem, and her feet hit the ground. She spun with an arm in the air, bracing for whichever blade came first as she ducked—the woman’s sword slamming into the stone where she’d just been. Ryn pushed off the wall and sprinted for the narrow arch, looking back over her shoulder as the tall man redirected and the woman turned.

She sailed through the arch and collided with a strong body.

A warm arm came around her shoulders and shifted her away where she caught herself against the wall on shaking fingers. A bright light filled the path.

Ryn glanced back as a blade sailed into the tall man of shadows. Her eyesight flickered with visions, catching on the man’s missing toes as he fell. A flaming blade swung for the white-haired woman next, splitting the air between her and the narrow opening before she could pass through. Ryn’s eyes travelled up the fiery sword to the hand that held it, to familiar dark hair with a crown of metal roses and piercing deep blue eyes.

“Care to test the limits of my beastly patience, ugly witch?” A deep, authoritative voice.

Ryn blinked the blur from her vision, light disappearing with the shadows. She spotted the man in the black coat on the ground and the white-haired woman gaping at Xerxes.

Xerxes.

Ryn’s fingers uncurled from the stones, and she stumbled after Xerxes as he drove the white-haired woman through the arch. The woman’s black eyes flashed over to Ryn, but she backed up slowly, lowering her curved blade. “Perhaps we’ll settle this later then, Commander Adassah.” With that, she fled down the path through the archway of thorns again.

Xerxes had a scolding look on his face when he glanced over his shoulder at Ryn. He slid his sword away and took her hand, pulling her back through the narrow opening and down another path where the walls were so close together, they could hardly fit side by side. His blossom oil scent tickled the air between them.

“Look what you’ve done to me, Maiden,” he muttered. “You’ve turned me into a beast protecting a beauty in this palace.”

Ryn’s lips trembled, but she swallowed her nerves in a large gulp, then tried tugging her hand away. His fingers tightened around hers. “What did you do, Xerxes? Why are you in the Outer Rings?” Her voice shook and she closed her mouth again.

“If you didn’t want me to become territorial, Ryn, then you shouldn’t have marched into this enemy palace wearing my symbol on your back. I think you’ve vastly underestimated what your behaviour does to my horrid instincts. And, Divinities have mercy, what are you wearing now?” He stopped marching and tossed her arm, flinging her around to face him. He poked a finger through the gaping hole in her veil, then eyed the dress, the bells at her ankles. She only now realized he wore bells, too. He was dressed in vivid red with a series of bronze necklaces and arm cuffs, but his eyes were the same brilliant blue she would recognize anywhere.

“You aren’t even armed?!” he asked in disbelief.

“I was…” Ryn glanced back down the path toward her quiet, cold sword. The thought made her peer at Xerxes’s blade hiding away in its sheath now. “Does… does your sword have music?”

Xerxes sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned for the path again, flicking a large leaf out of his way. His ankle bells sang, and he glared down at them.

Ryn’s hands drifted to her sides, a small breath escaping her lungs. “Xerxes,” she whispered, and he paused, gazing back with a raised brow. “Is he speaking to you? Now?”

“Who?” he asked, but his lips pulled, a flicker of recognition racing over his face.

Distant shouts lifted from somewhere in the maze. Ryn’s lips parted, a dry heat forming behind her eyes. Natural sunlight sparkled over Xerxes’s sheath as he turned to face her. “We should keep moving, Ryn—”