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“Someone died.”

The words hung in the air, a silent scream mixing with the chugging fountain water, scratching down Ryn’s back and prickling over her feet so she couldn’t move.

“You panicked. That’s why you came here. To make sure I lived.”

Curse Xerxes’s instincts. Ryn’s voice scrambled deep down and hid in her stomach.

“Someday, we’ll understand, Ryn.”

“You’re still hurting,” Heva said. “I can tell.”

“You don’t want to trust anyone again. Not even me.”

“You look much better, Ryn. I knew eating your meals would do the trick.”

“Quiet…” Ryn whispered to the voice in her head, to that guardswoman who had slipped away before Ryn was ready to let her go. To that ally and friend who’d been beside Ryn since the first day the Folke showed up at her home in the Mother City. Heva had been constant, a rock beneath Ryn’s feet. And now, Heva was no more, and the ground was tipping.

Xerxes stared. He waited.

Then, he grabbed Ryn’s hand and marched around the fountain. “Fight the voices, Ryn,” he said. “They’ll destroy you if you don’t.” Ryn licked her dry lips, reaching a weak hand for the water as they passed, but Xerxes tugged her back. “Don’t touch it. Everything edible in here is enchanted.”

Ryn returned her hand to her side as they stepped into the tunnel of thorns and everything around them went dark. She shrieked when something pierced through her sandal and stabbed her foot.

Shouts lifted by the fountain.

“Run, Ryn!” Xerxes said, releasing her hand. He broke into a sprint, and Ryn followed, gritting her teeth as her feet were stabbed, as her bells burst into a choir of noise, alerting every person and entity in earshot to where she was. The path got darker and sounds filled the tunnel behind them as they turned a bend.

Xerxes stepped aside, nudging her past him as he peered back the way they came. “I’ll hold them off. Just keep running. The gate is on the other side.”

Ryn almost stopped in her tracks, but Xerxes drew his sword and walked backward after her. He balanced on his toes, stepping from root to root like he knew where they were. She could barely see in the dark as noises magnified in the tunnel.

Thorns and branches bit at her arms on either side as she took off. The tunnel narrowed and she turned sideways, trotting through, spotting a dull light ahead. “I see the way out.”

“Good,” he said. “After we win this, you’re going to prepare the greatest apology you’ve ever delivered for me.”

“What are you talking about?” Ryn stumbled over a root, setting her sights on the dim light ahead, hands bracing against the walls. Thorns pricked her palms and she winced as she broke out into the muted light, breathing a sigh of relief as her feet found flat ground. She keeled forward to catch her breath.

Xerxes stumbled out after her, his wide, accusatory eyes dragging off the tunnel and plunking onto her as she gasped for air and composure. “What do you mean, what am I talking about? Do you want a pat on the back for disobeying my direct order to leave this place, dragging me into this weird, twisted challenge, and making me stare at you in my greatest enemy’s dress?” He took a heated step toward her, closing the gap. His lips pulled with enunciation when he added, “You belong in navy, Ryn.”

He took hold of her shoulders and drove her backward four steps, blue eyes sharp. Ryn’s feet danced over the ground, and she opened her mouth to question what he was doing until she beheld a crowd of nobles in red. Confetti splashed across her cheek and chest, and brassy horns blasted in her ears. Shouts and a few claps lifted around a small clearing before a gaping entrance to the palace. Amidst the modest cheers, certain faces warped with disappointment, anger even, the scowls warming Ryn’s flesh.

A hand slid into hers.

“Ignore them,” Xerxes said. “Their favourite celebrity heroes failed to win, and now they have to stand there in embarrassment.” He didn’t say it quietly, and B’rei Mira citizens glowered at him. He didn’t even flinch.

Despite Ryn’s sore legs and dry mouth, a smirk pulled at her face.

Rustles drew her gaze back to the Outer Rings where a few heroes were making their way through an open gate. Whatever confetti was left was tossed to them. B’rei Mira soldiers in crimson glared at Ryn, sliding their weapons away carefully. Her chest tightened as she realized just how close she’d come to being stabbed in the Rings, more than once. The white-haired woman appeared in the tunnel’s mouth, and she sailed through the gate, claret lips tipped into a frown.

Ryn’s stare drifted back to Xerxes as he began marching, bringing her with him. They entered the palace where Vafat lined the walls, watching with beady violet eyes. She raised a slow hand to the weak heartbeat in her chest. If Xerxes had El, then her purpose was fulfilled. And what did Xerxes still need Ryn for? Xerxes could defend himself now.

An emptiness settled in Ryn’s chest, heavier than the hunger weighing on her stomach.

Guards surrounded them when they ascended a staircase and entered the Throne Room. The room had been reconfigured to house rows upon rows of chairs that filled the opening, facing the Outer Rings. Ryn didn’t realize she’d been performing for an audience. They ogled her scratched up arms and feet where thorns from the tunnel had poked deep enough to draw blood.

“Apologize.” Xerxes glanced over at her when they were jerked to a stop, a tetrad of guards caging them in with aimed spear points.

“What?” Ryn turned just as he did. “Right now?” she whispered, not quiet enough to keep the guards from hearing.