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He shakes his head slowly and leans down to snag the key from Atalanta’s limp hand. “Climbing the walls, huh? I knew you couldn’t have gotten this far without cheating. You’re taking that key from someone who truly deserves it. Pathetic.” Paris turns and walks to the door. He inserts the key, opens it, and disappears through.
I stare for a beat, two, three. I didn’t cheat. I went about solving the problem by nontraditional methods, but that doesn’t make me weak. The irony of him accusing me of taking a key from someone who deserves it… I shake my head hard. Damn it, I’m letting him mess with my mind again. I scramble to Atalanta’s side and ease her onto her back.
She’s breathing evenly, and her dark eyes flutter open. “Motherfucker.”
Relief makes me a little dizzy. She’s okay. Or she will be. “I’m sorry.” I can’t stay here, can’t risk suffering the same fate if someone decides to take a page out of Paris’s handbook. I squeeze her shoulder and push away from her. “I’m so sorry, I have to go.”
The only thing that matters is getting through that door and passing the second trial.
I use the wall to leverage myself to my feet and stagger to the door. It takes two tries to insert the key into the lock and twist. It swings soundlessly open and I step through and out of the maze.
Is the cheering of the crowd louder? I can’t be sure, but I straighten my spine and work to keep the limp out of my walk as much as possible. Bellerophon stands just to the side of the door, an unreadable expression on their face. They motion to a bench that wasn’t there when we started this trial. “Wait there, please.”
I nod and walk to sit on the opposite side of the bench from Paris. I can feel his gaze on me, but I refuse to look over. Instead, I pin my attention to the screens overhead. They show the various champions. Several of the others are on the ground, having suffered various bodily injuries. Theseus is still in the center of the maze, leaning against the wall and cradling his knee. I don’t see Hector or the Minotaur.
Achilles is half carrying Patroclus, who looks wounded but—thank the gods—okay.
I fight not to react as I watch their slow progress, heart in my throat. We’re over halfway through the time allotted. They have to hurry up if they want to pass the trial. I press my hands hard to my thighs, fighting to keep my expression even. Will Achilles leave Patroclus behind? Will either of them make it?
Come on. You can do it. Hurry.
22
Achilles
“Leave me.”
“Stop saying that,” I growl. “We’re getting out of this together.” Earlier, I accidentally found the door out of the maze, so I’ve got the path back memorized. We just need to find the fucking center, get the keys, and get the fuck out of here. I gingerly adjust my grip around Patroclus’s waist. “Did he get your ribs?”
“No.” He’s leaning too heavily on me, and I can’t tell if he’s lying or if Hector just knocked him for a loop to the point where he’s woozy. He’s got a split lip and I’m pretty sure his ankle is royally fucked. There’s also a bruise darkening one of his cheekbones, and his glasses were shattered on the ground when I found him and Hector fighting.
Best not to think about that too closely.
I could tell at a glance that Patroclus would lose. And then Hector hit him with an uppercut that snapped his head back and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. After that, I stopped thinking entirely. My only goal was to knock Hector the fuck out and protect the man I love. I don’t give a fuck that Hector has his reasons for being here.
He doesn’t want Ares. He just wants to pave the way for his shit stain of a little brother to be Ares, and he’s willing to step on Patroclus to get there. If Helen hadn’t been on the walls and able to guide me… I don’t like to think what might have happened. “Fuck that.”
Overhead, the screens change and the crowd goes wild. I look up in time to see Paris walk out of the maze. The asshole looks regal as fuck in royal blue. He doesn’t appear to have even worked up a sweat. Bastard.
Right on his heels comes Helen.
She’s limping and smiling, but I can tell she’s furious. It’s carefully hidden in her amber eyes as she turns and gives a wave to the crowd. Part of me had hoped she’d be eliminated in this trial for simplicity’s sake, but I can’t stop the flare of pure pride. She made it through, and she did it in a clever way, too. “That’s our girl.”
