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I can’t make it out. “What are they saying?”
“Ragno the Reaper.It was his name in the Wardana.”
What kind of mercy can you hope for from a man called that?
Pa turns the last corner—the heart of the maze stands before him. Only a long corridor separates him from victory.
He is halfway down the corridor when Ragno turns the corner. Pa stops in his tracks, as if he can feel Ragno’s eyes on him. It’s the reaction of prey to a predator.
The crowd quiets as Ragno shifts his scythe. “Put your weapon up, Alcanar.”
“Rags, I’m sorry.” Pa raises his axe partway from the ground, but it’s clear he’s not prepared to fight. “I’m sorry, for everything.”
He’s making his last amends, preparing for Ragno to take his life. I make a decision.
“Dalca—can you stop this?”
“I—if I did, if I took this from them, the city would turn against me.”
“Would you do it if I had a way to give you Pa’s work?”
He leans in. “Do you mean it?”
Below, Ragno shakes his head and says, “The time for apologies is long gone.”
Pa raises his axe in time, but this is no match of equals. Ragno toys with him. A cut here, a shallow stab there—he may be the Reaper, but there’s no mercy in the sort of death he offers. He makes sure Pa knows that each further minute of his life is a gift granted by him. I lose count of how many times Ragno could have killed my father.
I touch Dalca’s cheek. “Tell me first: would you put your mother over the city?”
His eyes dart across my face, trying to understand. “I...”
Pa staggers backwards, tripping and falling. He’s within feet of the golden sword and his freedom, but it’s only a cruel ploy to give him hope. Ragno means to strike him down inches from victory.
There’s no time. “I have his notebook. I’ll give it to you.”
Pa struggles to raise his axe, to point it toward Ragno, but on the ground he has no leverage. No hope. Ragno speaks to Pa, but his voice is too soft to hear, even with the Arvegna’s acoustics.
Dalca gives me a long look and then jolts into action, leaping to his feet. “HALT!”
Pa freezes and scans the stadium. He stops when he sees me beside Dalca. He meets my eyes and then, very deliberately, he shakes his head.
With his eyes on me, Pa lowers the point of his axe. He can give up his life, but I can’t let him.
Ragno has his scythe to Pa’s throat. He makes as if to release Pa.
The arena erupts in boos and hisses.
Ragno looks to the Regia, who gestures him to continue.
“Please, Dalca.” My hands tremble as I open Ma’s locket and the shrunken notebook falls out onto my lap. “This is it.”
Dalca leaps from the platform, his white-feather cloak flung wide. I rise to my feet as he falls, Pa’s notebook clutched in my hand. He hasno weapon as he speeds toward Ragno, but he pulls the golden sword from the pedestal and matches blows with Ragno.
“That’s enough!” he shouts, voice magnified by the arena.
The boos only get louder, until the Regia raises a hand.
All eyes go to her. The Regia’s crackling Great King voice seems to come from everywhere. “The prince is wise to not end our fun so soon. Let there be a Second Trial.”
The crowd can’t tell if they like that or not. Ragno lowers his scythe.
Dalca hands the golden sword to Pa, who collapses on his back with it in hand, chest heaving.
Dalca bows, and when he rises, his gaze finds mine and holds tight.
