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“The doors will open on the hour. There are four entries: green, black, red, and white doors. You may exit through whichever one you’d like except this one.” Zale gestures to the red monstrosity. “Should you wish to get out of the maze at any time, scream my name and you’ll be rescued.”
His amused smirk is directed toward me, but a black-haired young girl, perhaps sixteen at most, clears her throat. “Is there anything dangerous in there?”
“Only your mind.” Zale doesn’t bother to glance at her. “The contestant may remain here, the rest of us can watch the bailey from the battlements. Who cares to place a wager on who will remain the longest?”
With those parting words, he returns to the stairs ahead of his flock, leaving me with seven women who all glower at me.
* * *
The young brunette who was sensible enough to ask Zale about the danger has remained behind, and she’s the first to approach me. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Pava Mayor.”
“Hel,” I say, forcing a smile.
I pity her. What could possess her to submit herself to whatever torture the king has in store for us? And if by some sort of miracle, she lasts until morning, she’s far too young to bear the mantle of queen of anything.
“Like, a circle of hell?”
I shrug. “It’s Helyn, but that was also my grandma’s name. She went by Lyn, and I claimed Hel.”
“Nice! I don’t know any Hels, and there are plenty of Pavas.” Then she’s done with polite conversation, jumping to the meat. “How do you know the king?”
I’ll wager it’s the burning question on everyone’s lips right now. Some misguided fools might have taken his attention for regard, though it’s likely most saw right through his anger and hatred toward me. Either way, they want the gossip.
I opt to tell her the truth. “I don’t.”
There’s almost nothing I know about Zale Devar, other than the fact that he chose to hate me at first glance, and I return his distaste.
She doesn’t let my nonanswer deter her. “He’s never sent anyone to the maze—not once. The old king used to make a dozen people walk through it every week. And now he makes you take the trial, and offers his hand if you manage it?” She tilts her head, hands on her hips, everything about her stance demanding an answer.
I chuckle. She’s ridiculously direct. “We met in Magnapolis—at Five.” I don’t bother to say a word about our first encounter in the garden. “He’s not fond of the fact that I’m at the top of the classes we have in common.”
Her eyes grow impossibly wide. “But he’s a genius.”
I shrug, getting irritated now. “I’m good at studying.”
I have noticed that Zale seems to score almost as high as me, when he’s entirely relaxed and casual.
Adelaid sneers. “Hm. Right. You’re top of our year because of skills. Everyone knows your whore of a mother and the duke pay your way.”
I don’t bother to point out how ridiculous the notion that my family could bribe the professors or administration with more money than their king could. In fact, I ignore her entirely, which only serves to enrage her.
“Zale hates her. She’s common, and she doesn’t know her place.”
“I did notice that you and your ridiculous king are racist,” I admit with a conciliatory nod. “It sounds like your problem, not mine.”
Her jaw falls.
“Who can blame him?” one of the women, older than us and elegant in a puffy gown, says. Everyone’s abandoned the appearance of indifference, openly eavesdropping on our conversation. “After what happened to his family, I’d keep my circle closed, too.”
I frown. “Just because they were killed doesn't justify his hating the greater part of the population."
Pava frowns, and some of the girls exchange a confused look.
"They weren't just killed," Adelaid spits out. "They were drugged at dinner, then dragged into the musical hall and tortured when they couldn't move. The women and children were raped, the men, mutilated, slowly cut and drained of their blood. Only then did the monsters pile them up and burn them, some of them alive."
My stomach sinks at the picture she describes.
“Zale still has the scars, you know. One on his chest, right under his heart, and several on his back, from the lashes he took. And all of that was done by common folk, unhappy about their station in our world. People like you.”
