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“The first fifteen competitors to reach the end will move on,” the announcer continues. “If a competitor is incapacitated or must be rescued from the labyrinth, they will be disqualified.”
The fae boo at the notion of disqualification. Or maybe the thought of any of us being rescued. I swallow the knot in my throat. The way they jostle each other in the stands like drunken college boys cheering on their favorite team, they might like a little bloodshed.
“No rules against harming other competitors, huh?” I say.
I mean it as a joke, but the hard look from Galen says it’s true. Again. We have to make it through the labyrinth by any means necessary.
Literally any.
A resounding gong vibrates through the ground.
Several fae sprint toward the entrances. Others go at a more measured pace. The prince and I look to Galen.
“Well?” I say.
Indecision flickers across Galen’s face as he watches the others before he points. “Second from the left.”
I take off with them, running fast as my pitiful human legs will allow. It takes everything I’ve got, but the men at my sides might as well be walking for all the exertion they show. No sooner do we make it to the entrance than another fae—one who’d sprinted off like a cheetah—races back out the entrance and scrambles around a corner like the devil himself is on his heels.
Whatever lies beyond the quick turn ahead, I’d rather not find out. Thankfully, neither would Galen.
“This one, then.” He tips his head in the opposite direction the other fae went, and we follow. The ground in this path is rocky and uneven like the remnants of a landslide. Galen and Lysandir practically hop from one boulder to another, racing through with ease. Showoffs.
My heart pounds in my ears as I leap from one boulder to the next, slip, scrape my shin, and scramble up the rock. Rinse and repeat. It sucks. It hurts.
But this is only the beginning, and I surely can’t give up now.
A tall section of rock juts from the ground. Galen scales it with the speed of a Navy Seal and turns back, extending his hand. “Wren.”
I nearly laugh. As if I could reach his hand way up there.
“Need a lift?” Lysandir asks. He doesn’t give me time to reply before grabbing my waist and lifting me above his head as if we’re an ice-skating duo.
“Wait,” I say, “Ah—”
“Gotcha.” Galen grabs my failing arms. “That’s it. Use your legs.”
My boots barely find purchase on the rock wall before he has me hauled up its side onto a narrow spit of land. I rock back on my heels, nearly tumbling down the wall.
A large pit gapes before us. It’s way too far to jump and—
I lean over, just enough to look down.
Only darkness stares back.
“We have to go back,” I say, just as Lysandir scrambles up the wall to perch beside me.
“We jump,” Lysandir says.
“Jump! Are you crazy?” I gesture to the pit of no return. “I could never make that.” No way, not even with the best jump of my life.
“Can you make it with Wren?” Galen asks, talking over me.
Oh no, no way are they jumping with me in their arms. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Lysandir scowls at the pit. “Too risky.”
“We go back,” I say. “We’re wasting time.”
