Page 29 of Starside

The ground starts to slope—but the arrows don’t stop. The archer must have crested too. Down below, there are walls, though. Some sort of towering structure. Somewhere to use for cover. Just a little farther—

An arrow hits my spine, knocking the breath out of me. I fall from the force, tumbling down the hill, the cut on my cheek ripping open against an errant root, hot blood streaming, before I finally go still, face down.

I gasp for air, dirt filling my lungs. I wait for the wave of pain. Wait to feel the crushing sadness that I’m going to die in the king’s fucking garden. That, after everything, after Stellan dying, I didn’t even make it to the gates.

But there’s nothing. It doesn’t make any sense.

I felt it.

I reach back, expecting blood, only to find the arrow buried in the blade on my spine. I remember Valen’s arrows now. Iron-tipped. A lesser metal.

My titanium sword stopped it.

I close my eyes, grateful for Stellan and the swords he gave me, made from scraps of metal collected over time, far nicer than I would ever be able to afford.

He saved me.

Relief and desperation have me up and running faster than I ever have in my life. I reach around and wrench the arrow from my blade, then break it in half before discarding it, so it can’t be used against me a second time. Kira is ahead of me now, her red hair already slipping out of its braids. I wonder if she saw me go down.

And if Valen is readying her bow again.

The structure isn’t far. I can reach it. My lungs burn. My legs are already sore. Still, I keep pushing. As I get closer, I realize that it isn’t a structure at all. It’s nature. Part of the garden.

Ten arched entrances stand tall, framed in twisting vines. Ten paths. I race into the last one, grateful to see it empty. No one follows. They’ve all picked different roads.

I collapse over my knees, my breaths wild, my heart beating too quickly.

I’m alive. For now.

My gaze slides up. Walls five times my height box me in. I take a step toward one. A hedge? No. It isn’t made of shrubs or trees.

I brush my finger against the wall with the slightest touch—then tense. A thin line of blood spills down my hand.

Thorns. The walls are completely made of thorns.

They might as well be walls of daggers for how sharp they are. Distant yells echo around me. Can’t stop now. I start to run, careful not to brush against the barbs.

When I reach the end of the path, I expect something new. Gates, if I’m lucky.

Instead, it’s another trail, with more openings. A dozen of them. I swallow, realizing that this isn’t just a pathway.

This is a labyrinth.

A maze of thorns.

Panic spikes through me. I don’t just have to find my way out—I have to do it quickly, before the rest.

I think of the king sitting up on his balcony, with a clear view of the maze, and us, and the exit.

The bastard.

Screaming pierces the air, and I run in the opposite direction, picking a corridor. I bolt, arms tucked in.

This one is shorter. I turn a corner only to see another challenger, a blond woman with long cuts down her side, as if she’s been scraped against the maze walls. We both look at each other and run in opposite directions.

Another scream—then silence.

I’m in the middle of a path so long, I can’t even see the other end. The maze doesn’t have a pattern. Or if it does, I haven’t figured it out yet.