Page 30 of Starside

Hissing pulls me out of my thoughts. I unsheathe my blade and turn.

A snake weaves through the wall of thorns, protected by silver skin like armor.

Silver. Did it get trapped on this side of the gates? Did the king steal it from its home, to add to his vast collection?

The serpent stops. Its head turns, and we look at each other for a moment. I don’t make a single movement, but it lingers, as if it could possibly sense the silver beneath my clothes.

Then the world turns as I’m shoved to the side. My head hits the compact ground. My ears ring. A challenger runs by, not bothering to kill me on his way. His calf is shredded, a chunk of skin hanging off his leg, revealing muscle and bone.

What? From the ground, I turn to look behind me.

And I see the end of the path … is gone. The thorns along the walls … they’re lengthening, quickly, becoming meter-long barbs, both sides meeting in sharp clashes. It’s happening in a ripple. The thorns around me begin to tremble, like a mouth readying to close.

Run.

I do, and the faster I move, the faster the hedges close in behind me, as if they’re carnivorous, like the thorns are teeth and the maze is starving.

A light. There’s a light at the very end.

I just need to make it.

As if sensing my hope, my own desperation to make it through, the walls shake, thorns shooting out until they’re daggers, then long as swords, all rushing toward me. I can hear the rustling on both sides, the hissing of snakes within, the screams of those being eaten by the labyrinth.

I’ve survived so much already. This maze will not kill me. A grunt scrapes against the back of my throat as I push my legs harder, painfully, as I ignore the thorns just inches away.

But they’re so close. I turn sideways, buying myself seconds, their sharp points scraping against the scabbard on my back with a high-pitch screech, and then I launch myself through the closing gap, hoping I don’t hit another wall.

My body lands hard on the compact ground, the air stolen from my lungs. I gasp, turning around—only to find a wall of thorns.

The path I was on is gone.

I turn again and see more entrances. More pathways.

And something else. A towering figure, stalking toward a short woman with dark hair, tied back. Her name is Helra.

She’s my age, barely twenty. Instead of a sword, she has throwing knives, a pack of gold ones she’s trained with for years. I overheard her telling another challenger about them during dinner. They were her grandmother’s. She survived the last Questral. Helra’s completely oblivious to the giant right behind her. My lips part, but it’s too late to warn her.

I watch in horror as Pagnus picks her up—and throws her against one of the walls, the thorns already lengthened into barbs.

Her body gets stuck in them. She dies instantly. My hand muffles a scream.

Pagnus picks her pockets. I watch him slide those gold throwing knives out of her pants and into his own before moving on. Anger churns as I remember Stellan’s missing dagger. Was Pagnus the one who stole it?

Someone here did. Someone here killed Stellan.

All of a sudden, Pagnus turns in my direction, and I throw myself through another entrance, hoping he didn’t see me.

I wait one second. Two. I’m not breathing.

Heavy steps sound just feet away.

I swallow. Reach back for my sword.

Just when my fingers curl around the hilt, a yell echoes from the other direction. Cadoc. I don’t move a muscle. Neither does Pagnus.

See you in the Culling. That was his promise. He’s walked with noticeable strain since I stabbed my dagger through his shin.

He takes another step forward. I inch my sword out of its scabbard.