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Inside was a mirrored passageway. Beyond that, more mirrors.

A maze, she realised.

Silence echoed louder than a shout down that glimmering path, the eeriness of its call almost palpable. Thea stood at the threshold, gathering her wits, knowing that whatever awaited her within those walls would test her mental resolve beyond anything she’d ever experienced.

I have to get to the heart.

The thought came to her out of nowhere, a distant voice of reason, and she knew in her bones that was what she must do. Something was waiting for her at the centre.

Resting her hands on the grips of each of her daggers, she took a breath, and stepped inside.

Instantly, the mirrored doors swung shut behind her, leaving her standing at the start of the long path. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, their flames lighting up the sea of stalactites hanging down like daggers above. But Thea knew that being impaled by a falling mineral formation was the least of her concerns. There was danger here – she could feel it crawling along her skin, waiting to sink its teeth into her… and more dangerous still was whatever waited for her beyond the winding paths.

Slowly, she started the march, trying not to jump every time a mirror shifted and showed her reflection at a new angle. It was all a trick of illusion and light, all designed to keep her tense, anticipating the first strike.

With every step into the labyrinth, Thea’s chest grew tighter, the pressure sitting right over her heart growing heavier by the moment. There was no way of knowing the way to the heart of the maze, no discernable markings or clues. The twisting corridors offered more of the same: her own visage unnervingly multiplied.

Then, there was a whisper.

Her own voice called out to her, only she couldn’t understand the words.

Thea picked up her pace. The sooner she got to the centre of this place and dealt with the challenge there, the better.

Time works differently in the Great Rite, Wilder had shared with her in the Bloodwoods. She knew that hours within the ritual could be mere moments in the midrealms beyond, and vice versa; it was part of the Rite’s legend. It only made her all the more eager to hurry things along.

But as she increased her speed, something flickered in her reflections. Thea’s blood ran cold as they stopped following her actions.

Now, when she moved, they did not.

Dozens of Theas stared back at her. They did not step when she stepped. They did not wave when she waved. They did not blink when she blinked.

Instead, they mirrored the rot inside her.

A strangled gasp tore from Thea’s mouth as she saw what lurked beneath the surface of her.

Selfishness. Greed. Hatred.

A version of herself she hardly recognised, one that would see all those she cared for chained and broken before she gave up what she wanted. But there was a whisper of truth there, too… Her reflections twisted and danced in triumph as that kernel settled in the chasm of Thea’s aching chest.

She gripped her daggers hard enough to make her knuckles burn, and it was this pain that grounded her enough to keep moving.

Get to the heart, she told herself.Get to the heart and slay whatever monster lies in wait.

Whispers filled the air, haunting murmurs in her own voice that trailed over her skin like oil. Promises of power, if only shewould give up a sliver of herself –the parts that don’t matter anyway,her voice echoed in her mind.

Dull pain throbbed at her temples whenever she looked away from the mirrors, as though she’d had too much wine or was looking at direct sunlight. Her gaze was forced back to the glass, where she was broken apart for all to witness: her streak of cruelty, her self-obsession, her pig-headedness and her disregard for others.

Yes, she had regressed and sunk into every one of those traits and more to stand where she now did, where she now looked upon herself in all her ugly glory.

Thea fought to get enough air into her lungs, one hand flying from her dagger to her chest, as though she might alleviate some of the pressure there. But without the rough grip of the dagger against her palm, she became more untethered. For the heartbeat she sought to feel beneath her skin wasn’t there. There was nothing but hollowness, and the kiss of malice against her soul. Not that of monsters and evil tyrants, but her own. It tasted of her. It knew her.

Thea staggered under the force of it, but managed to take the next turn. She was greeted with more reflections, every one of them a more twisted version of herself, clawing at her psyche, gnawing at her beliefs.

Yield, she heard herself whisper in the distance.Yield to what you are.

‘No,’ she rasped aloud. The sound of her true voice gave her a momentary reprieve from the onslaught of madness that was nearly consuming her.

On some level, she knew that the maze of mirrors had been designed to unleash chaos in her mind, to fragment her beliefs, her memories, her perception of herself. But that knowledge did nothing in the face of her identity, for with each new facet shesaw, the ability to discern illusion and warped perception from reality frayed.