“Water is most practical,”

Clark began before we reached the first shop.

“Then weapons, then food. We buy in that order.”

“Yes, but poisons would be so much more fun.”

“Ren.”

“Fine. Water, weapons, food, then poisons.”

His grunt was drowned out by the first merchant greeting us. He stood behind a small table clad in an orange tablecloth, with tiny vials of all colors.

“Good evening! Can I interest you in a lethal dose of nightshade?”

Clark was already grabbing my arm before I could say yes. He pulled me toward the next stall.

“We are looking for water,”

he said quickly.

The merchant brightened. She batted her violet eyes at us while her long lashes cast a shadow over her small, pointed nose. Rose gold bracelets lined her wrist, making small twinkling noises as she spread her arms wide.

“I have water.”

“Brilliant.”

She pointed to a green jug first.

“This water will kill whoever drinks it by the third gulp—”

“Drinking water. Normal drinking water.”

An edge crept into Clark’s voice.

“The non-deadly variety.”

Her arms dropped, and her smile sagged.

“Oh. You’re one of those types. Okay, I have dull water too. Three coppers per jug, and I can deliver up to three times per season.”

“Deliver?”

I asked, inspecting the various jars with various colored lids. After a full day and night of sailing, it took all my restraint not to snatch the closest one and down it. The main thing keeping me at bay was not knowing which was normal water and which was lethal.

“Yes, we deliver while you are in the labyrinth. You can decide how many times you want it delivered, but if you are eliminated, I don’t refund.”

She unrolled a scroll with the word ‘contract’ written on the top.

I glanced at the other tables where competitors of all ages were signing their names on the lines, being passed tiny vials of liquid, weapons of all sizes, or bundles wrapped in linen. Each made me wary.

“How will it be delivered?”

Clark frowned at the high walls of the labyrinth.

“Let me worry about that. Pay, and I promise you’ll receive it.”

Clark shifted his gaze to me, and I shrugged.

“We need water.”

“Let’s shop around for prices, then return.”

“It’ll be four coppers per jug the next time you visit,”

she said. Her smile remained innocent, though the violet of her eyes sparked.

Before I could reach for my purse, Clark put a hand on my arm.

“We will take our chances.”

He was right. Three stalls down, we found someone selling jugs for two coppers. Slightly smaller, but a better deal. Clark reached into his shirt to free his pouch of coins and slap some down.

“Six jugs each, plus one for now.”

The merchant was a plump woman with a face as sweet as a child but as weathered as an old lady, and introduced herself as Varla. Her rosy cheeks dimpled as she smiled at the coins and unrolled her own contract.

“And how will those be split for the seasons?”

Clark and I looked to each other.

“Seasons?” I asked.

Varla lowered the contract.

“Has anyone explained the labyrinth to you?”

When we shook our heads, she clapped her hands.

“Good! I love doing it.”

She cleared her throat, then began.

“The Quarter Labyrinth is modeled after the four seasons. It’ll be spring when you enter, then summer, and fall. By the time winter ends, the labyrinth is over. If no one has reached the center yet, no one will receive the prize.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,”

I interjected.

“What is Callahan going to do with the Shallows and the Silver Wings if no one wins the labyrinth?”

Her words sharpened.

“He’ll find someone more skilled to inherit the trade route, not someone who isn’t able to find their way through a maze.”

Clark nudged me, and I clamped my mouth shut.

She smiled at my silence, and continued.

“You’ll encounter others in the labyrinth. Officially, we don’t condone killing. Unofficially, I recommend you stay clear of others. There are mazes within the maze, various paths above and below, and places for rest. With luck, you’ll reach the center with minimal difficulties. If you do find difficulties…”

she reached into her pocket to draw out two small, red bags held shut with a drawstring, and handed them to us.

“Toss the white stone into the sky to signal surrender. The next time you blink—no matter where you were—you’ll be transported to the edge of the labyrinth. You’ll have to find your own way home.”

Clark looked relieved as he took the two bags and stuffed them in the satchel with the papayas. But I resolved to never use my white stone. I was making it to the end of the labyrinth.

Varla laid the paper on the table, then pulled a quill out of her long sleeves. She dipped the tip in ink.

“So, six jugs of water! Do you want two during the first two seasons and one during the last two? Seems a popular choice tonight.”

“That’s fine,”

Clark said, hauling his satchel back over his shoulder.

“Where do I sign?”

She pointed, and he signed his name.

As soon as he finished, she rolled the scroll up, tucked it in one sleeve and the quill in the other, then clapped her hands.

“Done. Those will be delivered through your time in the labyrinth, and here’s the water you bought for now.”

We practically drooled as she drew out two large goblets, filling them to the top with crystal water. I grabbed mine greedily. The goblet was so large, I couldn’t fit both my hands around it, and it took strength to it lift to my lips. The cool water hit the top of my mouth, and I wanted to melt right there.

Clark and I both finished our drinks without a word.

When we lowered the empty goblets, Varla was staring.

“You can buy more water if you’re that thirsty.”

I wanted to say yes. But my mind turned to weapons and food now. Thanks to Clark’s generosity, I still had thirty-six coppers, and would need every coin. Around us, other competitors bought their wares by dropping heavy pouches of coins upon merchants’ tables. Fifty coppers. A hundred coppers. One just paid four hundred coppers for a map.

I’d give anything for a map. But my mother and I could have saved all our lives and not have four hundred coppers.

My gaze slid through smoke and tents to search for the glint of weapons before finding one.

“Maybe later,”

I told Varla. I held my coins tight while slipping through the tight crowd to find the rows of weapons hung upon boards.

It was a popular spot. Around twenty other competitors stood with us, varying in age from a young boy to an old man with a crooked back. He still had the glint of youth in his eyes though, like he was set for one last adventure.

I didn’t let my sight linger on them for too long. It was easier to think of everyone else as obstacles between me and the only future I’d ever envisioned, than real people with dreams as big as mine.

Instead, I turned my eyes to the glorious weapons.

Knives with trailing tips, scythes with arched handles, axes engraved in silver, swords with iron pommels, and spears as tall as the young boy beside me who stared up at everything with wonder. Lethal blades from one side of the tent to the other. The thick air smelled of oil and rust, while the buzz of anticipation burned brighter as my gaze pitched beyond the weapons to the tall, labyrinth wall.

Three workers ran back and forth from the buyers to the weapons, fulfilling orders. We didn’t sign anything here. Simply paid money, and received a weapon meant to defend ourselves—or kill each other.

I shifted my weight in the dirt as I scanned the array. Would one of those arrows with the red feathers pierce my skin later? Or would one of those small throwing daggers end up in my back?

The young boy next to me purchased a set of throwing daggers, then scampered off toward the labyrinth.

I stepped up next, where a short man with a black beard waited for me. His sight took me in, then he spoke.

“We have some small daggers if you want?”

My pride burned.

“How much for that bearded axe there,”

I pointed, then to the right.

“and that slim sword?”

His bushy brow quirked up.

“Axe and sword? That’s what Gerald Montclair carries! Or—”

his face twisted as he corrected himself. “Carried.”

I didn’t care for that distinction.

“He’s not dead.”

“Maybe. Twelve coppers each!”

My fingers dipped into my pouch before I paused. To my left, Clark stood among the crowd, gazing upon a sword with a sharply tapering edge, fitted with a blue pommel. He’d already spent coins on the water—for both him and me. If he bought a weapon, he might not have enough for food later.

“I’ll take the axe, but I want that sword instead.”

The merchant followed my gesture to grab the sword. Clark’s expression dropped as the man grabbed it, then furrowed when it was passed to me. He pushed through to my side.

“This is for you, so you don’t die tonight.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yes, I should have,”

I said as the man brought me my axe. Clark might have said something, but all I could see was the gorgeous weapon in my hands.

Father’s weapons of choice were an axe and a sword strapped to his back in an X. I wanted to look like him as I fought for his fleet. Perhaps I’d find a fallen sword along the way, but even with just the axe, I already felt closer to him. The wide, curved head caught the firelight to glow silver. The wooden handle fit perfectly in my hands. And after paying a few coins for a strap, I clipped it to my back and took the first deep breath all day.

“Think you know how to swing that?”

Someone snickered.

“No,”

I replied.

“But I can guess.”

Clark pulled me out of the crowd before anyone else could comment.

Clark learned the basics of sword play from the blacksmith where he apprenticed. While I spent my days on the seas, he spent his holding blades, and at night, we would train together. But train was a fancy way to say play. We played with swords, not intending to ever hurt one another, and never dreaming we’d have use for them. Even my father, though he carried two, just had them for theatrics. Mother said he liked the way they made him feel.

We could claim we knew what we were doing, but Clark and I had been playing at a game that suddenly became too real.

While I knew the general way to swing an axe, could I do it if someone’s neck lay on the other side?

“We have water and weapons. Now we need food.”

“Don’t forget poi—”

A whooping cheer pulled my attention toward the labyrinth. Every head turned at once to witness a large crowd making their way to the high walls, led by a figure holding a lantern.

I wandered closer to see him better.

It was a boy not much older than me, with striking black hair and a backpack stuffed full. He marched to the market where he dropped the largest pouch of coins I’ve ever seen, and in return, they passed him a pre-packed sack, one short sword, two daggers, and a vial. He added the weapons to his already extensive collection strapped to every inch of his body, making me wonder what made these ones special. Perhaps they were laced with something.

The entire market hushed to watch him. When he finished preparing himself, he winked at the crowd.

“This is the year boys!”

He thrust a fist in the air.

“That fleet is mine!”

The crowd cheered.

“They cheer for him now,”

a burly man nearby said.

“If any of those people make it into the labyrinth, they’d cut his throat and not think twice about it.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

The man shot me a look.

“This must be your first year competing. It’s that boy’s third. He’s Leif Balgoran, son of Vincent Balgoran, and heir to the second richest trade empire in the Hundred Islands.”

Vincent. My father’s enemy. If Gerald had been killed, Vincent ranked highest on my list of suspects.

“I hear Vincent is exploring other options for who will inherit his empire. This labyrinth is that boy’s last chance to prove himself,”

a nearby girl said. She held a spear in one hand and a jug of water in the other, her vibrant green eyes fixed on Leif as if he were her next meal.

She wasn’t the only one. Everyone watched him as if they either adored him, or feared him. Even the man beside us, though somewhere in his forties, watched Leif striding toward the labyrinth with admiration. When his eyes found me, they turned skeptical. Like Leif was the fox and I was the mouse that didn’t stand a chance.

“If you come across Leif, run away. That pretty axe won’t save you from him.”

“Noted,”

Clark said.

“We’ll keep our distance.”

“You said it’s his third year? He must have competed as a child the first time.”

I couldn’t imagine going into the labyrinth as a youngling. But he had, and survived. Twice. What manner of madness drove him to enter the labyrinth in the first place?

“His father has always been rough on him,”

the man replied. His voice darkened.

“The labyrinth hasn’t been too kind either.”

Before I could ask what that meant, Leif reached the labyrinth where a looming black gate with wrought iron bars separated us from everything inside. With a dramatic flourish, he plucked a key from his pocket. It gleamed golden.

“I heard those cost a thousand silvers,”

Clark whispered to me.

“His father can afford it.”

Leif put the key into the gate. As soon as he did, the key disappeared. He opened the gate, stepped inside, and the doors clamped shut behind him like teeth over their prey.

With the show over, people turned back to their merchant stalls, but the air had changed. Sharpened. Filled us with haste. People were already in the maze, searching for the center, while we were stuck out here.

A fire lit within me.

“Come on. Let’s get some food then figure out how to enter.”

Other rich folk were walking through the gate with their keys—with much less fanfare than Leif—but knowing the son of Vincent had entered the labyrinth made me all the more determined to get inside.