Page 27

M y hand passes over the lip of the ravine and curves down around the edge.

A tingling sensation shoots along the back of my limb and then further along my arm as I continue to reach down the rock face, feeling my way.

I’m conscious of the indrawn breaths behind me, the clear surprise that I did, indeed, get through the shield, although, if it weren’t for my beast’s hearing, I’m certain the soft sounds would be drowned out by the roaring waterfall.

Now that I’ve reached beyond the cliff’s edge, the noise from within the ravine is somehow louder.

Carefully judging the distance down the cliff by feeling alone, I finally stop, my fingertips curling once again around a lip of stone and into an empty space behind it.

It must be the cavity Vanguard described.

Straining forward, I find the side of what certainly feels like a box. I’m not overly surprised that it feels like it’s made of wood. The box that Lady Tirelli kept the White Wand in was also wooden.

Shimmying further forward, I reach in and wrap my hand around the case, preparing to support it with my other hand so I don’t drop it as I pull it up.

Within moments, I’m back on my feet, holding a wooden box slightly smaller than a shoe box, just as Vanguard described. The latch is secured with an intricate-looking padlock, while runes are etched around the box on all four sides.

They’re the same kind of runes that were carved into the container the White Wand was stored in. I recognize some of the shapes. When I first saw them, I assumed they were witches’ runes, but now I’m not so certain.

“What are these?” I ask, running my free hand across the etchings.

“Stories with power,” Vanguard replies. “They are Norse runes carved by the ancient Einherjar, who revered the Valkyrie and sought glory in death. That box is one of only three still in existence, with the power to contain the bones. One of those boxes is now in the possession of the assassin’s Guardian. ”

The one the White Wand was in.

I try to sound out the unfamiliar name he used for the ancient people who carved the runes. “Who are these Ein… hair… yar?”

Vanguard nods and opens his mouth as if to speak, but Peyton’s expression has darkened.

“You speak of berserkers,” she snarls, and I imagine she’s recalling the brute that Hadrix transformed into before he died. Berserkers revel in death and blood.

“Fuck, no!” Jonah snaps, stepping forward with a deep furrow in his brow, clearly offended. “Berserkers are abominations who use a twisted version of Einherjar teaching to spill blood and dominate others.”

Vanguard raises his hand to Jonah, who presses his lips together and takes a step back.

The serpent is less furious in his reply. “The Einherjar were also a brutal people, but they lived by a code of honor. Somewhat like the assassins do.”

With that, he changes the subject. “You face a dilemma now, Striker Draven,” he says.

“To verify that the bones are, indeed, within that box, you will need to open it. But to open it will alert every dark creature within a hundred-mile radius, and, believe me, my master has followers everywhere. Or you can trust my word that the bones are in there and keep the box closed until such time as you can open it safely.”

Peyton is once again studying me.

“Fury?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “I can’t sense the bones within the box.”

Slade takes that moment to step forward. “As agreed, you will all stay within a temporary realm while we open the maze.” He gives Vanguard a hard stare before he continues, “You can check the box in the temporary realm.”

It’s a simple solution.

But the gleam in Vanguard’s eyes tells me it won’t be that easy.

Peyton’s hair brushes my shoulder, while Vanguard and Jonah step closer.

Slade adds, “When I remove the temporary realm, you will need to move fast. Step directly forward onto the bridge, and then you will be inside the maze. You may need to shield your eyes as the magic required to open the realm is extremely powerful.”

Slade quickly activates his power, and within moments, our environment changes.

I stand on what appears to be another stone bridge, nearly identical to the one within the ravine. It’s clever. Slade has created a seamless illusion of the bridge so that when he pulls down his realm, we will be disoriented.

He won’t want us to know how they open the maze, and there’s a large part of me that doesn’t want to know. I suspect supernaturals have died for carrying that secret.

For now, my focus returns to the box and the intricate padlock keeping it closed. “How do I open this?”

Assuming I can’t simply rip it off. I give it a tug, testing it, only for a shock of power to pass into my hand. It’s magically sealed and the bite of energy in my palm tells me brute strength won’t work.

Vanguard shrugs. “I don’t know how to get it open.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “But you locked the bones inside.”

“I didn’t.”

Suddenly, Peyton’s accusation toward Vanguard takes on a new meaning. I don’t like your games.

I fight my anger. “You don’t know if the bones are in here, do you? You only think they are.” I can’t stop my snarl. “Because this box is one of only two still out in the world that could contain them. So this is all a big fucking guess on your part.”

For all I know, it’s the other box that has the bones in it. Or neither of them does.

“I found this box,” Vanguard says. “I couldn’t get it open to verify its contents.”

Fuck .

He continues, “To open it, you will need to decipher its meaning.”

My jaw clenches. “You could simply tell me since you seem able to read these runes.”

He grimaces. “I recognize them individually, but I don’t understand their meaning in sequence. When I try to grasp it, it slips away from me.”

I look at Peyton, hearing her warning again in my mind. Choose carefully, Striker.

What does she know but isn’t saying?

When we arrived in the forest, before Slade created this realm, she would have been able to communicate with her sisters. Maybe they told her something…

Or, maybe, the answer to my next step lies in the mistakes of my past. The times I tried to deal with my problems on my own and didn’t ask for her help.

I’ve worked through all the distrust that led me to make those choices. It took eight months of living with the assassins to deal with the walls I’d built around myself. I know I still have a way to go, but showing Peyton that I trust her is a step I need to take.

Lowering my guard, I allow my emotions to surge, but only enough that she will hear me.

I’d like your help if you’re willing to give it.

Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. The press of her lips eases. “You can’t know what’s in that box,” she says. “Hoping it’s the bones won’t make it so. But you can choose the path you carry it on.”

It’s a cryptic response, but I don’t dismiss it. “My path through the maze.”

Slade warned me that everyone’s path through the labyrinth is different, even if they’re walking the same ground.

“I should take the box into the maze with me,” I say, more of a statement than a question.

“I believe you should,” she says.

Vanguard takes a quick step toward me as if he would object, but I’m not sure what else he thought might happen. Maybe he thought I’d choose to leave the bones out here with Slade, but I won’t put that kind of responsibility on my friend.

Nobody from the outside can come after us while we’re in the maze, so the only dangers I need to worry about are within it—the same dangers I was going to face anyway.

At that moment, a bright light grows to my left, the direction in which the real bridge sits.

Within seconds, it’s so bright that I have to raise my arm to shield my eyes, conscious of Vanguard, Jonah, and even Peyton doing the same.

Slade’s silhouette appears within the flood of light, and his voice sounds. “Walk directly forward. Don’t look back. The maze will only stay open for another five seconds. Good luck.”

Vanguard doesn’t delay, darting forward with Jonah close on his heels, both of them with hands cupped around their faces, their eyes squinted closed.

Peyton follows, and I step into her wake, only to be stunned by the memory of the first time I saw her.

She was standing with her back to me, her form lit up. Joseph was having a flicker fit, and every quick burst illuminated her body, pulsing around her head, shoulders, narrow waist, curvy hips, and down her long legs.

I thought she was some kind of fire angel.

So fucking perfect.

She still is. She always will be.

With my heart like a stone in my chest, I follow her into the light.