Page 15

A bone-chilling wolf’s howl drifts from the hazy distance, where the sharp edges of the mountains cut into the dark sky.

Inside the castle, however, silence reigns supreme.

I’m crouched in the shadows in a small passageway between the inner ward and the southern ward while the castle around me sleeps so deeply that the silence seems to vibrate with snores.

Right in front of me is the Martyshyar wing, guarded by a door that looks like it can withstand dragon fire.

It’s massive, made of gnarled wood and rusty iron.

But the door is the least of my worries; it’s the three Martyshgards standing guard in front of it that makes my palms sweat.

Not to mention the guards casually strolling along the walls, their spears twitching with the urge to impale any unsuspecting trespasser.

Suddenly, this whole plan feels less like a brilliant break-in and more like a suicide mission.

For what must be the hundredth time—perhaps the hundred-and-first—I find myself questioning my sanity for even contemplating such a profoundly ill-advised act.

I once again resolve, with utmost sincerity, to retreat to my quarters and indulge in some intensive self-care, hoping to embrace any leftovers of good sense in my head.

But my feet remain firmly planted. Who knew desperation could be such an effective paralytic? And desperate I am, with only one option ahead of me: to infiltrate the Martyshyar wing to find any hint about the upcoming trials.

Was it the cold water Zanyar had so thoughtfully poured over my head earlier this afternoon?

Or the demoralizing swordsmanship that every other contender has displayed, or the alliances they have built in the last eight days?

Because under normal circumstances, this level of reckless abandon, this sheer insanity, is not what I knew I would be capable of.

And yet, here I am. I think my chances of winning the trials, with no allies and no swordsmanship, are close to nothing.

I promised Emmengar I wouldn’t try for Martysh again if I lose these trials.

While it wasn’t a blood oath, I’m not entirely sure if, after returning to Firelands labeled as a failure, I’d have the motivation to attempt this whole Martysh ordeal again—even if my moral compass conveniently forgets that promise to one of the most powerful men in the land.

So, in the alchemy room, after Zanyar left, I suddenly decided to commit minor treason and infiltrate the Martyshyar wing for the sake of collecting information about the upcoming trials.

Or, failing that, information about past trials, at least. Anything, really.

A clue, a hint, perhaps a neatly written schedule of my impending doom. One can only hope.

“You really are a wild thing, aren’t you?”

The sound right behind me makes me jump so hard that my teeth click and nearly launches my heart into the heavens. I spin around, heart hammering, and there stands… Darian.

Of all the shadowy figures in all the shadowy castles in all the world, it has to be him. My heart immediately threatens to vacate the premises through my throat. Any. Second. Now.

“What are you doing here?” I manage. My voice is a bizarre, squeaky whisper as I try really, really hard to be quiet.

“I suppose I should be asking you that,” he says, smirking, not even bothering to lower his voice.

“Shhh!” I hiss-whisper, grabbing his arm and yanking him down the small space between the thick border walls of the wards, away from anyone with ears and a spear.

When we are tucked away in a nice, dark, narrow pathway – squeezed between the castle walls of the inner ward and the southern ward – I finally let go of his arm, probably leaving finger marks.

“Why are you here ? Were you following me?” I whisper, still trying to keep my voice low.

“Yes,” he admits. Just like that. And that infuriating, maddening, beautiful grin of his is plastered all over his face.

I gape at him with an open mouth. “What? But… how?”

He shifts his weight slightly from one foot to the other and loosely crosses his arms. “Wouldn’t you have followed a fellow contender if you saw them crawling out of the watchtower in the dead of night?”

“How did you even see me?”

“Oh, I was just in the communal area,” he says casually, as if we’re discussing the exciting possibility of a light drizzle tomorrow. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Right. Of course. Couldn’t sleep . So, naturally, the best cure for sleeplessness is to be perfectly positioned, at precisely the right ungodly hour, to witness my stealthy (apparently not) exit from a watchtower. Perfect. Just perfect.

“Me neither,” I lie, with all the conviction of a trapped mouse. “I’m trying to walk it through. Get some… air.” My mind scrambles for a more plausible excuse and comes up empty.

“Right,” Darian drawls and his voice is still three levels too loud for any kind of covert activity. “So, to be clear, you’re not here with any intention of, say, sneaking into the Martyshyar wing. You were just admiring its robust architecture.”

I scowl, resisting the urge to clap a hand over his mouth. “What I’m doing or admiring is absolutely none of your business. And you, incidentally, are currently a business I’d very much like to see closed.”

He chuckles with a low sound that still seems to echo way too much in our little hideout.

“Let me take a wild stab in the dark, though. Trials are fast approaching. And if one were looking for, say, some light reading material on past performances, or perhaps even a sneak peek at upcoming attractions, that wing would be the heavily fortified location for such documents, wouldn’t it? ”

“Are you selectively deaf or just profoundly dedicated to being a pain?” I hiss, jabbing a finger towards the way he came.

Darian leans back against the stone wall, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“My, my. And here I was, thinking you were the quiet, studious type. All ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and neatly shelved library books under your arm. Turns out, there’s a whole wild thing brewing right under there.

I’m almost…” he pauses, letting the grin widen just a fraction, “impressed.”

“Leave. Now. Before I send a spell in your direction.” I manage to say, the words scraping their way out from between my clenched teeth.

“You know the rules, don’t you?” he replies, breezy as ever. “Can’t go around harming your fellow contenders. So, instead of you trying to magically turn me into a toad, though I’m sure I’d be a very handsome one, how about if you let me come along?”

“Come along? Are you out of your mind? Absolutely not!”

Darian just pushes himself off the wall. “Oh, I really don’t think ‘refuse’ is on your list of available options tonight, little wolf.”

Little wolf? Where did that come from? Because wolf is the sigil of Firelands?

I let out a sigh that feels like it deflates my entire ribcage, desperately trying to wrestle some calm into my mind, trying to conjure any plan to get rid of him.

I aim for reasonable, “Look. My plan is designed for one person. Not two, especially not when one of them is a man of your size.”

He just cocks his head. “Then, by all means, share this meticulously crafted solo plan with me. Maybe I can help expand it to accommodate for two.”

I sigh again, fighting the overwhelming urge to grab handfuls of my own hair and just pull . “Fine. I’m planning to create a distraction over there,” I gesture vaguely toward the southern ward, “and when they’re all looking the other way, I use an invisibility spell to slip through the door.”

Darian’s smile is annoyingly approving. “Clever plan. Very neat. Now, you just have to work your magic and make me invisible, too.” He holds up a hand before I can even open my mouth.

“And don’t bother trying to fib your way out of it.

I know you can extend your sorcery through skin-to-skin contact. ”

My teeth ground together so hard I am surprised they didn’t shatter.

How does he know that? “That would drain me half to death. An invisibility spell is hard enough on its own. I can’t hold it for long, and the more…

mass ,” I say, pointedly looking him up and down, “the harder it is, and the quicker it will drain me.”

“Then we’ll just have to be exceptionally quick about it, won’t we?” he counters, utterly unfazed.

He isn’t going to budge. The realization settles in my mind. “Look, I’ll go in. Alone. And I swear I’ll tell you everything I find. Every scrap. Promise.”

He takes a step forward, and his mesmerizing dark blue eyes seem to sparkle with an unholy light as he closes the distance between us.

I take an instinctive step back, a reflexive flinch, but we are wedged in this narrow alleyway.

There isn’t much space to begin with. My back hits the cold wall, and suddenly, there is nowhere left to retreat.

His face gets so close, too close, that I can see the darker rings etched around the deep sapphire of his irises.

My whole body goes rigid, every muscle tensing and my breath hitches, trapped somewhere in my chest. I hate, absolutely hate , how stunningly beautiful he is, this close.

How surprisingly soft-looking those lips are when he opens them to murmur with a voice that sends a shiver through me.

“As much as I implicitly trust every word that comes out of your mouth, little wolf, I’m not really the kind of man who outsources his pleasures. ”

We stay like that, almost nose to nose, for what feels like a decade, locked in a silent, crackling stare-down.

I am pouring all my will into just holding my ground, into not squirming, into not letting him see how that charming face so close to mine is making my insides do a series of very complicated, unwanted flips.