Page 42 of To Dwell in Shadows (Shadows of Aurelia #2)

T hough he knew it was coming, Sam was still startled when a pack of shrieking imps announced the next trial was about to begin just as he stepped out of the Sanctum.

He watched them soar through the air for a moment, a wave of resignation washing over him—then reminded himself this trial was merely a means to an end.

He began trudging in the direction where the other demons were headed, past the palace gates. He heard the word maze in snippets of conversation from those around him, confirming his suspicions about the nature of the trial ahead. Sam scanned the crowds for Selene but didn’t see her.

The groups passed a small stream showing signs of infection from the creeping rot that had begun to affect the lakes of fire. To his left, a voice said, “May fate smile upon you, Prince Samael.” The tone was unnaturally deepened.

He turned to see Vanthee’s red eyes peering out from a helmet. Her horns and hair were hidden beneath the hood of a coat that concealed her figure.

“Same to you, opponent,” he replied, and they quickly separated.

As the crowd slowed at the edge of a meadow clearing, Sam threaded his way to the front.

He immediately saw his parents, who appeared to hover midair above a dense tangle of vegetation.

Then he realized their feet rested on a thick layer of the overgrowth blanketing the top of a stone wall.

Behind them, an immense stretch of stonework unfolded, revealing a maze that nature’s grasp had long hidden.

King Asmodeus looked down at Sam and gave him a nod. Sam noticed his father leaning heavily on a cane, though he tried to hide it beneath his cape. Dark circles framed his eyes, and his face held a dull pallor.

There were now only six competitors left, including him, “Nyrah,” and Drath. They had all gathered at the front. Sam was surprised that Chort was not among them—until he spotted him waving from the crowd, clearly having decided this trial was too difficult.

With a quiet step, Ghar emerged from the maze’s entrance between two parallel walls. It had been all but invisible moments before, hidden by a design that tricked the eye.

“Greetings,” the demon said loudly. “We are once again here to see who is most worthy of the king’s special favor.

Welcome to the Maze of Endless Paths. Although, as spectators, we cannot all see the horrors that await our competitors within, I assure you, their screams of terror will reverberate throughout the land. ”

That elicited cheers and whoops of excitement from the surrounding crowd. Ghar explained that each demon’s time would be measured using a candle notched in fifteen-minute increments. Anyone who did not complete the maze in less than one hour would be disqualified.

Ghar motioned for all the competitors to line up outside the entrance. “This will be a solo challenge that each of you will complete one by one, with your entrances staggered. Do you understand?"

Each of the demons nodded, with varying levels of excitement and trepidation.

A well-built demon of Depravity named Bradax was chosen as the first to enter.

He charged into the maze like he was entering battle.

About fifteen minutes later, Ghar waved through the first victor of the River of Hatred Trial, a demon of Vanity called Pekhos.

He burst into the maze with equal gusto—only to catch his foot on a tree root and fall face-first. The crowd roared with laughter.

Drath entered third.

“See you soon,” he rasped confidently, locking eyes with Sam.

But minutes later, a scream echoed from deep within the maze. Not one of terror, but of raw shock, misery, and grief, fused into a single sound. Sam couldn’t tell which demon it belonged to, but the effect was haunting.

Then came another scream—this one definitely Drath’s. It was sharper, more anguished. Something in its pitch, its strange resonance, unnerved Sam more than anything he’d faced in the trials so far. What was waiting for him inside those stone walls?

Eventually, Vanthee was the fourth demon to enter. She deliberately ignored Sam as she passed by, marching through the entrance with her head high and shoulders back. All the other competitors had veered to the right when they entered, but Vanthee made an immediate left turn.

Despite the odor of unwashed bodies and demon sweat, Sam detected Selene’s pomegranate and vanilla scent drifting toward him. He turned and saw her weaving through the crowd so he roughly pushed the demons blocking her way aside.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she said. “I found something in the library and got distracted. Then, when I came out, everyone was gone. An imp told me what was happening. Do you feel ready for this?”

“Ready to be finished,” Sam grumbled.

“Me too. Has anyone we know come out yet?”

“No,” Sam said, understanding her unspoken meaning. “The competitor we know has just entered. Also, Drath remains inside.”

They stood together, listening for any more sounds coming from the maze and watching the spectators jostle one another .

“What did you find in the library?” Sam asked Selene after a moment.

“A few things about the Thronefall Flame. There’s a bunch of blank journals, so I started taking some notes?—”

A shout echoed through the maze. Sam’s head jerked up—was it Vanthee? But the frantic whimpering that followed was unmistakably male.

“What do you think is going on in there?” Selene asked uneasily.

“Probably just a beast to get past or a trap to escape from,” he replied.

Another demon was ordered into the maze. Sam was next.

“Tell me more of what you learned.”

“There were some dates listed for when the comet might fall, but they’re written in Old English.”

Another male scream made Selene wince, but she pressed on. “I tried to do some calculations, but I didn’t get very far?—”

“Prince Samael! Your time to enter the maze has come," Ghar bellowed, cutting her off.

“We’ll speak of this later tonight,” Sam said, then bent to kiss her.

“Good luck, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Sam said. “See you soon.”

He walked toward the maze entrance, trying to avoid his parents’ gaze but failing. They had moved from their perch atop the wall; his father now reclined in a chair to maintain the illusion of good health.

“May the darkness be yours, my son,” King Asmodeus called. Sam turned and saw pride shining in his father’s eyes. Queen Lamia stood beside him, blowing Sam a kiss as he passed.

He stepped between the two looming walls that marked the entrance.

The air was colder inside, smelling of moss, dust, and decomposing vegetation. Immediately, he saw why Vanthee had been the only competitor to turn left.

To his right, a narrow pathway was visible. It was paved with cracked flagstones, but clear of obstacles. On his left, he could take only two steps before colliding into a solid wall.

Sam pressed his hands against the wall, assuming it was an illusion, but it didn’t move.

He began to pull away the dead roots covering the stone and realized it wasn’t a wall—it was a door.

Quickly, he searched for a way to open it, using his hands to feel for a secret lever or recessed handle. Nothing.

Minutes passed. The plan had been to go left, but the door refused to yield.

Sam exhaled in frustration. How was he supposed to help Vanthee if he could barely make it past the entrance? Then, it hit him—Vanthee must have used her powers as Guide to get through.

The thought steadied him. He was wasting time abiding by a plan they had only guessed would work. He needed to make progress to help Vanthee win—or risk her disqualification when her time ran out.

Taking the right-hand path meant enduring the humiliation of passing the entrance again, exposing his mistake to the crowd. He did so swiftly, ignoring the hoots and jeers that echoed behind him as he ran.

Once he came to his first obstruction, he paused.

He needed to know when Vanthee emerged, so he focused on his hearing.

The sounds of the crowd had faded, but he couldn’t hear any other movement.

Even the wind had vanished. He strained to detect the rustle of another contestant, a whisper of movement—anything.

But there was only the sound of his own heartbeat.

Reasoning that the announcement might be more audible near the end of the maze, he pressed on.

After hitting two dead ends and a corridor that looped back to a path he’d already taken, he was starting to get annoyed. He could see the footprints his boots had left in the lichen and dirt, which was helpful, along with the faint traces of other contenders.

But it wasn’t until he turned the next corner that he began to feel it: the presence of someone behind him .

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. Nothing.

Still, the sensation lingered—and then he heard footsteps. Multiple sets. Some heavy, others light. Again, when he turned, the sounds stopped.

He was becoming unnerved.

How long had he been in the maze without encountering another competitor? Had they all made it out already?

He veered right and crashed straight into a wall. Staggering back, he turned, only to find himself face-to-face with a spirit.

Sam inhaled sharply, more startled than afraid. Yet something about the apparition tugged at his memory.

It was an Aurelian. A wolf-like Lycah with a strong build and scornful gaze. The side of his ghostly head was caved in, and one arm dangled uselessly from his shoulder.

“Hello?” Sam said cautiously. “What do you want?”

The Lycah’s lips curled back, exposing translucent canines. His scorn twisted into rage. With his good arm, he gestured first to his shattered skull, then to his mangled limb.

Sam took an uneasy step back. “Do you need help?”

The question made the spirit’s form seethe, mist swirling violently. He bared his fangs in a silent snarl, fury shining through his hollow eyes. And suddenly, something in Sam’s mind sparked.

Recognition.

“Who are you?”

The Lycah lunged. Sam barely had time to stumble before hitting the ground, the spirit hovering inches above him. Then, out of the shadows, more spirits surged forward—silent, desperate, their empty eyes drilling into him.

Hatred. Accusation. Fury.

Sam’s skin began to tingle as an unlocked memory crashed through his mind.

Crowds cheering as the moon rose in the sky.

A pale figure yanking me out of Brunie’s arms. Rough hands pushing me into the ring.

Eldridge’s voice begging for them to stop.

Someone coming toward me. A fist driving into my stomach.

A blow snapping my head back. More cheering.

More pain. My fear slowly fading, replaced by the burning rise of demonic rage. It soon consumed me, and then ? —

Sam blinked up at the Lycah. He had come face-to-face with the first person he had ever killed.

He opened his mouth to say something—to apologize, repent. But one by one, the other spirits came closer. Some were covered in burns or badly bruised; others held their heads in their hands. He searched their faces, realizing they weren’t just random spirits sent to slow his progress.

Sam tried to push them away, to stand, to run. But their ghostly hands pressed against his skin with desperate insistence.

And all at once, Sam began to relive every death he had ever caused.