Page 3 of The Fae King's Labyrinth

As I staggered into darkness, a heavy loamy smell filled my nose, even as the shouts of my astonished kitchen staff erupted in my ears. I turned just in time to see my portal—and freedom—disappear with a sharp snap. Abrupt silence cut off the voices.

Stumbling backward as I waited for my eyes to adjust, I tripped over something and landed hard on my backside.

Then, the something moved.

Scrambling to my feet, I blinked in the inky blackness, waiting for my eyes to pick up on the nuances of the minimal light. Eventually, they adjusted and focused on the barest of outlines in the darkness. I would need to find a light source—or create one. I loathed using my magic when it was so volatile.

Giving up, I uttered the spell and made the motion. A flame of golden light manifested above my head. I shifted the flame away from my hair so that it hung a few feet higher, widening its circle of light.

There was a flurry of rustling at my feet, causing me to look down. Vines coming from somewhere off to the right wove a thick lattice across the ground. Even as I noted the direction of the source and identified the species—a man-eating varietyof climbing vine—one of the tendrils began winding around my ankle. I shook it off.

A muffled protest came from the leaf-covered form less than a yard away. Someone was trapped in a man-eating vine, and they were still alive.

Dropping the bottle still in my hands, which landed softly on the cushion of leaves, I reached for my sword only to come up empty-handed. I had stuck it in my storage spell.

I fumbled until my fingers closed on my eating knife at my waist. Ripping it from its sheath, I peered into the darkness past my circle of light. I dimly made out a wall, perhaps.

Assessing where the roots of the vine might be, I crouched closer to the vine’s victim. “Breathe slowly and relax,” I instructed. “I will cut you free, but you have to relax. Struggling makes the vines constrict.”

Thankfully, the person appeared to hear me. They stopped thrashing with a frustrated whimper.

The vines were thick and hairy where they bound the person’s foot. They had cinched around the form of the torso from knees to shoulders, but they remained loose around the head and neck of the victim.

I hesitated. Considering the species of vine, attacking it might make it constrict and kill the person at my feet. My stomach turned at the thought.

The slithering sound of tendrils reaching toward me reminded me of the lack of time for debate.

“Hold still,” I commanded.

Then, stalking toward the source of the plant’s tendrils, I assessed the possible root placement. The vine attempted to stop me; tendrils writhed across the mat of leaves, twisting and grasping for me, but I had spotted my goal. A few strides and I reached the wall, a clammy, mossy stone and mud constructionthat hummed with fae magic. I ignored the strangeness of the wall as I fixated on the massive clump of roots.

“Time for you to die,” I muttered as I stabbed my knife through the center of the base. Using my faltering magic to drive the blade straight through the center of the root ball, I severed the connection between limbs and life sources.

The vines tensed. The tendrils pursuing me arched upward as though releasing a silent death scream, and then it all went limp.

Once confident the plant was truly dead, I went back to the vine’s attempted last meal. Grabbing a handful of vines near the captive’s neck, I began swiftly, carefully slicing through them. I pulled free a few fistfuls of desiccated stalks before I spotted skin, pale and trembling. Recognizing a throat, I increased my pace, ripping the tendrils from hair, ears, jaw, and mouth—a very feminine mouth.

She gasped and arched, fighting to free herself.

I cut away the vines binding her arms. When they came free, she batted my hands away and kicked her legs free herself. Scrambling to her feet, she turned to face me.

Wild-eyed and rumpled, she took one look at me and blanched. Wobbling, she sat down hard. “You are fae.”

“And you are human,” I observed banally.

Scooting backward on hands and heels, she made it only a few feet before she stopped, chest heaving and limbs trembling. Her attention never left my features. “Don’t touch me.”

“I had no intention of touching you.” I lifted my hands in a motion of harmlessness. Of course, my small blade undermined that, but I had only used it to free her. She needed a moment to get past the trauma of what she’d gone through to realize that.

However, judging by the intensity of emotion coming off her, I suspected putting it away would be the wiser tactic. I moved to slide it back into its sheath.

She flinched and scrambled back another foot.

“Careful,” I warned as I slowly and smoothly secured the leather closure on the sheath. “You’re going to reach the edge of the light soon. Who knows what’s lurking out in the darkness. I would rather not have to rescue you twice in such quick succession.”

“Why rescue me at all? Aren’t you the one who put me here?”

Two

---