Page 19 of Quarter Labyrinth

“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 fora 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 extensivecollection 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’tstand 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.

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