Page 41 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
So Tyghan has a sister, Bristol mused.Melizan.She was dressed to perfection. A creamy leather tunic hugged her curves as she strode through the maze clutching a silver riding crop.
Next up was Sashka, who, while petite, was made of pure muscle and grit. When she took her place at the starting position for her third and final attempt to beat the maze, she did a slow, fluid handstand before springing back to her feet. Whether it was for nerves or good luck, Bristol didn’t know, but when the horn blew, Sashka leapt through the course like a determined gazelle, flipping and jumping over obstacles as they appeared. At one point it seemed she knew exactly where she was going. Bristol, Avery, and Julia all leaned forward, hoping—but then she took a drastic wrong turn, landing in a dead end, trapped as Melizan’s team circled around her like a hungry pride of lions. Bristol guessed that was their version of saying, “You’re dead.”
Rose and Hollis didn’t fare any better. Each of their three attempts ended in failure. Melizan shook her head when the final horn blew and walked away without words to any of them.
Left. Right. Second Right. Left. Third Right. Left. Follow the curve. Third exit in circle.Bristol closed her eyes, repeating the directions, memorizing the maze. All she needed to do was keep her wits about her. She was in her element maneuvering down tight, crowded streets, a sixth sense kicking in. She could do this.
“Get going. You’re up.”
Bristol’s eyes shot open.
Tyghan stood at the end of the observation deck in his leather gear, his sword positioned between his shoulders, with a large knife sheathed at his side. His tunic was snug, his chest a wall of muscle. Behind him stood equally daunting warriors, Dalagorn, Glennis, and Quin, all dressed and armed in similar fashion. It was evident they took their practices seriously.
Tyghan’s eyes met hers, a split-second lingering.
There it was again. Some message she couldn’t decipher, like there was a history between them, a hidden language she was supposed to know. Like she had crossed him once. At night, he seemed to avoid her at festivities, only watching her from afar, but whenever their gazes met by chance, there were always words simmering behind his eyes.
She stood, eager to get her turn over with, taking a last look at the maze. She blinked. It waschanging, new pathways forming, roots shifting, branches reaching into new places, becoming an entirely new maze. Her memorized directions dropped like useless keys in her stomach.
When she looked back at Tyghan, his cool eyes studied her again. He knew what she’d been doing. Memorizing a maze wasnotcheating. It was smart preparation. She hardened her stance and nodded toward him to show she was looking forward to his little field games.
Despite three tries each, neither Avery nor Julia made it to the end. Avery came out with a cut on her head that Olivia was tending. Bristol was last, and the long wait had tied her nerves in knots. She knew someone had to go last, but it felt deliberate, like they were setting her up for failure. Her neck ached, and her eyes were dry and hot. She reminded herself that even if she was not a champion gymnast or a stealthy cat, she was strong and fast. She had a chance. She forced calm back into her lungs, breathing deep as she anticipated the obstacles she faced and the team that was ready to deal her blows.
She toed the starting line and glanced up at the blazing sky.Keepthe sun on your left.It was all she had to go on, assuming the exit was still on the opposite side of the entrance. But this time there were two entrances. Which should she choose?
The horn blew.
She hesitated, surveying the two entrances, and did a double take.Shit.Now there werethreeentrances. When did—
Her feet flew out from beneath her, and she slammed across the graveled ground, her right arm taking the brunt of the fall. It took her several seconds to understand what happened. Kasta had tackled her. The horn blew again. Her first try was already over, and she hadn’t even taken a single step. Her humiliation stung more than her scraped arm. This was nothing like riding a bike across a busy street.
“You have to move, Keats!” Tyghan yelled from the entrance to the maze. “Stand there, and you’re a target. Move! Get to your feet. Try again.”
She glared his way.Thanks for the remarkably obvious advice, she thought, but pasted on a smile and nodded.
The horn blew before she was even fully standing. She ran, heading for the middle entrance. Blood trickled down her arm. A short way in, the path split. Left. No, right. A pole swung out, knocking her to the ground. She scrambled beneath it, getting up and running again. Forward, left, right, the sun back on her left, and then Dalagorn stepped out, blocking her path. She backtracked, but now the sun was on her right.Wrong direction, Bristol.She spun, trying to get reoriented, and then the sun was gone. Out of nowhere, heavy clouds blew in, darkening the sky. Her frustration grew. Tricks! She hated their tricks. She turned a corner to follow another route and ran straight into Quin’s chest. He spun her, gripping her roughly against him, and whipped a very real knife to her throat. “Sorry,” he said, “looks like you’re dead again.” Then he released her.
Her third and final attempt was the most terrifying of all. As she turned a corner, she met with a new obstacle that hadn’t been in anyone’s previous rounds—a sandpit. She leapt, her foot catching the edge, but the pit reached out, grabbing her like a hungry mouth and jerking her down. She fell hard on her stomach and tried to kick free, but its grip was more like steel than sand. Her leg burned as a thousand tiny sandy teeth tore through her trousers and bit into her calf. Her nails dragged across the ground as she was pulled deeper into the pit. She flailed desperately, grabbing for anything, and felt her hand grip something hard, the branch of a hedge, but even that wasn’t enough, and her grasp slipped. “Help!” she finally cried out, terrified of being pulled all the way under the sand. “Help me!”
The pit released her, and she crawled out on her hands and knees, staring at the ground, her throat throbbing. Quin’s boots loomed in her vision, and his sword swept a line in the dirt as a threatening reminder. “I know! I know! I’m dead,” she snapped. Fury was the only thing that helped her get to her feet.
Tyghan stepped around a corner, shaking his head. He said nothing, though the scorn on his face was blistering.
What was his problem?
“Back to the starting line. A fourth round,” Kasta said.
“But—” Bristol glanced back and forth between Tyghan and Kasta. She was tired, sore, and bleeding, and she’d already done three rounds. “But everyone else only had—”
“Don’t question an officer’s orders,” Quin barked. “Back to the start.”
But Bristol stepped past Kasta and yelled to Tyghan, who was already walking away. “So, you lay out all the tricks and traps, and I don’t get any weapons. It’s hardly fair that you have them all.”
He turned. “I agree. Find the weapons. Take them. No one’s going to do you any favors out in the Wilds.”
“Including you, it appears. I thought it was my team’s job to protect me.”
“We might all be dead. Then what? You need to have the basic skills to save yourself.”
