Page 138 of The Trials of Ophelia

“This does not seem safe,” Santorina chastised. Beside her, Esmond and Gatrielle muttered to each other quickly.

“How do we know the crown is even down there? So…unprotected.” Jezebel squared her hands on her hips, but I followed her thought. How could an Angel emblem be so defenseless that all the warrior had to do was drop into the pit and grab it?

Esmond cleared his throat. “I think there’s more to it.” Stepping forward, he held a hand out to Trev. “May I?”

The boy looked to his father who was still deep in conversation, then decided he could trust the Bodymelder. Esmond took the bundle of outstretched cords and weighed them in his hands, running long fingers along the material. He snapped and folded and twisted them.

“Thoughts?” Esmond held it to Gatrielle, who repeated the tests.

“I think you’re right,” the latter agreed, bobbing his head, brown curls bouncing around his face.

“Will the two of you explain?” Malakai demanded, exasperated, as if the Bodymelders had this secret level of communication often.

Esmond looked to Trevaneth, searching the boy’s expression as he said, “We have to create the materials used to repel, don’t we?”

“Braid the rope, craft the hooks,” Gatrielle added.

Ric barked a laugh, rejoining the conversation. “We won’t be welding anything down here, but you’re correct. In order to descend into the pit, the warrior seeking entrance must braid the rope.”

“Why?” Jezebel asked, head quirking to the side.

“It’s a meditative practice, isn’t it?” Cypherion asked, and then I understood.

The Seawatcher task had been a physical challenge, an adventure crafted for the Prime Warrior who traveled the oceans. The Bodymelder was about logical puzzle solving and sacrifice.

When used properly, Mindshaper magic was intended to relax and unravel the mind. There were a number of techniques they employed. The repetitive action of something like braiding rope would soothe, similar to my own knot tying habit.

Looking down into the pit again—realizing how deeply it stretched—I guessed the point of this task. “It’s meant to prove you can calm yourself and be patient enough to be worthy of seeing the crown.”

“Correct, Revered,” Ric said, nodding, and I thought there was a beat of pride in his voice.

“Good thing you’re so patient,” Tolek teased, wrapping his arm around my waist and squeezing my hip.

“I can be patient,” I argued, and everyone around us laughed.

“Patient is certainly not a word anyone would use to describe you.” Jezebel shook her head as she helped Trev gather the rope he’d unraveled. “Passionate and determined, yes, but patient? I’m sorry, no.”

Even Cypherion chuckled. “She has a point.”

“Well, I will be tonight.” I’d have to be. I told that second pulse in my veins to calm, assured it we would find what it sought. “But let’s hurry and get started.”

“Actually,” Ricordan interrupted, lips pressing together grimly, “before you can do that, we have a guest you may want to meet.”

“He’s chained, but he’s…unpredictable,” Zaina, the Mindshaper who’d approached Ricordan, explained as she led us down a narrow corridor of the Labyrinth.

“How so?” I asked.

“He hasn’t fought back with anything other than words since we disarmed him. But he’s becoming volatile. We don’t know when he’ll try…”

“His magic,” Cypherion finished from over my shoulder.

Zaina nodded, one sharp bob of her head. The stony corridor she led us down was more constructed than some parts of the Labyrinth. The brick arches we’d seen throughout extended to form solid walls and ceilings, doors with barred windows locked firmly?—

“Cells,” Malakai breathed.

I hadn’t realized he’d come. Most of the others stayed back with Trevaneth, setting up for the ropes we needed to weave. My sister, Rina, Cypherion, and Tolek had also followed.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I offered to Malakai. My chest hurt for the boy who’d been imprisoned, like a rip going right down the center. It was an effort to throw my mask over my face, not letting that emotion crack through. Not now.

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