Page 22 of The Ninth Element

Chapter Seven

A bone-chilling wolf’s howl drifts from the hazy distance, where the sharp edges of the mountains cut into the dark sky. Inside the castle, however, silence reigns supreme. I’m crouched in the shadows in a small passageway between the inner ward and the southern ward while the castle around me sleeps so deeply that the silence seems to vibrate with snores.

Right in front of me is the Martyshyar wing, guarded by a door that looks like it can withstand dragon fire. It’s massive, made of gnarled wood and rusty iron. But the door is the least of my worries; it’s the three Martyshgards standing guard in front of it that makes my palms sweat. Not to mention the guards casually strolling along the walls, their spears twitching with the urge to impale any unsuspecting trespasser. Suddenly, this whole plan feels less like a brilliant break-in and more like a suicide mission.

For what must be the hundredth time—perhaps the hundred-and-first—I find myself questioning my sanity for even contemplating such a profoundly ill-advised act. I once again resolve, with utmost sincerity, to retreat to my quarters and indulge in some intensive self-care, hoping to embrace any leftovers of good sense in my head.

But my feet remain firmly planted. Who knew desperation could be such an effective paralytic? And desperate I am, with only one option ahead of me: to infiltrate the Martyshyar wing to find any hint about the upcomingtrials.

Was it the cold water Zanyar had so thoughtfully poured over my head earlier this afternoon? Or the demoralizing swordsmanship that every other contender has displayed, or the alliances they have built in the last eight days? Because under normal circumstances, this level of reckless abandon, this sheer insanity, is not what I knew I would be capable of.

And yet, here I am. I think my chances of winning the trials, with no allies and no swordsmanship, are close to nothing. I promised Emmengar I wouldn’t try for Martysh again if I lose these trials. While it wasn’t a blood oath, I’m not entirely sure if, after returning to Firelands labeled as a failure, I’d have the motivation to attempt this whole Martysh ordeal again—even if my moral compass conveniently forgets that promise to one of the most powerful men in the land.

So, in the alchemy room, after Zanyar left, I suddenly decided to commit minor treason and infiltrate the Martyshyar wing for the sake of collecting information about the upcoming trials. Or, failing that, information aboutpasttrials, at least. Anything, really. A clue, a hint, perhaps a neatly written schedule of my impending doom. One can only hope.

“You really are a wild thing, aren’t you?”

The sound right behind me makes me jump so hard that my teeth click and nearly launches my heart into the heavens. I spin around, heart hammering, and there stands… Darian.

Of all the shadowy figures in all the shadowy castles in all the world, it has to be him. My heart immediately threatens to vacate the premises through my throat. Any. Second. Now.

“What are you doing here?” I manage. My voice is a bizarre, squeaky whisper as I try really,reallyhard to be quiet.

“I suppose I should be askingyouthat,” he says, smirking, not even bothering to lower his voice.

“Shhh!” I hiss-whisper, grabbing his arm and yanking him down the small space between the thick border walls of the wards, away from anyone with ears and a spear.

When we are tucked away in a nice, dark, narrow pathway – squeezedbetween the castle walls of the inner ward and the southern ward – I finally let go of his arm, probably leaving finger marks.

“Why are youhere? Were you following me?” I whisper, still trying to keep my voice low.

“Yes,” he admits. Just like that. And that infuriating, maddening, beautiful grin of his is plastered all over his face.

I gape at him with an open mouth. “What? But… how?”

He shifts his weight slightly from one foot to the other and loosely crosses his arms. “Wouldn’t you have followed a fellow contender if you saw them crawling out of the watchtower in the dead of night?”

“How did you even see me?”

“Oh, I was just in the communal area,” he says casually, as if we’re discussing the exciting possibility of a light drizzle tomorrow. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Right. Of course.Couldn’t sleep. So, naturally, the best cure for sleeplessness is to be perfectly positioned, at precisely the right ungodly hour, to witness my stealthy (apparently not) exit from a watchtower. Perfect. Just perfect.

“Me neither,” I lie, with all the conviction of a trapped mouse. “I’m trying to walk it through. Get some… air.” My mind scrambles for a more plausible excuse and comes up empty.

“Right,” Darian drawls and his voice is still three levels too loud for any kind of covert activity. “So, to be clear, you’renothere with any intention of, say, sneaking into the Martyshyar wing. You were just admiring itsrobustarchitecture.”

I scowl, resisting the urge to clap a hand over his mouth. “What I’m doing or admiring is absolutely none of your business. And you, incidentally, are currently a business I’d very much like to see closed.”

He chuckles with a low sound that still seems to echo way too much in our little hideout. “Let me take a wild stab in the dark, though. Trials are fast approaching. And if one were looking for, say, some light reading material on past performances, or perhaps even a sneak peek at upcoming attractions, that wingwouldbe the heavily fortified location for suchdocuments, wouldn’t it?”

“Are you selectively deaf or just profoundly dedicated to being a pain?” I hiss, jabbing a finger towards the way he came.

Darian leans back against the stone wall, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “My, my. And here I was, thinking you were the quiet, studious type. All ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and neatly shelved library books under your arm. Turns out, there’s a whole wild thing brewing right under there. I’m almost…” he pauses, letting the grin widen just a fraction, “impressed.”

“Leave. Now. Before I send a spell in your direction.” I manage to say, the words scraping their way out from between my clenched teeth.

“Youknowthe rules, don’t you?” he replies, breezy as ever. “Can’t go around harming your fellow contenders. So, instead of you trying to magically turn me into a toad, though I’m sure I’d be a very handsome one, how about if you let me come along?”

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