Page 102 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Given the context of bones, her mind immediately thinks ofanimals. But every creature she conjures up has a spine made of bones. Which means it’s likely not a creature but an object of some kind. But what object has a spine?
She shakes her head—she honestly has no idea.
“A book,” he tells her, before pulling a loaded crossbow from behind his back.
With nowhere to run, she immediately lunges at him. Lucky for her, he hesitates. Throwing her body at the opposite side of the crossbow, she hurls herself into him. He lands with a thud, the crossbow tumbling out of his grasp as his head bounces against the packed dirt. Getting to her knees, she places her ear next to his mouth.Still breathing.
Giving him one last look, she climbs to her feet and moves on, knowing she shouldn’t linger.
A book?She shakes her head. Must be a Phaedran item; she’s never heard of one before.
Heart thumping hard inside her chest, she skirts around another corner, finding a long stretch of the maze before her. She treads carefully, unsure of what to expect. If doors can come in and out of the ground, so can people. And animals. And all assortment of weaponry. Things that could kill her if she’s not careful. She unsheathes her dagger, wary of whatever will come for her next.
Around a slim bend, the path widens slightly, and she finds a woman who looks a lot like her standing in her way. She wears a simple green robe that covers nearly all of her skin, her dark hair wild around her heart-shaped face and pink lips.
“I used to be a tree until I traded my roots for routes,” she says, her voice small and gentle.
Finally, a riddle the Faithless taught me.
“A map.”
When the woman doesn’t move, Dru grips her dagger again, anticipation setting her blood aflame.
Without warning, the riddle-teller lashes out, aiming a dagger at Dru’s heart. She leaps to the side, barely grazing the wall as shecatches the woman’s wrist holding the blade. She struggles in Dru’s grip and drops the dagger, tearing at Dru’s iron grasp with her other hand. Dropping her own blade, Dru holds the space below the woman’s elbow, bringing up her knee and snapping the bone.
The woman cries out. Falling to her knees, she grasps her arm in pain. Dru took care that the bone wouldn’t break through the skin, but she had to incapacitate her somehow.
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” Dru tells her.
The woman looks up at her, tears streaming down her face. “I wish you would have. You don’t know what they’ll do to me now that I’ve failed.”
Failed to what, kill me? Who wants me—or, rather, Sabina—dead?Dru wants to ask her, but it’s likely another trick more than it is the truth. It does her no good to linger.
She moves on without looking back, leaving the woman to whatever fate awaits her.
At the end of the bend, she comes to a half-wall. After examining it for a moment, she reaches up to lift herself over—when bronze spikes shoot up through the stone. One of the points slices into her finger before she can pull it away; she hisses.Can nothing be easy?
A man’s voice, appearing to come from inside the thick wall, speaks. “It is my property and belongs to me, but others use it more often.”
Stellae. It makes sense the riddles would get harder the closer she gets to the end, but this is impossible.
Take your time, she reminds herself again.Clear your mind.What’s something that belongs to this man but others use it? No, not this man in particular—any person. Otherwise, he would’ve shown his face so she could know who he is. Therefore, this thing that’s his property must be something everyone has as well. She goes through every body part shared among peoples, but none of them is used more often by others.What is mine, but other people use it more?
Then, it comes to her. She grins, unable to help herself. “Your name.”
At her response, the spikes retract back inside, though the half-wall remains.What are the chances the spikes will come back?Given the odds haven’t been in her favor so far, more than likely. She backs up to allow herself room and takes a run at it. Using the sturdy stone wall beside her, she plants a foot on it and vaults over, landing solidly on the other side.
The spikes fly up again the moment her feet clear.
Despite the desperate urge to run, she treads carefully, ignoring her finger pulsing from where the spike sliced her open. Her other senses have dulled to the point she’s successfully blocked out most of the sounds from the other competitors.
The maze directs her around another corner. The path narrows again, and she finds the stone wall to her left painted with black letters, a sentence written in Phaedran. She imagines the purpose of that is more about making the quote readable for all, rather than claiming this as an Imperium riddle: most Durevolians can speak, read, and write in Phaedran, but not the other way around.
Some of the paint drips down onto the packed dirt from the words:I am not alive, but I grow; I do not have lungs, but I need air; I do not have a mouth, but water kills me.
“That’s far too easy to be in this section of the maze,” she mutters to herself.
The other thing that worries her is how nothing stands in her way.Nothing visible, anyway. By all accounts, she could walk through to the next section unencumbered without even answering the riddle. Which means something unseen waits for her. And now she knows that getting the riddle right doesn’t mean she’ll be allowed to move forward unscathed.
