Page 51 of The Ordeals
Then a hole blasts through the hedge to our right.
And Alden launches through it.
I laugh, gulping hysterically as he grins, dusting himself off.
‘Seriously?’ I say, throwing up my hands. He brushes a stray twig off his shoulder, waving a hand to close up the breach in the hedge. I sweep my gaze over him, checking for any sign of illusion, but he appears real enough. ‘Didn’t fancy walkingthroughthe maze like a normal person?’
‘Good to see you too, DeWinter. I’ve been searching for you,’ he says, nodding to Greg behind me. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re most likely walking in circles.’
‘Walking in …’ I pull out my piece of paper, reading through the list of turnings, the lefts, rights, until I realise … yes. He’s annoyingly correct.
‘But now we’re all together, we should be able to beat this,’ hesays. ‘I’ll get us through the hedge walls, you watch out for any illusions that could trip us up. Piece of cake.’
‘Except we need to find Tessa,’ Greg puts in. ‘I’m not leaving without her; I can’t. She’s my partner.’
‘I’m with Greg on that,’ I say. ‘Partner or no, I’m still not leaving without her.’
Alden groans. ‘DeWinter, we just need to get through the Ordeal, no heroics, no distractions …’
‘Shit, look …’ Greg interrupts.
We both turn and look up the path … and find the hedge is closing in on both sides.
Rapidly.
I focus on the edges of the hedge, searching for a glint or a glimmer,anything… ‘Alden, that’s not an illusion,’ I say quickly, taking a step back as the hedges seemingly swallow the path, leaving nothing but an impenetrable wall. I look the other way, and find the same is happening, the path disappearing as the hedge rustles andmoves, closing up our escape—
‘Alden!’ Greg barks, gripping my arm.
‘On it,’ he says, throwing a hand at the wall of hedge next to us, grabbing my hand with the other one and yanking us all through.
Chapter 17
The Cold Ones
We hurtle through the hedge and land in a heap on the other side. Greg releases his grip on my arm just as Alden drops my hand and I brush myself off, standing to check where we’ve landed. Not a path this time … a lawn of some kind. Soft and inviting, scented with chamomile, extending far into the distance … and covered in stone statues.
Stone statues of people.
As I regain my breath and remember the illusion of the pale monster, questions begin bubbling up and the more I think on it, the more I believe Alden knows a lot more than he’s letting on. I keep circling back to the last Ordeal, the way he avoided answering my question directly. I jab a finger at his chest, glaring at him. ‘You know what was in the Morlagh that night. Youandyour brother. What is a cold one, Alden?’
He flinches, and I realise triumphantly that I’ve touched a nerve. Those words the gargoyle used … he knows what they are. ‘A monster. Something I do not speak of.’
‘A monster? Something pale and vicious, something that attacks humans? Because I saw one in the Morlagh, and I’ve seen one here in this maze. You wouldn’t answer my questions before. And my-my friend, she—’
‘Where did you see one?’ he says, fear flickering in his eyes as he turns, scanning the lawn. ‘Where in the maze? Was it real?’
‘An illusion,’ I hiss. ‘But last time it most definitelywasn’t. Nor the time before that. Tell me what you know.’
His gaze, wild and unfocused as it scours the surrounding hedges, snaps to mine. ‘A cold one killed my father. It tore open his throat eight years ago in the Morlagh, in a place heshouldhave been safe. He warned me not to follow him into the woods in the last note from him, which was stolen from me by this damn murderer at Killmarth. There, satisfied?’
‘Your … your father …’ I swallow, turning hot then cold. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Shh. Both of you,’ Greg says quietly. ‘Those statues … are they moving?’
I wrench my gaze from Alden and focus on the statues, watching each of them in turn. The woman with hands covering her face, mouth open in an extended scream, the man seemingly bracing himself, a knife in his hand, the trio of young women, arms extended as though mid-run …
‘That’s … my gods, I know that person,’ Alden says, eyes widening in shock. ‘That woman, she’s a hopeful, a botanist. Naeve Sidcott.’
