I stood with Solara, our fingers threaded together as we stared at the massive wall of black stone—all that stood between us and a monster’s lair.

Around us, the underground hall—far beneath the sunny streets of the Celestial City—filled with early arrivals to the Second Trial. Nobles milled about, glasses of sparkling wine in their hands. But we paid them little mind. Our attention was fixed on the ebony wall. There, reliefs were carved into the stone by ancient hands, some worn so smooth they were barely discernible from the surrounding rock, but they told the story of this place. They told the story of the creature who nested here, in the labyrinth beyond.

Doria had more than her fair share of such dark places, where ancient creatures dwelled. The Emperor, after all, knew a weapon when he saw one. He had bound many monsters to his will. But this one . . . She was left alone, fed every now and again to ensure she wouldn’t leave her nest.

Arachne had been her name, centuries before. Then, she had been a woman of flesh and bone, or so legend claimed. She was beautiful, the stories said, beautiful and proud.

Before the Dorian Empire’s reach had spread beyond the Eleutherian Mountains, others had lived on the rocky shore where the Celestial City now stood. Craftsmen of fabled skill drew droves of buyers from far across the Glass Sea. But the most skilled artisan of all was the beautiful weaver whose fingers worked magic as they danced across her loom. Even the Fates—the weavers of each life thread—envied her skill.

But while the other artisans gave thanks to the gods for the abilities with which they were blessed, Arachne sneered at their prayers and offerings, claiming her ability was her own, a talent that had nothing to do with any gift from the gods.

Well, the gods heard her scorn and they punished Arachne for her foolish pride.

She was cursed to weave forever. A work, not of beauty, but of death.

Solara stared at the black stone. “Do you think it’s safe?”

Elysa stood on her other side. She had yet to speak a word in my presence since our fight. She took a sip of wine before she answered. “Probably. They say she doesn’t like to leave, especially when she has eggs in her nest.”

“Eggs?” Solara asked, her cheeks suddenly a bit green.

Elysa chuckled. “Someone has neglected her reading. Again.” She rolled her eyes. “The legends say that Arachne feeds on anything that wanders into the maze. But humans . . . She likes to use humans for another purpose.”

“Her venom is deadly to the God-Blooded,” I clarified, “but it does something else to humans.”

“Wha . . . Something else?” Solara gaped.

“Well,” I said with a cringe, “when you are the only one of your kind . . .”

“You have to reproduce in unique ways,” Elysa finished.

Solara’s normally soprano voice turned to an impossibly high squeak. “You don’t mean . . .”

“Her bite,” Elysa said, “transforms.”

I gave Solara’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “The hall is already full of soldiers. We have nothing to worry about.”

Elysa’s attention slid back to the stone wall. “It’s a shame we won’t see the action. I’ve always been curious about the monsters of legend.”

That didn’t surprise me. But I had greater worries than Elysa’s strange interests, mainly, the priestesses’ plans. Led by Sibyl, the Council chose the Trial events, but their reasoning eluded me. Facing Arachne . . . I swallowed. The legends painted this monster as a terror beyond reckoning.

“Why this?” I wondered aloud. “They say Arachne’s venom is capable of killing a god. What chance does anyone have against that?”

What chance did Aidon have, after sitting in the dungeon for days on end, spelled iron leaching his magic?

Elysa shrugged. “The First Trial tested their strength as warriors. This Trial will test their cunning. Arachne is smart, and a talented huntress. It will take more than brawn to make it out of the labyrinth alive.”

Apparently, that was all that was required of the competitors, to bring back proof that they reached her nest. Yet . . . “I just thought they would have chosen something more suited to Varian’s strengths.”

“Varian knows exactly what to do,” Elysa snapped. “It’s the Myridian you should be worried about.”

I stalked towards her, pulling free of Solara’s grip, hot anger igniting like a flame. “Baiting me will not make him lov—”

A woman’s shrill cry cut through the space, echoing above the murmuring crowd. Elysa and I both gave a start and turned toward the sound, our fight forgotten.

I stared, uncomprehending, at the sight that met my eyes.

“Oh,” Elysa said. “They’re just preparing the tributes.”

Tributes. Which meant . . . No.

A large covered cart pulled by a team of dappled workhorses rolled through a tall wooden door fitted into the far wall. The bottom half of the cart was a simple structure identical to many I’d seen on market days in the city square, but what it carried . . . I folded my hands together to keep from shaking. Roughly a dozen human slaves were packed into it, kept there by a cage.

“They can’t be . . . They wouldn’t . . .”

Even as the words left my mouth, I knew them for a lie. Of course, they would do this. Doria had been doing this same terrible thing for years beyond count. The only difference was, this time, I saw it. This time, it was because of me. Because of my Trials. Distantly, I wondered how many times this had been done before. How many of Arachne’s children the Emperor now kept as his own pets.

Elysa watched the cart. “She might feed on some of them. But the others will be reborn as her children. From what I’ve heard, the process is shockingly fast. By the time the Trial begins . . .”

My stomach threatened to empty. By the time the Trial began, the humans would be dead or on their way to becoming something terrible. And the competitors would not be facing one monster, but many.

Another cry filled the air as the cart rolled closer to where we stood. Closer to a series of fissures in the rock wall—doors to the labyrinth that housed Arachne. One woman clung to the bars as tears moved down her strong-featured face. Men beside her beat uselessly against the bars, bloodying themselves in the process. But one slave stood out among the rest, likely because she bore an uncanny resemblance to Parthenia. She stood of a height with my handmaiden, her hair the same fiery red, though her upturned nose and wide-set gaze were unfamiliar.

The polite murmuring of the crowd, oblivious and uncaring, continued as if the slaves were invisible. As if sending a dozen people to a pointless, cruel death was an everyday occurrence. Even Solara—my sweet, carefree, amiable Solara—had fallen into conversation with two novices, ignoring the humans’ cries.

The rolling cage reached the largest fissure in the rock, stopping when the bars of the structure were as close as possible to the cavern wall. A guard clambered up to walk on top of the slats, pulling free the panel at the end of the cart, creating an opening between the cage and the labyrinth. Others moved behind, steel-pointed lances in their hands as they jabbed at the slaves, forcing them towards the monster’s lair. One slave, dark-skinned and so much taller than the rest, looked directly into my eyes.

Tafari.

I moved without a thought, panic racing through me. I made it only a few feet before a strong, masculine hand wrapped around my arm.

I whirled, trying to shake off the touch, and froze. My furious gaze lifted to meet eyes as blue and as cold as a frigid sea.

Varian.

Or so I thought. Then I took in the grim lines around the mouth and the shots of white scattered through suddenly blond hair.

I sank into a deep curtsy, more to hide the shock and fear that had overtaken my features than from any true sign of respect. “Majesty,” I said, breathless and shaking. “Please, forgive me.”

He grasped me tight enough to hurt and hauled me to my feet. His eyes, faded and rheumy when I’d seen him last, were now brilliantly clear. They narrowed on my pale, drawn features. “You look unwell, my dear.”

Where crow’s feet had marred his face, barely a wrinkle creased the corner of his eyes as they moved between me and the slave cart. “Surely it isn’t the sight of the humans that has upset you?”

I stood frozen, unable to answer. Unable to understand how even the timbre of his voice had transformed from the weathered tone of age to the strong, steady baritone with which he spoke.

He sneered down at me. Turning me bodily, he forced me to face the cart. “What do you see, my dear, when you look at them?”

My hands fisted at my side. It was an effort to control my body’s trembling. How was it possible that he could seem decades—centuries, even—younger?

“Well?” he asked, close enough that I could feel his hot breath on my neck. My stomach twisted.

“They are innocent people. They’ve done nothing to deserve this. And . . . And Tafari . . .”

He sighed. “Oh yes . . . my slave that you thought you could claim.” He chuckled. “What gumption. I might have let you keep him, my dear girl, but I thought it better to use him as a lesson . . . These are slaves, Aurora. Humans are weak, their lifetime barely longer than a fly’s. Innocent, you say. The cow is innocent, the pig also does not deserve to be slaughtered, yet such is their place in the world. This is no different.”

Tears choked me. “I . . .”

He clicked his tongue as a finger—no longer twisted with rheumatism—lifted to wipe the tear from my cheek. “How little you understand of this world. Do not worry. When you come to live at the palace in Hyperion, we shall teach you. You see, these slaves would have lived short, meaningless lives of toil.” He shrugged. “But now . . . Now they can be something more.”

Dread sunk its sharp claws around my spin. “You want her to turn them into monsters. Not just for the Trial. You want her children . . . You want to use them.”

The Emperor only smiled, gaze cutting to the remaining fissures cracked along the base of the carved black wall. I followed his gaze. Caught up in the horror of what was being done to the humans, I hadn’t realized the competitors now gathered there.

Varian stood only yards away, surrounded by the red and gold of Imperials. Deimos gleamed in the torchlight. But Varian did not face the openings in the rock. He watched his father, features diamond-hard. Did his father’s sudden change send the same cold weight of fear through his gut that now settled in mine?

I didn’t ponder it further, for movement caught the corner of my eye. Dark hair glistened as Aidon stepped close to the cage. Rage-filled silver eyes watched the last human—a bent man with white hair—as he was herded into the maze. Aidon was dressed for battle in the same black leather armor he’d worn in the First Trial, though this time, there was no staff, only the twin blades strapped across his back.

But my heart stuttered as his gaze turned toward me. His normally sun-kissed skin had grown shockingly pale. And the way he held himself—he seemed to favor one side, his shoulders growing slanted as if his abdomen deeply pained him.

Sensing the line of my sight, the Emperor grasped me beneath the chin and roughly turned me back to face him. “I breed monsters because they are useful. When properly harnessed, Arachne’s children will strengthen my legions. And Doria will have every strength I can give her.” His gaze dipped then, traveling over the lavender gown Parthenia had discarded the day before only to pull out that morning. His eyes lingered on my hands. Hands that could draw flames. Hands that could heal. The smile that lit his features turned me cold. “And you, my dear? Well, you might be the strongest one of all.”