An inhuman scream echoed through the labyrinth, followed by cursing and a wet, hacking sound that proved at least one of the Eleutherians had landed a strike. But another scream sounded.

The edges of my vision darkened, as it always had when death’s shadow was near.

I kept moving, taking random turns and pushing deeper into the maze, not daring to slow in case the monster had caught my scent.

Eventually, the sharp pain at my side brought me up short. I leaned against the damp stone, needing a moment to catch my breath.

My relief was short-lived. I’d barely caught my breath when the slap-slap, slap-slap of steps moving fast filled the silence.

I fought to my feet, one blade in hand as I readied myself.

But instead of the male form I’d expected to appear from the shadows, a lilted soprano voice cried, “Run!”

I straightened fully, pain forgotten as a fresh hit of adrenaline rushed through my veins. The girl came into view, flying down the dark stone path. A wave of bright red curls flew behind her as she bolted straight for me, green eyes wide with horror.

“Are you deaf? Move, you worthless Myridian!” she screamed.

Then I saw what trailed her. My blood turned to ice. The creature skittered along in jolting, disjointed lunges, unnaturally fast on its knife-thin legs. Eight knife-thin legs.

I took off at a sprint, matching the slave’s stride.

“How many?” I yelled over the growing roar of my pulse pumping in my ears.

The girl—obviously an Alban slave—risked a glance back at me. A sharp zing of magic ran along the Ether between us and her features impossibly shifted. An upturned nose became straight and pointed as wide-set eyes grew closer together, curving up at the corners like a cat’s.

Aurora’s handmaiden—the spy—spun back around to face the twisting path ahead.

“You have magic!” I exulted, my own reserves pitifully depleted. “Better use it, little spy!”

Whatever power she had used to conceal her features melted away completely as terror made her control slip. “Don’t think giving myself a new nose is going to help right now!”

The tick, tick, tick of their steps closed in, the cadence falling too quickly for it to be just one beast. “How many?”

“Don’t know,” she gasped as we took another sharp turn.

The vibrations in the rock from their sharp steps sent pebbles jumping off the path. Suddenly, the cave fell into deeper darkness. I looked up to find a dense, fibrous canopy. Spider silk. Even my eyes struggled to make out the path ahead.

Panic turned the spy’s voice shrill. “I can’t see!”

“Just keep moving.”

I reached out a hand, guiding my way against the stone as we ran. The creature’s steps had slowed, but they were near, closing in for the kill.

Ahead of me, the Alban cried out. The slap of her sandals against the rock grew silent.

“We have to keep moving,” I urged. Within another step, we were shoulder to shoulder. Hand out before me, I realized why she’d stopped.

A dead end.

Tick, tick, tick. Then a wet, hissing breath. Sour rot filled the stale air.

The spy clutched my arm. “Do something.”

But I was weak. My knees trembled from the exertion of our flight. What little magic I’d already used had left me all but drained. I didn’t have enough in me to kill even a single beast. So hand to hand—or perhaps hand to fangs—it would be.

The hissing grew closer, their steps slowing, and it seemed as if they spoke to one another, like a lingering part of them might still be human.

“Here,” I said, fumbling in the dark. I loosened one knife from my belt and thrust the hilt into her cold, trembling hands. “Aim for the soft parts.”

“I won’t be able to see the soft parts!”

I was nearly blind in this new, deeper darkness, which meant the spy didn’t have a chance.

Digging deep for what little power I had left, I focused my magic on the stale, rot-filled air. Undulating, flickering lights, both water and flame, flared to life. The fiery droplets spread out in a canopy above us like will-o’-wisps, illuminating the gloom in a faint blue glow.

The little spy gasped. “What—”

“Water from the river Phlegethon. It guards the border of Tartarus.”

She reached a hand toward the shimmering droplets and I jerked her wrist back. “Do. Not. Touch.”

The water burned hotter than any normal flame.

The Alban, to her credit, did not scream as the hovering light cast its eerie glow on the creeping beings that suddenly rounded the corner before us.

Two stood directly ahead, side by side. Their human bodies twisted and debased by Arachne’s venom, both had been women before. Now, their hair hung in clumps, covered by the sticky silver of spider silk.

That was where any trace of the humans they’d been ended. From below the waist, their bodies were insectile abdomens from which sprouted eight slender, razor-sharp legs. The eyes that watched us, predators taking a moment to consider their prey, were two soulless black lenses staring out from each socket, reflecting the drops of flaming water that floated in the air.

I drew my blades. “Stay behind me.”

One spider cocked its head, curious. For a breath, it watched us, then its jaw unhinged, opening impossibly wide with a screeching, unnatural scream.

It lunged.

I raised my blades in just enough time to avoid being skewered by a knife-edged claw. I whirled, deflecting the hit as if the spider fought with a sword instead of eight legs.

The momentum of her attack sent her shooting past. I turned to strike and the other spider, who’d been at her sister’s side a moment before, dropped from the ceiling, separating me from the Alban.

She darted forward, opening what had once been a human hand inches from my raised arm. A spinneret—bulging and covered in dark, spiny hairs—appeared in the center of her palm. A sticky glob of spider silk shot toward me. I moved to block the hit, but the viscid fibers wrapped around the leather of my arm-guard, tying me to the beast.

I brought the long, curved knife held in my free hand down on the webbing.

It bounced off.

The force of the unsuccessful blow had the weapon falling from my nerveless fingers.

The creature, sensing she had me trapped, pulled.

Her mouth opened, massive pincers slowly protruded. Spinneret working like a wench, she dragged me closer.

I flexed my numb hand, begging feeling to return as I struggled against the spider’s pull with all my strength. But the silk was strong as steel. Instead, fingers near useless, I desperately went to work loosening the leather ties that bound the arm-guard to my body.

I cursed, the binds only tightening the harder I pulled. “Alban!” I dug my heels into the loose gravel studding the pathway, those deadly-looking pincers growing uncomfortably close. “Knife!”

No answer, only an animal scream from the other spider as the smell of burnt, putrid flesh filled the cavern.

The Phlegethon. The other creature must have brushed against the flaming droplets.

Her sister pulled me closer, green-gray venom dripping from her wide mouth. Yet as she drew me nearer, a cluster of fiery water stood between us, small drops leading like a trail towards a larger pool of the gathered liquid.

It gave me an idea.

I stopped fighting, allowing the spider to pull me toward her. When I could feel the kiss of the water's heat against my face, I raised my spider silk-covered arm, turning my wrist so the leather binding faced the flame. The smoky tang of burnt hair and seared skin filled my nose, gagging me.

The spider’s slitted nostrils flared, black eyes widening at the scent of burnt meat.

Jaw locked tight, I fought to allow the flames to do their work and burn through the bindings. Then, with one quick tug, the leather snapped.

I fell back, landing hard on the rough stone. Gravel embedded in one palm, but the pain didn’t matter. Not when the flames gleamed against the black steel surface of the blade I’d dropped, only feet away from my hand.

I dove for it as the spider, driven into a frenzy, surged forward. Her two front legs raised to strike, and I slid across the ground.

Blade in hand, I rose to a knee just as she came down, ripping the curved edge across her tender belly.

Definitely a soft part.

A wide gash opened, poison and entrails cascading to the stone floor in a steaming heap.

I rose on trembling legs, pain barking at my side, and searched the gloom for the spy.

She sat on the ground, panting, a ruined, blackened carcass before her.

“By the Styx,” I cursed.

She turned at the sound of my voice, those cat eyes of hers wild. “Took you long enough,” she said, lilt as thick as the darkness around her.

“How in Hades’ name did you do that?” The corpse still smoked. I’d heard the spider’s scream. I’d thought it touched the Phlegethon, but this .. . the beast had been doused in the stuff.

She shrugged, though every inch of her tiny body shivered. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I can see that,” I said, “but what exactly are you?”

She brushed soot and gravel from her hands. “What does it matter when I’m the last?”

I stood silent, unwilling to press her, but desperately curious.

She rolled her eyes and turned toward the dim light filtering from the way we’d come.

I flashed one last glance at the dead spider, wrinkling my nose at the awful, roasted smell of it, and sent down a silent prayer for the soul of the poor woman she had been, then followed the little spy toward the light.