“So you can change your appearance. But you must have controlled the Phlegethon—manipulated the droplets somehow. Are you a descendant of . . . hmm . . . Proteus, perhaps?”

She scoffed, carefully checking around a curve in the path before we walked into more trouble. “I’m not one of the God-Blooded. The Dorians would have sniffed that power out long ago.”

As we picked our way down twisting paths, I thought over what I knew of the mysterious former slave, then I realized. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Parthenia.”

“Well, Parthenia, whatever it is you are, I can see why the King chose you as his spy. But speaking of your covert activities . . . Why risk your life by letting them take you as a tribute? You could have ended up just like—”

“The spiders? Oh, aye, I’m aware.”

“If we encounter more of these creatures, I need to understand what you are. What you can do.”

She stopped and leaned against the stone, eyes focused with burning intensity on the gloom ahead. I thought she meant to ignore me, but then she spoke. “They took me as a child,” she said, voice flat. “And truth be told . . . All the magic I know—changing my face, manipulating the elements—I’ve taught myself. The only reason the Dorians didn’t kill me, along with the rest of my family, was that I was too young to show any sign of power. So instead of slaughtering me like they did all with the blood of the Fair Folk, they clamped irons around my wrists and dragged me aboard a slave ship.”

The Fair Folk. Like the Olympians, they were also said to dwell beyond the Ether, to have entered this world when the strange veil of magic had appeared a thousand years before. More than that, I didn’t know. But her story resonanted with me. Growing up with a hated Siren, who also happened to be the most notorious pirate in the Glass Sea, had not exactly been easy. My chest tightened. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “We best keep moving.”

We walked on in silence, but eventually, the curiosity became too much. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

She sighed. “I know what you’re thinking, but don’t flatter yourself. The King might have promised you aid, but you aren’t worth risking my—”

A vibration ran through the rock.

I held a silencing finger to my lips and tightened my grip on my blade.

Parthenia frowned, eyes contracting into feline slits, but a second later, her nostrils flared. Whatever abilities her blood held reacted to what I’d already sensed.

Rocks skittered down the path ahead, followed by a muttered oath in a language I didn’t recognize. The scent that wafted towards us was mostly human.

Parthenia brightened. Without a word, she rushed ahead. I followed, rounding the next bend in time to see her throw her arms around the neck of a towering man with skin so dark he was nearly indistinguishable from the shadows. “Tafari!” she cried, his name a near sob of relief.

I sheathed my blade.

Behind him, still making his lumbering way down the path, was an older man I recognized from the prison cart. His eyes stood out, brilliant blue lighting the gloom. His clothes were torn and grimy. Little more than rags, they revealed a scar on his left forearm. The skin was raised to form a distinct and familiar mark. Both were slaves. Tafari was probably enslaved in conquest, but the elder . . . his brand told a different story.

A crude depiction of the goddess Dike’s scales of justice, along with the slightest hint of power those bright eyes revealed . . . this was a God-Blooded Dorian. A citizen of the empire whose crimes were serious enough to warrant enslavement, to warrant execution in this Trial.

Dorians were practical if nothing else. Especially if bloodshed was involved.

I watched the tributes warily, particularly the Dorian, as Parthenia and Tafari conversed in whatever language it was that he spoke. She turned to me. “They are the only ones left. The rest were turned or . . .”

Hunted.

I dragged a hand through my hair, the leather strip that had bound it long gone. “If your friends wish to avoid a similar fate, they better put some distance between themselves and the maze’s center. As fast as they can.”

Tafari turned to the Dorian, who took a limping step toward us, grimacing at the movement. “He is wounded,” the tall human said in a clipped accent. “He will not make it much further in this state.”

Parthenia passed a measuring gaze across the Dorian. “You’re bleeding, Therius. If they haven’t caught your scent already, they soon will.”

“Therius?” I eyed the man doubtfully. “I know that name.”

The old male flashed me a tired smile. Though it must have pained him, he bowed at the waist. “And I yours, my lord. It is an honor to meet the Savior of Brigand’s Bay.”

I lifted a brow. Most Dorians called me the Butcher of Brigand’s Bay.

Answers fell into place. What crime could a Dorian commit so heinous that his own people would condemn him to this grim place?

Fighting for freedom. Liberating slaves.

“These two are the reason you disguised yourself. The reason you let them take you as a tribute,” I said to Parthenia.

She nodded. “Tafari works for the King, too. When word reached us that Therius was enslaved . . . Well, the King thought that his skills would serve as a good back-up plan in case you failed.” She flashed me a dry glance. “Or decided to betray him.”

A master smuggler to take Aurora if I couldn’t? Or maybe even to take Aurora from me? The King’s devious plans never ceased to amaze.

“Therius freed us both years ago,” Tafari explained, a careful eye on the surrounding shadows, "and he has been working with the King since the Livonian War. We have come to this gods-forsaken place to return the favor.”

I’d heard the name of this smuggler whispered in taverns throughout the Shards for years. I’d long wished to recruit him to my own cause. And now he was leaving a blood trail that would lead the spiders right to us.

“Parthenia,” I said, “I assume you’ve seen Aurora work enough to know how to cauterize a wound.”

She gaped at me. “Are you mad? The beasts will smell it.”

“Maybe,” I said, unsheathing one of my twin blades. I flipped my left hand over and drew the gleaming black edge across my open palm. Skin parted and scarlet drops welled. “But the smell of fresh blood will be more attractive.”

She paled. “You’re a reckless fool, Myridian.”

“Cauterize his wound,” I said, then turned to the Dorian. “If your reputation is true, then you’ll know every inch of this city better than anyone. Is there a way out of this maze?”

Therius’ blue eyes twinkled. “Don’t fret on that score.”

“Well, we can’t go back the way we came in. The Dorians will just put us right back in chains,” Parthenia said. “Can we reach the sea from here?”

He chuckled. “How do you think Arachne fed before we Dorians came along to bring her fresh meat? Shipwrecked sailors would wash ashore and use the caves beneath the cliffs as a refuge. But when they went too deep in search of freshwater or shelter . . . Arachne found them.”

“My ship is moored in a cove to the east,” I said, straightening the sheaths across my back. “Find the Sirena and my Seven will aid you in whatever way they can.”

Therius reached up a hand, not caring that I dripped blood as I grasped his own. “Get out of here safely, my lord. Perhaps we can do some good together.”

I grinned. “I could certainly use a male with your talents.”

I turned to Parthenia and Tafari. “Give my sister my best when you reach the Sirena, will you?”

Tafari’s lips thinned as he straightened from where he’d been examining Therius’ wound. “Of course. But take this,” he said, pulling something from beneath his ragged shirt. “We collected it as we went along. We had no other weapons and thought it might be of some use. Therius insists that it is sturdy stuff.”

He held out a carefully wound loop of silver fibers. Several yards, by the look of it, of spider silk. Arachne’s own weaving. “Thank you,” I said, hooking it onto my belt. “Stop the bleeding. Then go. No matter how this Trial ends, it will end soon. After, the Dorians might try to round up any survivors.”

Parthenia shook her head. “Just . . . don’t die, Myridian.”

I offered her a smirk. “Don’t worry, little spy. It will take more than a few creepy crawlies to kill me.”

Slowly, I made my way deeper into the maze, heart pounding. But there was no more room for doubt as my steps carried me closer to the center of the labyrinth and the monster who nested there.

The entrance to her lair wasn’t hard to find. The stone passageways she frequented were marked with deep gouges from knife-edged claws. A fine silken sheen of decaying spider silk clung to the worn walls in wispy tufts. But it wasn’t such signs that had my heart beating a rapid cadence beneath my leathers. It was the sudden stench of rot and death.

I pushed on until the already dim path descended into deep shadow. The fibrous canopy that rose from the surrounding rock extinguished what little light filtered into the tunnels. The webbing was thick, likely centuries’ worth of effort. I paused, even my preternatural sight struggling to make sense of the shapes that loomed from the darkness.

I steadied myself, pulling my blades free and gathering what shreds of magic remained to me. Then I stepped beneath the foul cover and entered her nest.

And was immediately hit by something large and hard.