Page 16 of Fallacies

I blow out a shaky breath, my chest falling in defeat. “Alright.” My mouth dries out at my agreement. “What do I have to do?”

Callan looks pleased as he holds the pill up to my lips. “Take this. It should last for four hours or so. The longer you’re in there, the longer your wounds will take to heal.”

Wonderful. “So, I should just expect to get hurt?”

“It’s possible not to…” his voice trails off, his eyes going distant as if he’s running through Albatross in his head. He shrugs. “I suppose.”

My jaw slackens. “Gods, Callan, at least give me an extra just in case.”

“You don’t need it,” he assures me. “You’ll be fine. Open up.”

I’m certainly not going to deny the advantage, so I take the pill and swallow it before I can fall down the rabbit hole of: Do I really need to do this? Because the answer is yes. A resounding yes.

“Wait.” My brows pull together. “Why’d you take one?”

The corner of his mouth tilts. “We all did.”

“We?” I gape, but he ignores me, taking me by the shoulders and guiding me to the front of Albatross. “Callan, what do you mean we⁠—”

“Three rules,” he cuts me off. “No weapons.” Callan feels around my ribcage and pats down the waistband of my shorts. “No shots to the head, and no timeouts. Once you’re in, the entrance will close behind you, and there will be only one way out.” He leans down to my level, his chin hovering just above my shoulder. “Questions?”

I stare down the dark entrance in the stone, my stomach somersaulting. “So many.”

“Good.” Callan presses a quick kiss into my temple, squeezes my shoulders once, then pushes me forward—much like he did that first day through the Banyan—throwing me headfirst into Albatross.

I’m thankful for it. There’s no way in hell I could have walked in here on my own.

As soon as both my feet are inside, the exit groans shut, an echo of stone smashing together, sealing me inside. Then it falls deathly quiet. There are no more crickets or frogs, and even the sound of wind rustling the trees ceases to exist. It’s so silent that my exhales sound like screams.

Without any weapons, I need to find some sort of light to draw energy from. My Solian magic is the greatest weapon I have.

I will my feet to move, fear sinking deep in my gut when I turn the first corner of the maze-like structure and see a soft pulse of light coming from the end of the dark hall. I swallow, my palms growing thick with sweat as I step closer, pressing a hand against the stone. There’s a quiet hissing sound on the other side, and the smell of something burning hits my nose a heartbeat later. The wall grows warm, and I move my hand away, staring curiously at the stone.

I look up to the next corner, the soft pulse of light getting brighter now. But that’s exactly what I need—light.

Taking a deep breath, I give myself a pathetic pep talk, and draw magic to my fingertips. The only way out is through. Better to get the worst of it out of the way now while the mender pill is fresh.

Gods, how did I get here?

The hissing grows louder as I approach, igniting a steady drip of fear in my veins. Taking advantage of the adrenaline burst, I practically jump around the corner, but when I see what waits for me on the other side, all the blood drain from my face.

There’s a three-headed snake, about fifteen feet from where I stand, made entirely of flames.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

A Scarlet Serpent. A replica of the monster I’d heard stories about as a girl. The burning snake with six red eyes that lurks in the deepest pits of hell. They’re legends, folklore—myths.

But I’m looking at one, of that I’m certain.

I’m also certain that if I ever make it out of here, Callan is a dead man.

The Serpents’ heads sway as it slithers down the stone, and magic races through my arms, thrumming against my skin. I back up until I hit a wall, trapped by the maze and a three-headed beast, sparks crackling off its body as it poises itself to strike.

Praying seems pointless.

I dodge the first strike, the flames singeing my skin, but thanks to the mender pill, the burnt flesh heals instantly. I lash out with magic, frantic and careless with my aim. All of it misses. I’m too panicked to think straight—too caught off guard.

I barely evade the second strike, and the third leaves me with a set of fangs sunk deep into my thigh. My scream pierces the heated air as fiery scales wrap around my wrist, coiling up my arm. It burns through my skin like paper, too fast for the mender pill to heal.