Rakos might be the enemy, but so is Vana.
Bellamy won’t trust the wrong man twice.
“That’s a pity.” Vana straightens, adjusting the jeweled cuffs of his sleeves. “If you do happen to see a man of that description, could you pass along a message?”
Bellamy’s curiosity can’t resist. “I’d be happy to.”
“Tell Rakos he’s misunderstood the situation. I never wanted to harm him.” Vana looks strangely sad beneath his mask. The admission seems to lessen him, until his jeweled coat isn’t an ostentatious display of power. Merely armor.
“I haven’t seen him,” Bellamy says, shaken. “But I’ll pass the message along if I do.”
“Your Highness,” a deep voice interrupts.
Bellamy and Vana both turn in response. Bellamy swears silently, hoping neither of them noticed him reacting to the royal address.
“What is it, Daro?” Vana says.
“The other matter.”
“Of course.” Vana turns back to Bellamy. “It was nice talking with you… My apologies. What was your name?”
Before Bellamy has to think of a new fake name, the entire labyrinth shakes.
Panicked screams rise through the night as magic vanishes from the foundations, stone by stone.
Bellamy catches himself against the railing as Daromir seizes Vana’s shoulders and manhandles him out of sight. The railing creaks alarmingly, and Bellamy jumps away from the ledge. He needs to find the exit—or Rakos.
Whoever he really is.
?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rakos
Rakos withdraws his hand from the wall as the labyrinth begins crumbling. The labyrinth spell is large and powerful enough not to collapse all at once, but its destruction is inevitable as Tem magic eats like acid through its enchanted foundations.
When Rakos didn’t find Bell in the ballroom or the dueling chamber, he panicked. Searching the labyrinth room by room would take far too long—every moment another chance for Prince Vana’s drasgard to catch him.
Easier to just bring it all down.
Rock scrapes against rock, and shouts of shock echo through the night. Protective charms and shields of every element flash throughout the scene as the powerful crowd mills in confusion. His own magic still vibrating, shadows coalescing and disintegrating around him, Rakos leaps onto a dessert table. Boots crunching through porcelain plates and sticky pastries, he scans the crowd.
Definitely easier to search a labyrinth without walls.
Until a burning chunk of rock tumbles in front of him. Rakos reels back with a curse and extinguishes the enchanted flame with a flex of power—right when a familiar lanky form rushes through the crowd towards him.
“Bell!” Rakos shouts.
Bell jolts to a stop, nearly colliding with the person behind him. Pale under his mask, he wheels around and makes eye contact with Rakos.
Rakos jumps from the table and shoves past two nobles sheltering in a whirlwind. “Where were you?” he shouts over the racket, grabbing Bell’s arm.
His panic subsides and his magic settles now that he has his hands on Bell again.
“Just the other room!” Bell stumbles as Rakos drags him towards the southern exit. “What’s happening? Why is the labyrinth falling?” He seizes Rakos’s arm in turn, and they both duck past a flare of violet flame. “And why do I feel like it’s your fault?”
Rakos forces a laugh. “How could this be my fault?”