They’re in the best shape of their lives, but Hector moves more like Achilles…as if on instinct. I can practically see Patroclus’s brain trying to map out his next strike, trying to anticipate his opponent. It would work on anyone else, but not Hector. He’s too quick. I’ve never seen him fight, but he worked under Ares for years before transferring to Apollo. Apparently his time behind a desk haven’t softened him at all.
Patroclus is going to lose.
My heart lodges itself in my throat. I scan the maze to try to figure out where they are. I don’t know if I can help, but I have to try. I don’t think Hector would permanently harm Patroclus; at least, he wouldn’t do it on purpose. But accidents happen, especially in fights, especially when the stakes are so high.
There.
They aren’t far. I could reach them in just a few minutes…but it means going in the opposite direction of the exit. If Patroclus is no match for Hector, I’m certainly not, either. Helping him might very well mean sacrificing my chance to pass the second trial.
Hector lands a punch that snaps Patroclus’s head back. He barely stays on his feet. “No!”
A frustrated roar, heard even over the crowd, has me turning to find Achilles charging down the path. In the wrong direction.
I don’t stop to think. I just scream. “Achilles!”
Somehow he hears me. He slams to a stop and looks up. I point in the opposite direction. “He’s there!” A quick look is enough to map his course. “Two rights. Left. Right. Three lefts.”
He nods and then he’s off, flawlessly following my instructions. Within seconds, he careens around the corner nearest the fight and takes Hector down in a flying leap. He looks as fresh as when we entered the maze, and I exhale shakily. It will be fine. Achilles will take care of Patroclus. He won’t let his lover be killed.
Thank the gods.
I force myself to tear my gaze from the fight. They will be okay. I have to worry about myself right now. There’s nothing else I can do to help, nothing they need my help for. With one last glance at the screens, I leverage myself to my feet and start making my winding way toward the exit.
My leg holds, which is a bit of a miracle, but each step is agony. I catch sight of the Minotaur lumbering through the maze a few paths over. He looks up as I move past, narrowing his eyes. I tense, but he simply turns away, heading for the last few turns between him and the center of the maze.
I stop on the wall across from the door and ease down to drop to the floor. My leg finally buckles and I land on my ass. “Ouch.”
“Impressive.”
I look up to find Atalanta standing over me, a grin on her scarred face. In her hand, she holds a key. I offer back a tired grin of my own. “Right back at you.”
She opens her mouth, but her eyes roll back in her head and she slumps to the ground. Behind her stands Paris. He shakes his head. “Poor thing. She never saw me coming.”
I flinch, my body reacting before my mind fully processes that Paris has knocked Atalanta out. For a moment, something dark flickers across his face and I can practically see him weighing the chance to kick me while I’m down—maybe literally—and his desire to maintain his image as the charming playboy that Olympus believes him to be.
He shakes his head slowly and leans down to snag the key from Atalanta’s limp hand. “Climbing the walls, huh? I knew you couldn’t have gotten this far without cheating. You’re taking that key from someone who truly deserves it. Pathetic.” Paris turns and walks to the door. He inserts the key, opens it, and disappears through.
I stare for a beat, two, three. I didn’t cheat. I went about solving the problem by nontraditional methods, but that doesn’t make me weak. The irony of him accusing me of taking a key from someone who deserves it… I shake my head hard. Damn it, I’m letting him mess with my mind again. I scramble to Atalanta’s side and ease her onto her back.
She’s breathing evenly, and her dark eyes flutter open. “Motherfucker.”
Relief makes me a little dizzy. She’s okay. Or she will be. “I’m sorry.” I can’t stay here, can’t risk suffering the same fate if someone decides to take a page out of Paris’s handbook. I squeeze her shoulder and push away from her. “I’m so sorry, I have to go.”
The only thing that matters is getting through that door and passing the second trial.
I use the wall to leverage myself to my feet and stagger to the door. It takes two tries to insert the key into the lock and twist. It swings soundlessly open and I step through and out of the maze.
Is the cheering of the crowd louder? I can’t be sure, but I straighten my spine and work to keep the limp out of my walk as much as possible. Bellerophon stands just to the side of the door, an unreadable expression on their face. They motion to a bench that wasn’t there when we started this trial. “Wait there, please.”
I nod and walk to sit on the opposite side of the bench from Paris. I can feel his gaze on me, but I refuse to look over. Instead, I pin my attention to the screens overhead. They show the various champions. Several of the others are on the ground, having suffered various bodily injuries. Theseus is still in the center of the maze, leaning against the wall and cradling his knee. I don’t see Hector or the Minotaur.
Achilles is half carrying Patroclus, who looks wounded but—thank the gods—okay.
I fight not to react as I watch their slow progress, heart in my throat. We’re over halfway through the time allotted. They have to hurry up if they want to pass the trial. I press my hands hard to my thighs, fighting to keep my expression even. Will Achilles leave Patroclus behind? Will either of them make it?
Come on. You can do it. Hurry.
22
Achilles
“Leave me.”
“Stop saying that,” I growl. “We’re getting out of this together.” Earlier, I accidentally found the door out of the maze, so I’ve got the path back memorized. We just need to find the fucking center, get the keys, and get the fuck out of here. I gingerly adjust my grip around Patroclus’s waist. “Did he get your ribs?”
“No.” He’s leaning too heavily on me, and I can’t tell if he’s lying or if Hector just knocked him for a loop to the point where he’s woozy. He’s got a split lip and I’m pretty sure his ankle is royally fucked. There’s also a bruise darkening one of his cheekbones, and his glasses were shattered on the ground when I found him and Hector fighting.
Best not to think about that too closely.
I could tell at a glance that Patroclus would lose. And then Hector hit him with an uppercut that snapped his head back and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. After that, I stopped thinking entirely. My only goal was to knock Hector the fuck out and protect the man I love. I don’t give a fuck that Hector has his reasons for being here.