Mistress of the Solstice by Anna Kashina Page B

mist. The fire was
slowly approaching, its fiery tongues snaking along the path toward his
feet.
    “Whatever you do, don’t turn
back,” Raven had told him. “You
would want to turn and run away, but as soon as you do, the fire will
consume you. This is why most of the suitors who try to brave the East
Tower leave no trace behind.”
    Ivan shivered. The old bird seemed to take pleasure in telling him those
details. Now that he was facing the trap, the knowledge of what would
happen to him if he failed didn’t help one bit.
    He carefully breathed in. The air stung and his
insides protested at the sudden pain. Don’t move.
Don’t. Move.
    The fire was upon him. He could see its red tongues raging around him,
licking his skin. He felt his skin emanate hissing sounds as it bubbled
and burst, running down his exposed flesh. His eyes hurt, but closing
them did not help, for the fire reached up to his face, singing his
hair, peeling away his eyelids. The pain was impossible. He had never
felt anything like it.
    He knew he shouldn’t scream, but what really stopped him
was no longer any conscious knowledge but the fact that screaming
required breathing in, and he knew his smoldering lungs could possibly
take no more. Yet, if he failed to breathe, he would die.
    Assuming it mattered.
    Raven had said that if he withstood this trial he
wouldn’t be harmed, but that didn’t
seem to matter either, for how could he live much longer without skin,
with the smoldering flesh rapidly withering in the unbearable heat. He
could smell it, a
sickening smell of roasting meat that made the bile rise into his
throat. But he couldn’t vomit either. He had no breath
left.
    Good bye, Wolf. Forgive me for failing.
    And then, just as suddenly, it was over. The heat dissipated, leaving
behind a cool breath of the night air. It carried the damp chill of the
swamp, so welcome on his burning skin.
    His skin.
    It couldn’t possibly be there, could it?
    How could he possibly have lived through that?
    He counted under his breath and slowly opened his eyes.
    The path in front of him was clear, tall grass on either side glimmering
in the scarce light from the nigh sky. It wavered in the breeze,
parting before his feet into the thin, scantly trodden path he had been
following.
    It did not look as if it had been touched by fire at all.
    Ivan took a deep breath, enjoying the cool relief it brought to his
tortured insides. He breathed some more, letting his muscles unknot
before he dared to lift his hands up to his eyes to survey the damage.
    His skin was all there, smooth and white, calloused at the fingertips.
Ivan sighed. He shouldn’t be surprised, he knew. Raven
told him this would happen. Yet, after being consumed by the fire, it
was hard to imagine how he could still feel so whole.
    Too much. This had been too much. How could he possibly go on?
    He took another step along the path. Then another.
    Don’t stop. Not when you are so close.
    His feet carried him forward, first slowly, then faster as he finally
saw the roughly hewn wall looming ahead. It was so close he could see
the cracks in the moss-covered stones, perfect footholds for someone
trying to climb up. Nothing to it, just like Raven said.
    A dark winged shape swept overhead. Ivan dropped to
the ground and rolled over, barely avoiding the sweep of the
razor-sharp claws. Focus, you fool. The last
trap.
    Too late, he remember Raven’s warning.
“Stop, as soon as you see the wall.
Don’t take another step before you see the
creature.”
    Had he messed it up?
    His silent attacker circled and returned for another
pass. Crouching, Ivan reached for his dagger.
“Don’t fight it,”
Raven had said. “Don’t even try. You
cannot possibly win. Above all, don’t look at
it .” The warning echoed in
Ivan’s ears just in time as he was about to turn his
head. If only the damned thing would make more sound. How was he
supposed to resist if he couldn’t even look at it?
    How could he possibly