Dragon's Maze

“Please, it’s important. He’s to represent Selesnya in the dragon’s maze, and I have information he needs.”

“You’ll see Captain Calomir when Captain Calomir sees you, not before, traitor.”

“Without this information, our guild will fail.”

The Selesnya guard sneered. “You’re trying to trap me.”

“Bring a stunning spell, then, and use it on me if I attempt something. Or do you want me to tell him you were the one who prevented him from knowing what he needed to know in order to prevail in the maze?”

The guard wandered away from the door, mumbling.

That would have to do, she thought.

By the time Calomir came to the door, the sun was peeking through the cracks in the window boards again. She stood and held her hands behind her back, concealing the dagger of glass.

“You sent for me?” he asked.

“Come in,” she said.

The statuesque elf, or the being who had taken Calomir’s face, entered and closed the door behind him. He wore his Selesnya soldier’s uniform and sword. “Is everything all right?”

The man was a perfect facsimile of Calomir, to the point that Emmara was questioning herself even now. She couldn’t dismiss the urge to simply embrace him. But even if it were her Calomir, he had branded her a traitor to their guild, turned her home into a jail cell, and guided her guild toward violence and belligerence against the other guilds. Either way, he wasn’t the Calomir she remembered.

“You intend to represent our guild in the maze,” she said. “Perhaps I have information you need.”

“You’ve spoken to Beleren,” Calomir said. He glanced around the house. “He was here?”

“I’ll tell you what you want to know. But first there’s something I want to know from you.” Emmara’s hands trembled behind her back. She hoped she looked calm and cooperative. She cast her eyes down, then up into his. “I’ve been doing some thinking. Do you remember the day we met? In the Ovitzia District?”

“The day we … met?” His eyes darted for a moment, but he never lost his composure. “Of course.”

“You do?”

“You thought I’d forget a moment like that? Just because we’ve quarreled doesn’t mean I’m not the same man.”

Emmara looked straight into his eyes. He held her stare. “You said something to me that day,” she said. “Do you remember? You told me a joke. It was about one of the vendors at the market, or something. I thought it was so clever, so funny coming from a young, uniformed soldier of the Selesnya. Remember that?”

“Of course I remember.”

“Tell it to me again.”

“What, the joke? No, Emmara, not now.”

“Just say what you said.”

“A joke told on command has no humor to it.”

“But it was just so funny, the way you said it. It endeared me to you that day. I could use some of that, after how you’ve left me in here.”

“The dragon’s race is the important thing now.”

A cold shadow passed over Emmara’s heart. There was no such joke on the day they met—Calomir had never been much for verbal humor. And they had met here in the Tenth, not in the Ovitzia District. “You don’t remember that day, do you?”

“Enough of this. If this was all you had to tell me, I have to go. I need to prepare my team and be ready at the start of the maze, first thing tomorrow.”

Emmara remembered what Jace had said—that under no circumstances could Calomir be chosen as the Selesnya maze-runner. “Trostani chose you?”

He tipped his head and gave a faint smile. “I recommended myself, and she assented. And once I win the race for our guild, then we can see to your case. I can ask for leniency from the guildmaster. But you’ll have to remain cooperative.”

Emmara bit her lip and fingered the shard of glass. “I’ll be good.”

“I know you can be.”

“Calomir.”

“Yes?”

“Come here.” Emmara held one arm out to him, the other demurely behind her.

Calomir paused. But he went to her, and they wrapped their arms around each other.

Vines snaked out of the floorboards, slowly wrapping themselves around his feet and legs. Emmara clutched him and whispered in his ear. “You. Are not. Calomir.”

Calomir tried to pull away, but Emmara held him fast. She sunk the shard of glass into the center of his back. Calomir pushed her away. He craned his neck, trying to see and reach the shard, but it was just out of reach. He turned back to her.

“You little fool,” he said.

“How did you do it?” she hissed. “How did he die?”

“Shall I tell you you’re delusional now? That that mind mage has fed you lies and sickened your mind?” He tried to step toward her, but his feet wouldn’t move. He looked down and saw the roots and vines twisting around his ankles.

“Was it poison?” Emmara spat. “Did you slit his throat while he slept? Did you wring his neck with your own vile hands?”

Just then a Selesnya guard, the young man with the thin red beard again, looked in through the door. His face opened with surprise to see Captain Calomir under attack.

Emmara needed to keep the shapeshifter talking, and keep his attention on her. “You tell me,” she said. “You tell me how you murdered my Calomir. Tell me where you left his body, you thing.”