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“Did your father get one?” I pressed. “Or Gerald Montclair?”

“My godfather never gave one to Gerald, not after what that man did.”

My lungs tightened. How do I ask questions without appearing too interested? How do I get away alive? How do I move when Leif is looking at me with such intensity, it could light my skin on fire?

I busied my hands with straightening my tunic. “What Gerald did?” I finally questioned in as casual a tone as possible.

When I looked up, Leif was eyeing my necklace again. When he lurched, I drew out my dagger and sliced upward with my blade, feeling it connect against his skin. He hissed as he yanked back.

I held the dagger up. “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you.”

“You’re not a killer,” he laughed.

Little did he know what this maze had already turned me into. “If I’m not a killer, you’re not a killer.”

His mouth wilted. “That wasn’t a senseless kill. That was well-deserved, and everyone in this labyrinth should be grateful for what I’ve done.” Something heavy sat in his words, something too big for me to understand. He was filled with questions I wanted the answers to.

Rain fell from his hair as he looked down at me. “I’m not going to kill you, thief. Not unless you give me reason to. Keep lying to me, and I’ll change my mind. I’m asking again—where did you get one of Callahan’s necklaces?”

“Question for a question,” I said. “Tell me what Gerald did that angered Callahan.”

“Stole something of his. Now my question. Did you steal this?”

“No. I found it washed up on the shore of Providence. What did Gerald steal?”

“A pony,” Leif said, and I got the sense that he was lying. “Why did you enter the labyrinth.”

“To find a bit of magic I can sell back home.”

His mouth peeled back into a smile, as if he knew I was lying too. His dark eyes flicked to the right, then back to me. “That’s a pretty axe you have. Did you steal that too?”

I opened my mouth to tell him to piss off, when a pattering sound clipped through the trees. Leif’s skin lost all color, and he stepped back as if I were hot coals.

I squinted. “Is thathoofbeats?”

“Run,” he muttered.

“No, I like horses. Maybe it’s the pony Gerald stole.”

Leif shoved me. “This isn’t a joke. Go now.”

Something in his expression stilled me. He wasn’t being kind by wanting to save me from whatever this horse meant. He was saving himself. And the fear on his face burned deep enough for me to find my strength and I ran.

I grabbed my axe, darted several paces away, then dove behind the nearest tree just as the hoofbeats got close enough to break into the clearing.

Leif scowled and turned away, while I realized I’d forgotten to ask about the statue or why it made him cry.

Then the newcomer appeared, and I knew who he was instantly.

A stone god.

The trees bent subtly, as if paying homage to the god’s arrival, their boughs trembling in reverence. His golden hair matched the amber shade of the setting sun and the golden hue of his horse’s mane. His features were flawless—kind and bright—and the iron braces on his arms gleamed like molten gold. With effortless command, he urged his horse forward, its steady whicker carving through the stillness of the forest.

Leif stood before him, his dark hair framing sharp and unyielding eyes. They were contrasts made flesh—Leif, the smoldering tempest, and the god, the blazing sun.

“One down,” the god said, nodding to the twisted, broken body at the base of the sculpture.

Leif afforded it a passing glance. “Thanks to you.”