Page 31

I kept quiet as I moved, not east, but west. Back toward Clark. If I had any chance of winning, it would be at his side.

Reignited with my goal of acquiring the Silver Wings, I slipped through the labyrinth. I pictured myself as Dawson as he won the first labyrinth. With any luck, some of his good fortune passed through the line.

It was as if I could bend the will of the labyrinth to me.

But labyrinths do not bend.

This labyrinth was alive—or so it seemed. Its walls shifted when I wasn’t looking, the pathways I thought I had memorized rearranging themselves into new patterns. Strange sounds echoed through the corridors at night—whispers I couldn’t understand, the scrape of something heavy dragging across stone, and sometimes, distant footsteps that didn’t belong to me.

I pressed onward. When I wasn’t drenched in sweat from the sun, I was aching with hunger. But comfort and food were luxuries I’d left behind.

“When I’m captain of the Silver Wings, the first thing I’m going to do is eat a full meal,”

I whispered to myself, if only to hear the familiar sound of my voice. When the labyrinth made noise, it unnerved me. When it was silent, it unnerved me more.

Night fell swiftly but I dared not stop for rest. Not until I had Clark at my side again.

The labyrinth was a paradox—suffocatingly narrow in one moment, with walls pressing close enough to scrape my shoulders, and impossibly vast in the next, opening into chambers with ceilings so high they vanished into shadow. I spent most of the night looking behind me for anyone who might be following and debating if calling out for Clark would get me killed.

When morning came, I discovered the first trap.

It was subtle, hidden beneath a thin layer of dust on the floor. I had been moving cautiously through a garden of rose bushes when my boot pressed down on an innocuous-looking stone. I heard the faint click.

The world erupted into motion. Massive spikes shot out from the walls, grinding together with a force that sent a gust of wind rushing past. I threw myself backward just in time. The spikes missed by mere inches.

I lay upon smooth pavers, trembling, my breaths shallow.

“You want to kill me, don’t you?”

The labyrinth didn’t answer, but I felt its malice in the shifting stones beneath my fingers.

The whispers began next. They drifted by as often as the labyrinth wolves howled, a constant noise in my ear that picked at my courage. These sounds weren’t human. Something other whispered in the dark. And I had the suspicion that it whispered of me.

It wasn’t until night began to fall that I heard a new sound. Gunnar singing.

I could have cried with joy if my body had fluid to spare.

The star in the east lit the path of uneven stones as I wound through the twists of a hedge maze to find the group.

Harald and Tove kept to the back, both with weapons drawn. Harald was shushing Gunnar but that boy’s lively spirit would never be dampened. Gunnar strolled along ahead of them, one arm gnarly with burns, the other swinging a small axe in circles that matched the rhythm of his song. His chocolate hair was almost black in the night.

Astrid’s hair shone like starlight, and she frowned at Gunnar’s song in a way that hinted how she secretly enjoyed it. Surprisingly, Aiden was at her side. They must have tucked away their grievances.

And Clark. He led the group, sleeves of his white tunic rolled past his elbows, strong hand gripping his sword, and his steps sure. He set the pace for them, a strong one filled with purpose. I mapped the shape of him quickly. No burns as far as I could see. Black charred marks stretched across the bottom of his tunic, and his boots were worn, but he was alive.

More than alive. The cuts of him were new, the way he carried himself unlike the boy from the island. He’d left the old Clark behind like he were a skin to outgrow.

I’d watched him for too long, they were almost getting away.

“Can I tag along?” I asked.

They whirled around at my voice.

“Ren, you made it!”

Harald cheered. Tove’s face lit up beside him.

“You’re alive!”

Gunnar added.

Clark broke through them all to stride toward me, dropping his weapons on the soft earth, and wrapping his arms around my body.

I buried my face into his frame.

“I thought I’d lost you to the fire,”

Clark whispered.

I clung tight. “Never.”

I looked up at the smooth lines of his face.

“You and me, we won’t die here.”

I spoke the words as if I could force them to be true. We were going to be okay.

Clark ran his hands through my hair once before shifting his eyes over the length of me, assessing for damage just as I’d done to him. His gaze latched onto Leif’s dagger at my waist.

I quickly faced the others.

“I’ve been ahead. I know a sure path.”

Their weary faces brightened, while Harald lifted a brow.

“You backtracked for us?”

“Of course,”

I replied.

“We are in this together.”

Now that I could get a better look at them, they were worse than I’d imagined. Gunnar’s burns were all across his right side, down his arm and leg, with much of his shirt singed off. He wore the tattered scraps proudly though, even if he looked like something dragged out of a graveyard. Aiden boasted as many burns as him, mainly on his hands and arms. The two of them must have been in beastly amounts of pain.

Astrid hadn’t gotten burned, so her skin remained smooth like polished glass stretched tight over her bones. Her collarbone stuck out below her neck, and her lips were cracked many times over. Blood, some fresh and some dried, coated them.

Tove appeared to be the only one in good shape until she shifted her weight and I noted how she nursed one leg. Both the ankle and knee were swollen.

Harald didn’t bear physical scars. But an exhaustion hung on his shoulders as heavy as any anvil. If I had to guess, I’d say he’d been carrying Tove most of the day.

Clark appeared the best out of the lot. Dark circles beneath his eyes, matted hair, flushed lips because he had a tendency to worry his teeth over them. His eyes bounced between my own and the dagger at my side.

“Come,”

I said.

“There’s a place we can rest for the night a few hours away.”

Before Clark could get a chance to ask about the weapon, I led the group back the way I’d come.

Clark kept as he always did, a constant presence behind my shoulder that comforted me, but my emotions were shifting. I tried to read them as they passed through.

The entire time I’d traveled, I’d been eager to tell Clark all I’d learned about me, my past, and how it connected to the labyrinth. He’d know the truth of Allison, how that almost guaranteed her story about my father was true, and who my grandfather was. He’d hear about Leif and Dimitri. He’d hate them as much as I did.

But now that it came to it, the story bundled itself into my chest with no intention of leaving.

At first, I thought it to be fear. As if speaking the words out loud would make it feel real. Or that the labyrinth would be listening and the leaves would carry the story to Dimitri.

But it wasn’t that. I held the story close just like I hid who my father was all those years because it was too precious for the wrong person to know.

Somehow, telling Clark didn’t feel right yet.

It will change tonight when all the others have gone to sleep, I told myself. Then you’ll be eager to tell him everything.

But when we settled down for the night, the story had added a lock and cage around it, retreating into the depths of my soul for me to carry alone.

“Tell me of your adventures the past two days,”

I said as we sat in a circle with the group.

They each gave a groan in response.

“I’d predicted this,”

Harald began.

“The labyrinth is becoming hungrier. Traps waited around every turn. The fire was just the beginning. I suspect without Lady Luck looking out for the group, we’d have perished by now.”

Astrid stared at Lady Luck’s tattoo with a solemn face.

Clark passed his flask to me.

“At least we came across a spring to refill our supplies.”

“I filled my own shortly before finding you,”

I lied. In truth, it’d been since that morning when I had water, but Clark’s voice sounded like rocks tumbling through a desert. When I turned him down, he took a swig of his flask before tucking it away.

He pulled out a slip of folded paper instead.

The crowd shifted forward as he unrolled it, but none looked confused like I was.

“What’s this?”

“A map,”

Clark said. He grinned at the parchment in his hands like it were his most prized possession, while my jaw loosened. Maps were expensive. Far more money than all of us could scrounge together. But as he opened it, I realized he didn’t buy this map.

He was drawing it.

“You’re making the map?”

“I know the maze resets every four years. This won’t help anyone else. But perhaps if we see the path we came from, we can find a pattern, and know what to expect ahead. Plus, it gives me something to think about so I don’t go mad.”

From the back, it looked to be a page torn from his book he’d purchased at the market. Over the words, he’d started his drawing with a charcoal stick. It stained the edges of his fingers black, but the smile on his face as he looked over his masterpiece was pure joy. I took in the shapes he’d drawn.

The ladder we’d taken to get into the labyrinth. The maze of stairs. The tower where we’d fought the three boys. The temples we’d passed so far.

Clark glanced up. A temple sat nearby, nestled around the gardens we camped near, gleaming golden like a beacon in the night.

“I want to catalog that one. Ren, can you go through the book to find whose temple it is, while I draw the path we took today?”

“Happily.”

I tugged the old tome from his pack to greedily devour the sight of it. Everything I wanted to know would be in this book.

I dragged a thumb over the deep green cloth cover, feeling the ridges in the black words. Spiraling designs lined the spine like vines climbing high. The first page had the designs too, their leaves reaching for words formed by sticks. There were thirty-six chapters in all, but I noted the ones that interested me most.

How the King of the Labyrinth came to be

The knight who tricked the king

The boy who stole from the king’s temple

I’d be back for those. For now, I flipped through, one by one, searching for mention of a golden temple with a colossal archway, framed by intricately carved pillars adorned with depictions of mythical creatures—dragons entwined with phoenixes, lions with wings of fire, and serpents coiled around trees laden with golden fruit. Above the arch, an enormous sunburst motif spread outward, its rays inlaid with gemstones of every color: rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds that caught the light and scattered it in a dazzling display.

Whichever stone god this was, they weren’t a fan of subtlety.

I found it about halfway through, a temple planted atop a mosaic of lush green hills, cascading waterfalls, and skies painted in hues of amber and sapphire. It looked like the house of a king in this picture. But tonight, as moonlight bathed it, it looked just as likely to house a monster.

The image of a girl had been painted on the adjacent page. She had long, black hair adorned with flowers with a veil over her eyes. I read her pages.

“The Shrouded Sister,”

it began.

“Delilah dreamed in gilded hues, of riches vast, of treasures strewn. Rivers of gold and basins of gems, gowns stitched from moonlight’s silver hem. It was right of her to want these things. A beauty like hers demanded greatness. She entered the labyrinth on its twentieth appearance. Her sister joined her quest.

“Delva was not like Delilah. She was the quiet beauty of a rippling pond that only a few cared to see. Her value came in her loyalty to her sister and the sharpness of her mind. But those things could not save her from what she found inside.

“Dimitri took a special interest in the sisters for the eldest’s resemblance to his lost love, Alicent. The ghost of his past was still too near. He hatched a plan to bring them down. Delilah’s path to victory was assured—she was clever, determined, and blessed by her sister’s aid. She made it farther than most. But Dimitri, with his honeyed words and promises spun from starlight, ensnared her heart. Few could resist the labyrinth king when he chose to woo, and Delilah was no exception. His tales of unending riches and a world built for her beauty seduced her like no treasure ever could.

“She turned from her goal, abandoning the labyrinth’s prize in favor of the man who swore to give her the world. But Dimitri’s gifts came with a cost. He showered Delilah with riches—golden tiaras, silken gowns, and jeweled necklaces fit for an empress. Yet, he stole from her the one thing he suspected she loved more than these—her sister. Delva was no match for the labyrinth’s merciless traps. She perished in its endless corridors, and Delilah, left behind, was doomed to wander her sister’s graveyard each night. Dimitri abandoned her, but he makes sure her halls are filled with treasure as a reminder of what she once craved.

“No longer does Delilah yearn for gold, or jewels, or gowns spun from moonlight. Her beauty is as radiant as ever, but her heart is heavy, burdened with loss. She dreams now only of her sister—her fallen star, her silent shadow—forever beyond her reach. Through endless halls, her footsteps fall. A queen of sorrow, who has it all.”

My voice drifted off to find silence waiting. Clark’s hand had gone still over his drawing, the temple half made.

“It’s never a jolly story, is it?”

Gunnar said.

Harald had scooted nearer to his sister, whose eyes were wide.

“No, it never is with this labyrinth. Good thing is, Delilah doesn’t often make deals with competitors, bet on them, nor does she accept the pledge of wolves. We are safe from her.”

I studied Delilah’s temple. It seemed a lonely existence. Trapped for hundreds of years in a labyrinth, surrounded by jewels that bring no joy. She must hate Dimitri.

A plan took form in the back of my mind.

Before I could weave the threads of it together, Clark tapped his charcoal stick against his map.

“So where were you these past two days?”

All eyes turned to me.

I traced a finger along Clark’s map. The terrain was the path they’d taken, through a labyrinth of caves it seems, before climbing out to a marshland.

“I was here, but higher.”

“Second level, or third?”

Clark drew out more maps.

Part of the trick to this labyrinth was how it had levels. We entered at the top. We dropped down, but not to the floor level. It took longer to get there. As we moved, sometimes the hills led upward. Other times they plunged down. We could see levels above, but Harald intentionally kept us in areas where the sky could be seen. If we couldn’t see the sky, we couldn’t follow the star.

Looking up, I saw two more levels now. Stairs leading to castles high in the sky, hedge mazes well above us, tunnels twisting through the air.

But where I’d just been, it wasn’t the second level, or the third.

“I was on a parapet above it all. I could hardly see the labyrinth.”

Lines formed in the space between Clark’s brows.

“The slide took you…up?”

“A stone god did that. And before you ask, I’m not certain who. I suspect Aurelia Brightspire, but I can’t guess her goal.”

“Why do you suspect her?”

“I heard her voice.”

Protect your heart.

“She warned me to be careful.”

“And you just had to walk it?”

Just. As if my ankle wasn’t chained to someone who wanted me dead, and arrows weren’t hurtling toward us.

Then Clark added, “Alone?”

Without meaning to, I’d been twisting Leif’s dagger in my hands. I tucked it away.

“Yes. It was narrow though. I could have fallen.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. We missed you,”

Tove said. Her smile might have been small, but it was as sweet as every flower in the garden near us, and as sparkling as Delilah’s temple.

I gave her a smile back. I doubted many of them truly missed me, as terrible company as I had been, but I’d be better about that. I might not sing, but I could be less sour.

One by one, the group faded to sleep while Clark took the first watch. I stayed up with him for a bit, the truth of what transpired with Leif still resting on my tongue.

It would frighten Clark to know someone like Leif hunted me. He’d be hunting extra hard now that he knew the truth of who I was. If he wanted the Silver Wings as badly as he claimed, my very existence threatened him.

Then there were the matters with Dimitri…

I studied Clark in the dark light. He flipped through his book, reading each log carefully, and snuck glances at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Finally, when he caught my eye, he shut the book.

“Are you okay? You seem different.”

I tried to hide whatever parts of my face were giving me away. I didn’t know how I felt. On one hand, whirling with all I’d uncovered about my past. On the other, excited to have a name in this world. And I knew there were parts of me that should be terrified but I was having a beastly time summoning those.

Fear usually came too late, when the teeth were already closing around my neck. I’d always been that way.

Then there was Leif. The boy who sought to kill me because of a deal he’d made with Dimitri, who wanted to win just as much as I did, and who interested me more than anyone I’d ever met. How could I begin to explain him?

How could I explain him to Clark?

“I’m just tired. It was a long day of traveling to find you.”

Clark accepted the answer with a small nod, going back to his book. But his lids were falling, and soon they shut. His breathing turned even.

I slid the book away to devour it myself. Time and time again, I went back to the Shrouded Sister and her tale. Pain. Sorrow. Hatred. A disdain for the ways of the labyrinth.

“I’d very much like to meet you,”

I whispered to the image.

I left the book there, just as I left the group. For good measure, I left my axe and sword as well so Delilah would know I came in good faith. I wouldn’t be coming to her as a warrior or competitor. I’d be coming as the distant daughter of Dawson and Alicent.

Delilah dreamed in gilded hues, of riches vast, of treasures strewn. Rivers of gold and basins of gems, gowns stitched from moonlight’s silver hem. It was right of her to want these things. A beauty like hers demanded greatness.

She entered the labyrinth on its twentieth appearance. Her sister joined her quest.

Delva was not like Delilah. She was the quiet beauty of a rippling pond that only a few cared to see. Her value came in her loyalty to her sister and the sharpness of her mind. But those things could not save her from what she found inside.

Dimitri took a special interest in the sisters for the eldest’s resemblance to his lost love, Allison. The ghost of his past was still too near. He hatched a plan to bring them down.

Delilah’s path to victory was assured—she was clever, determined, and blessed by her sister’s aid. She made it farther than most. But Dimitri, with his honeyed words and promises spun from starlight, ensnared her heart. Few could resist the labyrinth king when he chose to woo, and Delilah was no exception. His tales of unending riches and a world built for her beauty seduced her like no treasure ever could.

She turned from her goal, abandoning the labyrinth’s prize in favor of the man who swore to give her the world. But Dimitri’s gifts came with a cost.

He showered Delilah with riches—golden tiaras, silken gowns, and jeweled necklaces fit for an empress. Yet, he stole from her the one thing he suspected she loved more than these: her sister.

Delva, steadfast and quiet, was no match for the labyrinth’s merciless traps. She perished in its endless corridors, and Delilah, left behind, was doomed to wander her sister’s graveyard each night. Dimitri abandoned her, but he makes sure her halls are filled with treasure as a reminder of what she once craved.

No longer does Delilah yearn for gold, or jewels, or gowns spun from moonlight. Her beauty is as radiant as ever, but her heart is heavy, burdened with loss. She dreams now only of her sister—her fallen star, her silent shadow—forever beyond her reach.

Through endless halls, her footsteps fall. A queen of sorrow, who has it all .