Labyrinth of Shadows

by Kyla Stone

  But the memory fades like smoke before I can see it clearly. The things I think I remember make no sense.

  “Yes,” I say. “Of course, I love you.”

  “Then you will do this for me. Prove your loyalty and courage. Prove that the goddess spared you for a reason, that you’re not the failure your father believes you to be.”

  “But won’t Earth-Shaker be angered—”

  She clutches my shoulders, her fingers like claws. The snake hisses so close its forked tongue licks my bare shoulder. “We serve the mother goddess first. She rules all lesser gods. If you succeed, her blessing will protect us from Earth-Shaker’s wrath.”

  I give a tremulous nod.

  “When you return, you will take your throne alongside your brother, Asterion. He will restore me—us—to our rightful place of honor and glory we’ve been denied by the king. And,” she muses like an afterthought, “we will be a family again. Isn’t that what you want?”

  Her words both cut me to the core and bind me up, spill my blood and heal me. “I’ll do it,” I say, willing to say anything, to do anything, to get her to look at me like that again. Like I matter. Like I mean something. Like I am her daughter. “I will not fail you.”

  She looks at me, the line between her brows softening. It’s like a mask of stone falling from her face, revealing a living, feeling soul beneath, revealing the mother of my childhood, the one who loved me. The one I would give anything to get back.

  She presses both vials into my palm.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  My mother hesitates, then reaches out and strokes my cheek. Her eyes are shining, filled with emotions I haven’t seen in so long I’m not sure I recognize them.

  All of my mother’s glittering attention focuses on me like I’m the only star in the whole wide sky, and there is nothing she’d rather look at than me. “Phaedra is beautiful, but you are strong. I wish you the gift of courage, daughter. You will need it.”

  Chapter Five

  I tie both vials my mother gave me to a leather thong, slip it around my neck, and tuck it inside my bodice. I hurry through the winding corridors and great staircases of the palace, my sandals echoing on the polished floors.

  Most of the noble families, the merchants, scribes, advisers and counselors are all feasting in other parts of the palace, celebrating the Harvest Festival. I pass only a few scurrying slaves on the way to my own chambers, where I’ve ordered the servants to send Tarina.

  Tarina lies on a makeshift cot in a corner of my bedchamber. I kneel next to the cot and give her a few drops of the elixir. My chest pulses, as if a blade has been plunged into my heart. Please work, please work.

  Within moments of the dark sludge touching her lips, her breathing turns soft and even.

  She sleeps. Not the tortured unconsciousness of the dying, but the deep, healing sleep of those returning to the world of the living.

  The knot of anxiety in my belly loosens. My mother’s magic is powerful. Tarina will live. This, at least, I’ve done right.

  I sink back on my heels, trembling in relief. I gaze across the terrace of my chamber toward the sacred peak of Mount Juktas that rises gracefully across the valley. The sun is already making its journey into the lower quadrant of the sky. By this time tomorrow, the tributes will have offered themselves as sacrifices.

  Does the goddess have a purpose for me, like my mother insists? I should seek out the goddess at the sacred peak. I should spill libations and offer a calf in supplication. But my limbs, sore and aching from the dance, will not move.

  Where was the goddess when the king-bull nearly trampled me, when he gored Tarina? Where was the Oracle? Somehow, I know that this is my decision, and mine alone. I feel it deep in my weary bones.

  I close my eyes, finally allowing the emotions I’ve held in to radiate through my body—a turmoil of pain, grief, regret, dread, doubt, and hope.

  How can I descend into a darkness of wraiths and monsters?

  How do I save a monster who would sooner tear me to pieces than listen to a word I have to say? How do I slay a hero who shares the blood of the immortals, whose strength and prowess outshine any mere man’s, let alone a girl’s?

  The Minotaur nearly murdered me once already. What is to stop him from completing the task?

  And yet, there’s a golden thread of hope glittering amid the doubt and fear. If I do this thing for my mother, if I enter the Labyrinth, I can right the wrong done to my family. I can destroy the rot eating us all from the inside. The monster would no longer roar beneath my feet, tormenting me and my people.

  My mother would love me. My father would respect me.

  Instead of a failure, I’d be a hero.

  I clutch Tarina’s hand and squeeze it. Even in sleep, she squeezes back weakly. I brush back her hair and kiss her forehead.

  I can’t remain here until she awakens like I wish.

  Theseus, the Athenian prince, waits for me. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  “I must go, foolish girl,” I whisper. “I have much to do before I rest.”

  Chapter Six

  “I’ll kill the monster,” Theseus says as I walk up behind him.

  Theseus stands in a small cluster of four other tributes.

  “No one can defeat the Minotaur,” a girl says dully.

  “Be silent, Selene,” says a tall girl with ash-blonde hair tumbling down her back, her eyes painted in kohl.

  Theseus slaps his chest with a grin. “I’ll slay the monster the first night, mark my words.”

  Tributes have boasted before. They’re the sons and daughters of noblemen—at least, Athens’s version of noblemen. Still, most of them are naive, pale-faced weaklings who claim they’ll slay the mythic, bloodthirsty beast with their bare hands.

  I hardly notice them or hear their mewling voices. The monster who trembles these stone walls with his roars would snap their bones like twigs.

  I know. I’ve seen it.

  But Theseus is different. His words send a cold shiver down my spine.

  I speak before I realize I’ve opened my mouth. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard those exact words?”

  The tributes whirl, their eyes narrowing in suspicion and fear when they see me. A few of them bow. They may be barbarians, but they recognize royalty when they see it.

  Theseus does not bow. He’s as I remember—tall of stature, broad of chest, corded muscles rippling in his arms. The torchlight touches his curly hair with golden fingers. He stands with purpose, shoulders squared, head thrown back, oozing confidence, dignity, and poise.

  His gaze hooks me as surely as if I were a fish thrashing on a line. “The princess on the pier.”

  His eyes slide to the ring I twist on my finger. I drop my hands to my sides. I’ll reveal no weakness, no nervousness or fear. I raise my chin. “Princess Ariadne to you.”

  All around us in the grand hall, loud voices and heady laughter echo off the gleaming tiled floors. In one corner, a musician reclines on a purple sofa, tuning the strings of a lyre. Slaves drift through the room, refilling cups of honeyed wine and serving trays laden with salted fish, bread drenched in herbed oils, goat cheese, and olives.

  Several tributes sit stiffly on sumptuous velvet cushions. Their skin is scented, their hair oiled, flowered wreaths draped around their necks. They’re surrounded by laughing, drunken nobles from the various cities of Crete and the mainland.

  Tomorrow the tributes are offerings to the gods, but for tonight, they are a diversion for the lords, princes, and nobles of Crete, who care not at all that the beautiful young Athenians entertaining them will soon be rotting flesh and bone.

  Theseus snorts, drawing my attention. “I heard a rumor that you leap bulls. I believed it a jest until I saw it with my own eyes. You’re so small. And a girl, besides.”

  The other tributes laugh nervously, but fear laces their voices.

  “Here, girls are trained to be strong,” I snap.

  He only raises his ey
ebrows in mocking amusement.

  “Girls dance just as well as boys. Sometimes better. We dance with the bulls to honor the mother goddess and appease Earth-Shaker. You call him Poseidon, god of the sea.”

  A broad smile splits Theseus’s face. “My father Poseidon favors me as well. Which is why I’ll kill your monster and free my people.”

  “As I said, others have spoken the same words. Their bones lie in piles far beneath us.”

  “But I’m not like the others. A warrior of royal blood—of immortal blood—has never attempted this feat.” He takes a step toward me.

  A nearby guard places his hand over the pommel of his sword. I signal for him to stand down. I can hold my own.

  We’re so close, Theseus can reach out and touch me. I swallow, my cheeks suddenly hot. He leans in slightly, that smile still on his beautiful lips, his gaze pinned on me. “Only a prince can slay a prince.”

  “The Minotaur is no prince,” says a burly tribute standing behind Theseus, his voice thick with disgust.

  “But he is.” His smile is smug. “You forgot an important part of your title: Princess Ariadne, sister of the monster.”

  Acid burns the back of my throat. I can’t let him get the better of me. I glare up at him. “And you’re Theseus, the arrogant Athenian slave doomed to be torn limb from limb by that same monster.”

  Surprisingly, he laughs. His voice rings out, clear and rich. “I believe we’ve established that I am no slave.”

  “Here, a slave is exactly what you are. Do not be deceived by the sumptuous surroundings, the rich food, and the adoration of our people.” I raise my hands, palms out. “We adore our king-bull, too. After the sacred dance, we slit his throat.”

  His mouth tightens. “Did you come to taunt me? I don’t need a reminder of what awaits me.”

  I’m doing this all wrong. I need to reel Theseus in, not push him away.

  There are only two ways into the Labyrinth. The first is through the grate in the central storeroom of the palace where the guards lower goats and sheep for food, as well as water, oil and torches, and the occasional screaming prisoner.

  But in that section of the Labyrinth, the pit is five times a man’s height in depth to prevent the Minotaur—and whatever other creatures roam the maze—from climbing out and escaping. The grate is always heavily guarded.

  The only other entrance is through the sacred stone door. And the high priestess only opens it for the ceremony of the tributes’ offering on the last day of the Harvest Festival. It’s my one way in.

  Tomorrow at dusk, when the tributes enter the Labyrinth, I’m going with them.

  And if I’m going with them, I must make allies of these Athenian barbarians—and most of all, with Theseus. I need him for his lifeblood, but I also need his help to stay alive until I can complete my task. I’m a dancer, not a warrior. There are many perils in the Labyrinth, not the least of which is my brother, the Minotaur.

  I’ll need to stay close to Theseus, which means I need him to trust me.

  I signal to the guard. “I will speak to this one privately.”

  The guard leads the rest of the tributes to the other side of the chamber, where a poet has begun another tale. Raucous laughter fills the room. The guard returns but remains several strides away, giving me the privacy I requested.

  I turn back to Theseus and lick my lips, suddenly nervous. “I didn’t come to taunt you.”

  He leans even closer. He smells slightly salty, like the sea. His lip curls in a knowing sneer as he whispers in my ear, “Would you take me into your bedchambers for a little sport?”

  I jerk back, heat blooming in my cheeks. “No! I would not—I don’t want that.” I fight down my embarrassment. I’m the princess, he the slave. I must not forget. Neither can he.

  His eyes narrow. “What, then?”

  I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “I have a proposition for you.”

  He gives that mocking smirk again. “I’m listening.”

  “You believe you can defeat the Minotaur, the half-man with the cunning of ten men, the half-bull with the strength of ten bulls.”

  His eyes meet mine. “I will kill the monster. It’s my destiny. It is fated by the gods.”

  “The Minotaur is the son of your god Poseidon, whom we know as Earth-Shaker, the son of the earth goddess Gaia, mother of all. Wouldn’t he be enraged if you killed his offspring?”

  The storm in Theseus’s eyes darkens for a moment. He shrugs. “Poseidon cares little for many of his offspring. Except for me. I have his blessing. Your king and his monster have enslaved the Athenians for far too long. For seven summers, we’ve offered the best Athens has, and it’s never enough to satisfy your father’s bloodlust. It must end. I will end it. I will free my people.”

  “Then how do you plan to kill him? You have no blade, no weapon.”

  “With my bare hands, if I must,” Theseus says, like he means to do just that.

  “And how will you escape the Labyrinth?”

  “I’ll worry about that after I’ve slain the beast.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Your plan won’t work. The Labyrinth is larger than a city. Its winding corridors split and divide and spiral ever outward. A person could be lost for a lifetime, even if he had food and water. Even if he had no monsters hunting him.”

  “And what exactly do you think I should do?”

  “You need help.”

  He gestures with his arms at the feast around us. “And who do you suppose I should ask? The guards who imprison us? The king who sends us to our death? Your people, who believe our sacrifice will enrich their crop yields?”

  I arch my brows at him and wait, silent.

  He snorts. “You?”

  “You Athenians should be more careful whom you insult.” I ignore the slow anger building inside me. “Sister of the monster or no, I’m still the princess of Crete. I danced with the king-bull. Don’t be so quick to dismiss me.”

  His gaze falls to the bandage wrapped around my forearm. “I saw you fall before the king-bull. He nearly gored you to death, I believe.”

  Hot shame floods my cheeks at my failure. I dig my fingernails into the cuts of my palms until I feel blood. I need to redirect this conversation. I’m the one in control. I need to act like it. Just like in the ring—the bull must always know who rules whom. “Mock me if you wish. You’re right; I should be dead. But I’m not. The goddess desires me for another purpose.”

  “How can you possibly help?” He snorts and half-turns back toward his examination of the labrys axes hung on the wall, already dismissing me. “No man has ever entered the Labyrinth and left it alive.”

  “One has.”

  Theseus turns swiftly toward me. His expression changes, his eyes darkening, turning sharp and calculating. “The maze-maker.”

  Of course, the Athenians know of the maze-maker. Daedalus, my father’s master inventor, is Athenian. Before I was born, he fled Athens for some mysterious reason. He’s lived in Crete ever since. “I know him.”

  Theseus goes abruptly solemn and serious. The smirk, the subtle mockery, the taunt in his voice—all have vanished. His full attention is fixed on me. “What’re you saying, Princess?”

  I take a deep breath. “I can get you a weapon to kill the Minotaur. I can help you escape.”

  Theseus examines my face, his gaze hard, searching for weakness, for deception. “Why would you do that? We’re enemies.”

  “I have my own reasons.” I pull aside the collar of my embroidered bodice. “You may have seen this before. I didn’t receive it from dancing with the bulls.”

  His eyes widen. “The rumor is true, then?”

  “Which rumor do you mean? There are many.”

  “Before the king locked it beneath the earth, the monster tried to kill you.”

  I force myself not to flinch. “It was a long time ago. I don’t wish to discuss it, not now or ever. Do you understand?”

  Theseus clenches his jaw and
says nothing. He dislikes being spoken to sharply by a girl, even a princess. He stares at me, his expression guarded and dubious. I can see it etched all over his face—he suspects some sort of trick.

  This prince is both strong and cunning. But so am I.

  I have my own quest, one that veers sharply from his own, yet I need his help to succeed. What will convince him? He believes this offer is too good to be true. I must add something bitter to the sweetness, so he’ll be caught like a fly in honey.

  “I will help you,” I repeat. My heart quickens in my chest. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. “But I want something in return.”

  “Name it.”

  “After you kill the Minotaur and escape the Labyrinth, take me with you on your ship back to Athens.”

  His brows lift in surprise. “Take you?”

  “Once I help you, it’ll no longer be safe for me here. My father has another daughter, one he loves far more than me.” I take a breath to steady myself. I have no intention of leaving on his ship, but the truth in the lie is bitter on my tongue. “I’m expendable. If King Minos finds out that I helped you, he’ll kill me.”

  Theseus’s expression softens, growing thoughtful. Still, the spark of doubt flares in his eyes.

  I need him to trust me. I need to convince him, to make him believe I’m hiding nothing. I smile, sweet and demure, and try to flutter my lashes the way Phaedra would.

  He squints at me. “Is something wrong?”

  I blow out my breath in exasperation, twisting the gold ring on my finger to hide my anxiety. Of course, it didn’t work. I’m not Phaedra, and I have none of her beauty or charm. I must use different tactics. “I’m fine.”

  I need to make the deal even, to make him suffer in the making of it. Only then will he trust me enough to agree.

  I know what I need to say. I don’t doubt he’ll see it as a burden, for I’m no lovely maiden, and I have no beauty or charm to transfix and beguile a stranger.

  My face burns with heat. “Marry me, so I may still be a princess, even after I flee Crete.”