by Kyla Stone
I shake my head. If I tell the truth, they’ll have no reason not to kill me—and no reason to take me with them. “There—there is no map. Not on papyrus.”
Theseus looms over me, his eyes blazing. “What do you mean? You said—”
“I said I could find an escape,” I force out, my throat tightening. The torch wavers, and someone snatches it from me. “Not even the maze-maker has a map. Not anymore.”
“Liar!” Kalliope snarls, her face filled with hatred.
Theseus’s fingers tighten around the dagger as he lifts it, not quite pointing it at me, but I feel the threat in it all the same. In their panicked outrage, they might kill me. “There isn’t a map—written down.”
“Theseus, please stop,” says the girl with the yellow hair bound in a braided crown. Her voice is soft, gentle. “If she came here to help, let her help.”
“It’s not like we have a lot of options,” says the broad-faced girl with a head of wild copper hair.
The firelight reflects off the fierce planes of Theseus’s face, every line perfection, as if carved by a master craftsman. His gaze flicks to the girl, softening slightly, then rakes over me, his eyes searching mine.
“Perhaps you’re right, Charis.” With a sigh, he takes a step back, lowering the dagger. “How do we escape,
then, Princess?”
My mind scrambles to think, think. My sacrifice will mean nothing if I die here. “There’s no map but the one inside my head, given to me by the maze-maker himself,” I lie. “But he told me the secrets of the Labyrinth.”
“Daedalus,” says Charis, her pale brows lifting thoughtfully. “He was a friend of my father’s, before he had to flee across the sea.”
A few of the tributes nod. They recognize his name. They’re listening to this girl Charis. I’ve only moments to convince them. “Daedalus told me the Labyrinth’s secrets so I could help you. If you kill me or leave me behind, you’ll wander for days, getting hungrier and thirstier and more and more disoriented, stalked by monsters and daemons and horrors, until your torches go out. The monster will take you one by one, screaming in the darkness, until you’re all dead. Then he’ll feast upon your bones.”
One of the younger girls whimpers. Good. Let them remember what awaits them.
“That’s the fate of every tribute before you. And that is your fate.” I lift my chin. “Unless you choose to trust me. Then you have a chance. A small chance, but better than none at all.”
Chapter Ten
“That’s not much of a choice,” says a girl with bronze skin like mine, a sharp, pointed face, and a sour mouth. She’s far too thin, all bony elbows and knees, her cheekbones like blades. I heard the others call her Selene.
I search the faces surrounding me as I reach into my leather satchel. “You each have two jars of wine. I brought more, as many as I could fit. It’ll keep all of you alive long enough to escape.”
I pull out three stoppered wine jars and hand one to the soft-spoken blonde girl with the braided crown, Charis, who looks terrified but not hateful. Theseus listened to her. She could be a useful ally.
The second jar, I give to Eryx. He seems rational and level-headed. He’s not panicked like the rest of them. And he was kind to me.
I thrust the third jar at the girl with the fiery copper curls. She’s full-bodied, with lush curves. Her expression is tense but reserved as she stares at the jar.
“Don’t take it, Leda.” Kalliope crosses her arms over her chest. She stands closer to Theseus now, their shoulders almost touching. “It could be poisoned.”
“It’s not,” I say.
The girl, Leda, shoots a sly, sharp smile at Kalliope. She takes the wine jar from me, uncorks it, and gulps down a long swallow. Everyone watches her, unmoving, as if expecting her to choke at any moment. She takes her time corking the jar and sliding it into her own satchel. She wipes her mouth with the back of her arm and shrugs, as if to say, what poison?
Good. I don’t know her angle yet, but she’s not afraid. And she doesn’t care for Kalliope, who I can already tell will be trouble. I may need that.
Gallus scowls. “This Cretan princess promises trust, but she’ll lead us straight into a trap, so her brother can take his time ripping us apart.”
“He can take his time anyway,” I snap. I point at the thick scar snaking over my collarbone. My next words, at least, aren’t a lie. “I have no love for the monster who nearly killed me. But I’m the only one who’s ever survived the Minotaur. I’m offering you help, and you would be fools not to take it.”
“She’s risking her life the same as us,” Charis points out softly. She’s still gripping the wine jar to her chest. “She brought light and water and a knife, all things we need. I think she’s telling the truth.”
Leda clears her throat. “I vote we don’t kill our best shot at escaping.”
“Leda’s right.” Theseus places his hand on the sheathed dagger at his hip. “The princess comes with us. She’s under my protection. Anyone who harms a hair upon her head answers to me. Is that understood?”
Kalliope stares at me. Gallus scowls. But they both lower their eyes. Theseus stares down every tribute until they drop their gaze.
All except for Cadmus. He glares at Theseus with barely repressed fury.
“This is what we’ll do.” Theseus raises his voice until it echoes from the stone walls. “We’ll find the Minotaur’s lair. I’ll find a safe place nearby for you to wait while I slay the monster. Then Ariadne will lead us to the Labyrinth’s secret exit. From there, it’ll be only a short distance to the sea. The Seafarer will be sailing around the whole island, searching for us.” Theseus glances back at me. “Is that not so?”
“Yes. My slave, Tarina, gave your captain my own signet ring and paid him handsomely to ensure that when we escape the Labyrinth, the Seafarer will be waiting along the coast for us.”
Tarina promised they would search until the full moon, over ten days from now. If we haven’t escaped by then, we’ll already be dead from thirst—or worse. I keep that part to myself.
Theseus grasps the torch and holds it aloft. “Let’s go. Everyone behind me.”
“Who made you the leader?” Cadmus snarls, stepping forward. His hands are low at his sides, fingers curled into fists.
Theseus turns to face him. “I’m heir to the throne of Athens.”
“You’re the usurper son of a usurper king,” Cadmus spits. The firelight cuts his face into shadows. “Your father stole the throne by treachery and bloodshed. I’ll never follow you. Not here, not anywhere.”
“Watch your tongue, or I’ll tear it out of your throat.” Gallus reaches for a weapon at his side that’s no longer there. He moves protectively in front of Theseus. He’s big as a bear but loyal as a hound. I’ll have to remember that. “Aegeus is king. Theseus is prince. Defy him at your peril.”
I watch, waiting to see how this grab for power plays out. They’ve brought their grudges and alliances with them from Athens. I doubt Cadmus is a match for Theseus here, when brawn and physical prowess means more than political clout and noble breeding. But maybe some of the tributes owe him allegiance.
Theseus’s face tightens. “Leave him be. I require no one to follow me by force.”
“I won’t follow you on your fool’s errand to hunt the Minotaur,” Cadmus says evenly. “I’ll run as far away from the monster as I can. I’ll find the exit while you become the Minotaur’s latest meal. Who else is with me?”
“We are.” Two small girls cling to each other on Cadmus’s right side. The one who spoke has brown skin, springy curls tugged back from her wide forehead, and eyes as darting and skittish as a newborn colt. The other girl’s blonde hair tangles around her pale face.
“Are you certain, Danae and Minta?” Charis says softly. “Theseus is a warrior. He can protect us.”
The curly-haired girl nods nervously, biting her lower lip. The other doesn’t respond at all.
“I’m going with Cadmus, too,” says another
boy—tall and painfully thin, with cheekbones like an axe head. He points a bony finger at Charis, Kalliope, and Gallus. “Theseus is only out for his own glory. You’ve been warned. When the time comes, he’ll protect himself and his quest, not you.”
“That’s a lie, Yanni,” Kalliope says. “You tell tales as easily as your traitorous father. Just because you’re no longer in Athens doesn’t mean you can speak so to the prince! He’s blessed by Poseidon. I’ll follow him to the door of Hades if I must.”
“And you will!” Cadmus shoots back.
Kalliope makes to lunge at him, but Theseus puts a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Four of you, then,” he says to Cadmus. His voice is deadly calm. “Go if you must. But go now.”
Cadmus turns to me. “How many torches do you have?”
“I only have two,” I lie. I have four. But Cadmus will insist on at least half. I can see it in his eyes. Leaving the main group is a terrible idea, but I say nothing to stop them. I can’t worry about their fate, for their lives aren’t my concern. Besides, Cadmus is defiant. He’ll be a problem if he stays. It’s better this way.
“Give me a torch!” Cadmus demands.
I pull out a second torch and hand it to him.
Cadmus takes it with a grunt, lights it, and marches off into the passageway without a moment of hesitation. The three other tributes follow him. Danae looks back at us once, her terrified face reflecting the flickering shadows, and then they are gone.
No one speaks until the last sounds of their movement fades into the darkness. Theseus gestures for the remaining tributes to gather around him. I move closer to Theseus.
“You belong at the back, worm.” Gallus elbows past me and stands next to Theseus. “I’m the prince’s sworn companion, his brother-in-arms. I’m Gallus, son of Eumaeus, grandson of Hermolycus, adviser of kings. And who are you? You’re nothing.”
I snort. I should hold my tongue, but I can’t help it. “I’m princess of Crete, the greatest kingdom the world has ever seen. What is Athens but a collection of stick huts sinking into the mud? What does that make you? Adviser to a prince of dirt?”
Gallus bares his teeth. “This—this gorgon’s spawn dares to place herself above—”
“How will she guide our path from the back?” Theseus says evenly, unflustered by my insults, though there’s iron in his voice. He’s used to being obeyed. “Follow behind me, Gallus. The princess will remain by my side.”
Without waiting for a response, Theseus raises the torch and strides ahead into the darkness. There’s no choice but to follow or be left behind. I hurry to keep up with him. He’s tall, and his strides are long. I’m shorter than most of the tributes, even the younger ones. In the arena, when I tumble and spin, this is an advantage. Not here.
The torchlight flickers over the stone walls, shadows dancing. I twist and look behind me. Hovering just behind the light, the darkness seems to move, swirling all around us, the shadows slithering like ghosts, like wraiths flickering in and out of the edges of my vision. Waiting. Ravenous. Deadly.
“Stay close to me,” Theseus says under his breath, low enough for only me to hear. “And if you betray me, so help me—girl or no, you will pay.”
Chapter Eleven
Theseus’s words send chills through me. I don’t doubt that he means it. But I can’t concern myself with that now. I have my own promise, my own threat always in the back of my mind. But we must survive the Labyrinth itself first.
In the arena, Suma trained me to only think of the most immediate task at hand—the jump or somersault or spinning tumble. If I think of the handstand I’ll do next instead of leaping out of harm’s way, I’ll lose my focus. The bull will sense it—which is when dancers are gored or trampled.
I must never lose my focus. The rest will come when it comes.
Within moments, the first choice presents itself. Two passageways branch off the first, both of equal size and height, both swallowed by darkness. I can’t see anything beyond the circle of the torchlight.
“Where to, Princess?” Theseus asks.
Anxiety scrabbles up my spine. I stare at the two paths, hesitating.
Kalliope comes up on the other side of Theseus, the firelight casting strange shadows beneath her eyes. “I thought the map was in your head.”
Theseus raises the torch. “Give her a moment to think.”
Now is where my trust in Daedalus is put to the test. The ball of thread will always roll true.
I take the ball of thread and place it at the entrance to the left passage. The ball doesn’t move. I nudge it. Still, nothing.
“What are you doing?” Gallus leans against the wall next to me, folding his meaty arms over his chest, smug. “I told you she was mad.”
I pick up the ball and try again, placing it a little further inside the right passage. Daedalus, please don’t fail me. Come on, come on.
The ball begins to roll. Slowly, slowly, but it’s moving. I whisper prayers of thanks to any gods who can hear me—other than Hades, who would gladly welcome us to his dark gates.
Selene’s small mouth twists into a pout. “What is it doing?”
“The monster’s lair is in the center of the Labyrinth, at the lowest point. The ball of thread is specially weighted. It can detect the slant, even if we can’t. If we only take the passages that slant down, eventually we’ll reach the lair.”
“It is touched by the gods?” asks Charis reverently.
Eryx frowns. “It’s an invention of man, though very clever.” Fringed with long lashes, his eyes are alert and watchful, seeming to take in everything. His hair is shorn close to his skull. I’ve never seen anyone with hair so short. The men of Crete wear their thick black hair oiled and curled to their shoulders, if not their waists.
“Daedalus gave it to me. He said the thread is stronger than any made by man.”
A line forms between Charis’s pale brows. “Will it work to get back?”
Eryx shakes his head. “The ground will slant up on return.”
“Eryx is right. Besides, that door won’t open, remember? Returning to our starting point won’t help us. But there’s another way.”
Gallus leans in close, his lip curling. His stale breath strikes my cheek, fills my nostrils. “And which way would that be?”
I don’t allow myself to flinch, though I want to recoil with every part of me. This guy wants me to feel afraid. I refuse to indulge him. There’s already enough fear to go around. I keep my voice even. “I’ll tell you when you need to know, and not before.”
Leda bursts into loud laughter. “This one’s amusing. Don’t you think, Gallus?”
Gallus scowls at her. “Shut your mouth.”
Theseus swings the torch back toward the rest of the tributes. “He’s right. Keep your voice down.”
Leda nods, but she winks at me.
I hide my confusion with a smile. It feels pasted to my face, my mind whirring. What I said wasn’t humorous. Is she being friendly? Or is she mocking me? I gave her wine. Is that act of kindness already paying dividends, or is she tricking me? Either way, the best response is to play along.
“Leda never takes things seriously.” Theseus bumps her shoulder with his in obvious affection. “Even when she should.”
“I believe we should laugh at death. So what?” She looks at me again with a sly grin. “Shouldn’t we entertain the gods before we die? Isn’t that the whole point of our existence?”
“Leda!” Charis says in a scandalized tone. Her small hands are clasped together in front of her stomach. “You mustn’t disrespect the gods.”
Demetrios sucks in his breath. “Do you wish to doom our quest before we’ve even begun?”
Leda raises her eyebrows. “I thought we were just running around trying to avoid being eaten.”
“This may be Prince Theseus’s quest,” Gallus says. “But when he prevails, we’ll all be accorded great honor and glory. We’ll be recorded in legends and songs, alongside Heracles and Jason an
d the Argonauts.”
“I’d settle for staying alive,” Leda mutters.
The faintest smile tugs at my lips. Already I like this loud, irreverent girl. She’s tall and wide, her jaw a little too thick, her nose too long, but still, she is handsome. She reminds me of Tarina in strength and attitude, if not in form. My heart aches with homesickness.
“Enough talking,” Theseus says. “Stay quiet. We must—”
The roar drowns out his voice. It drowns out everything.
Chapter Twelve
The Minotaur roars so loud the walls tremble, pebbles rattling from tiny crevices. The tributes scream, their high, terrified shrieks ringing off the stone walls. Terror grips us all.
We run.
The Minotaur roars again. The sound echoes through the corridor with explosions of terrible thunder.
He’s close.
Right behind us, lunging at our heels, grasping at our hair, our clothes.
We spill into the next passageway, wide enough for half of us to run side by side. Theseus sprints ahead, torch bobbing, the shadows wavering madly along the walls.
My scar prickles and burns. My sandals pound the stone, my heart racing in my chest, the breath tearing from my throat. I don’t know which direction to run, which passageway leads to escape and which to a dead end or worse. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but escaping that blood-curdling roar.
Another savage bellow explodes—so close it feels like he’s right beside me. My heart seizes. I swerve wildly, half-turning, craning my neck behind me as I run, convinced a monster is reaching out with scrabbling claws.
Yellow eyes flicker in the darkness. More than one pair.
Dark throbbing shapes slither behind me. I glimpse only murky outlines, the suggestion of movement, thickening shadows, ravenous creatures seeking to devour us. I don’t know whether they’re living monsters, wraiths from the underworld, or some other wicked daemons whose names I do not know.
Whatever they are, they’re hunting us, right alongside the Minotaur.
