Labyrinth of Shadows

by Kyla Stone

  I push away the traitorous thoughts. Theseus is a shining pillar of a man, half-god, half-prince, a myth in the making. He’s also infuriatingly arrogant and stubborn and…the one whose lifeblood I must steal, the man I must somehow kill to complete my quest, to return to my mother’s court triumphant…what is wrong with me?

  I smile tightly in the dark, but I make my voice light and easy. “I doubt there are many women who aren’t taken with Theseus.”

  “I’m not,” Leda says.

  “Leda doesn’t like anyone,” Charis says.

  I feel Leda’s shrug. “This is true.”

  “Some love him more than others,” Charis continues.

  Does she know about our marriage pact? Does she suspect something? Theseus is adamant it remains a secret. Whether the truth would help or hinder my quest, I’m not sure yet. I wish I could see her expression. “What does that have to do with me?”

  We pause again as another path is chosen. Charis touches my arm. “Theseus and Kalliope are close,” she says quietly. “She is the daughter of his father’s closest adviser. But he could never marry her, for she isn’t a princess.”

  “I see.” Why is she telling me this? Is she genuinely attempting to help me, or does she have an ulterior motive? I’ve seen Kalliope’s familiarity with Theseus, the way she looks at him. Charis speaks the truth, and she’s given me no reason to doubt her. Maybe, possibly, I’ve won myself an ally, or if I’m lucky, a friend. Leda, though, is more of an enigma.

  “She loves him,” Leda says. “More than he loves her.”

  Kalliope is tough and fierce. She loathes me because I am Cretan, the enemy of the Athenians, and because of Theseus, but I can’t help but feel sympathy for her. I know what it’s like to have a cruel father. I know what it feels like to be unloved. I wish I could tell her I have no intention of stealing Theseus from her, but I doubt she wants to hear anything from me. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Charis looks at me. “Theseus promises many grand things…”

  “He leaves a trail of broken hearts wherever he goes, is what Charis means,” Leda says boldly. “If he flutters his eyes at you, don’t lose your wits when we need you most.”

  “Some promises he can’t keep,” Charis says, “no matter how much he might want to.”

  I snort. “If he can slay the Minotaur, that’s promise enough.”

  Leda laughs darkly. “We can all agree on that, princess.”

  “We don’t want you to get hurt,” Charis says, “that’s all.”

  I almost laugh with Leda at the absurdity of it—Charis concerned for my heart when we’re trapped in a maze with a bloodthirsty beast. I swallow hard, a sour taste in the back of my throat. “Thank you. For the drink and the warning.”

  Charis nods soberly. Leda slants a sharp look at me, something shrewd in her expression. Even in the darkness, it feels like she sees more than I wish to reveal. She alone knows about my hidden dagger, though she acts like she’s forgotten. Can I trust her?

  I realize suddenly that I want to. But should I?

  We fall into silence as we wend our way past dead ends, hidden side passages, and more branching tunnels. The damp stone walls grow narrow, closing in until Charis must move in front of me, and Leda in front of her. I take up the rear. We walk single file, stone brushing our shoulders.

  As we walk, we eat a bit more of our food. I pull out two figs and two hunks of goat cheese. I share with Leda and nibble mine slowly, my mouth watering. I’m thirsty, but my wine jar is dry.

  Theseus’s torch flickers along the walls ahead of us—the last torch. What will we do when the torch goes out? How will I finish my quest? How can any of us survive in the darkness? We must reach the Minotaur’s lair before it flickers out. There are more torches there—and the monster.

  I hate thinking on what I must do, the loathsome task that lies ahead of me. Instead, I think of my mother, imagining the adoration shining on her face when I return victorious with Asterion, the exultant pride blazing in her eyes as she crowns my head with a gold circlet and finally enfolds me in her warm, tender embrace.

  In my imagination, she doesn’t wear her snakes. There are no treacherous bites to fear, no venom in her love.

  The walls press in on us. The ceiling is sinking, crushing down on our heads. It slants until everyone must duck, half-bent. Soon, we’re crouching, then crawling.

  The hard ground bruises my knees, the uneven surface scrapes the cuts in my palms. The thick, stifling air catches in my throat. No matter how rapidly I draw breath, I can’t get enough.

  I feel it all, stone upon stone, the tremendous weight of the mountain above us, building above me, through me, inside me. These walls could cave in, the endless rock above our heads collapsing on us all…

  I shake my head, gritting my teeth. In the arena, I know how to control my fear, to focus on the sand, the bull, my limber muscles—and nothing else. I must do the same now.

  The shadows are too deep to see clearly. The torch is a flicker far ahead, nothing behind me but oppressive darkness. There’s little space to move or turn. A few more paces and there won’t be room to bend an elbow. We’re about to be trapped.

  If the Minotaur comes for us now…

  “This can’t be the right way,” I whisper. Then, louder: “This isn’t the right way!”

  “We’re being crushed!” Zephyra cries.

  “I can barely move,” Charis says, a note of panic in her voice.

  Ahead of Charis, Nikolaos whimpers.

  “Stop!” Eryx says from somewhere ahead. “Ariadne is right.”

  I tap Charis’s leg. “Tell the others to have Theseus pass the torch to me.”

  “Everyone, back up several paces before attempting to turn around,” Eryx calls. “You don’t want to become stuck.”

  I hold my breath, praying Theseus has enough sense to listen to me and Eryx. I wait, my heart thumping in my chest, until finally the torch shifts from hand to hand as the Athenians twist, groaning in the tight space, and pass it back.

  Once the torch is in my hand, I shuffle backward until I can turn around, feeling exposed and vulnerable. I’m completely helpless. Anything could get me. Even a rat.

  I crawl until I can crouch. I crouch until I can duck, half bent like an old man. Finally, I walk standing upright. We’re still in the narrow tunnel, only able to walk side by side, when the torchlight illuminates an archway in the wall.

  I stop. “You missed it.”

  Theseus pushes through the other tributes until he reaches me. Gallus shoves through behind him, scowling.

  “I didn’t miss anything!” Gallus growls. “It wasn’t here before.”

  Theseus takes the torch from me and peers into the dark passageway with a frown. Eryx joins him, brow furrowed, his fingers plying the lintel, the edges carved with more images.

  “They all look the same!” Zephyra grumbles. She wipes a tired hand across her brow, shoving several coils of wiry black hair off her face. “Everything looks the same in this cursed place!”

  “There is a door here.” Eryx points along one side of the archway. Theseus draws the torch closer. I make out the ridges along one side where a solid stone door is recessed into the wall. “Here are the same markings as on the other one.”

  A shiver runs through me. He means the door that closed, that trapped Selene with the blind worms, sealing her fate. But no one says the words.

  I lean in close and study the carvings. They are the same as the first archway—pictures the size of my hand etched into the stone along the rim, beginning about waist high and spanning the arch above my head: the eagle with a man’s head clutching the seven-pointed star; the figure with a sword hovering over the cowering woman and children; a circle of tangled, intricate knots—no, a writhing ball of snakes; a figure—a woman—chained to a rock in the middle of the sea; and the two half-man, half-bird creatures soaring over the sun.

  “They’re tales,” I say slowly. “The great stories of your
heroes and gods. That one with the girl chained to the rock—that’s Andromeda before Perseus rescues her.”

  “And this one,” Eryx taps the carving of the man stabbing his own face, “is Oedipus putting out his eyes after he discovers he killed his father and married his own mother.”

  Charis’s eyes light up. “The ship is Jason and his Argonauts! See that fuzzy shape he’s holding? That must be the golden fleece.”

  “This one,” Theseus points to the man battling the many-headed beast. “Heracles defeating the Lernaean Hydra. One of his twelve labors for Eurestheus. And this one is Heracles as a baby, strangling the snakes Hera sent to kill him.”

  “How many children did Heracles have?” I ask.

  “Five,” Eryx answers.

  I point to the man with the sword looming over the tiny, cringing figures. “Is this Heracles, then? Murdering his wife and children in a fit of madness?”

  “Yes!” Eryx cries. “You’re right!”

  “Then what are these?” Kalliope asks. “The half-bird, half-man creatures?”

  I frown. There are still several I do not understand. “I don’t know.”

  These cyphers are depictions of the great tales the poets spin, but which one or what order unlocks the code to open and close the door? And what happened to this one? Did it open on its own, or did something else open it after we passed by?

  “We shouldn’t touch it. Not until we use the thread to see if this is the way we must go.” I spare a glance at Gallus. “We cannot afford to make another mistake.”

  “This isn’t my fault,” Gallus whines.

  I hold out my hand for the thread. “You should have paid better attention.”

  Gallus glares at me. “How am I supposed to see a closed door in the dark?”

  “I would have seen it,” I say with more confidence than I feel. I need the thread back. I need to be the one by Theseus’s side, not Gallus, whispering treacherous lies into his ear. “Our lives depend on this. When you’re careless—”

  “Who are you to call me names!” Gallus roars, stepping toward me.

  “Keep your voice down!” Leda hisses.

  “Give it to me,” I say again.

  The others watch silently, waiting to see what Theseus will do. “Gallus,” Theseus orders, “do it.”

  Surprised, I flash him a grateful look. Theseus lifts his chin, brows raised wryly. He is on my side in this, and he isn’t afraid to say so. Good.

  Gallus catches our exchanged look, his scowl deepening.

  “The thread,” I say calmly, hand still outstretched.

  “Your magic yarn is useless!” Gallus hurls it at me.

  I catch it deftly, bend, and place the ball of thread inside the archway. It rolls. I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t help myself. “It works well enough—for me.”

  Gallus sneers. “She thinks she’s better than us. Look at her; it’s written all over her ugly face.”

  “That’s enough,” Theseus says in warning.

  Gallus takes another step toward me, until he is close enough to strike me. His expression contorts, his features distorted in the flickering light. “I’ve had enough of you, you filthy little—”

  Theseus lunges for him. But before he can reach him, Gallus shoves me.

  Startled, I lose my balance and fall backward through the darkened archway.

  I land on my back, pain spiking up my spine, my shoulder, my legs. I scramble, attempting to stand, but something crunches and rolls beneath my feet. I fall again.

  I reach out in the darkness, seeking purchase. My hand closes over something oval-shaped and hard. A shudder runs through me. A human skull.

  “Ariadne!” Charis calls. “Are you all right?”

  I don’t answer. Acid claws up my throat as I move in a slow circle, spreading my hands, my fingers scrabbling over another bone, long and thin, and another, this one flat and sloped.

  There are more bones. More skulls. More and more and more.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Theseus steps into the chamber, cursing as he stumbles, the tributes crowding in behind him. The torch floods the room with a wavering, reddish light. Kalliope gasps. Charis gapes as she takes Leda’s hand. Nikolaos simply stares, dull and glassy-eyed. No one speaks as they take it all in, gazing in numb disbelief.

  This chamber is unlike anything we’ve seen in the Labyrinth. Instead of rough, ugly limestone or craggy rock, the walls are whitewashed, sparkling gypsum—just as they are within the palace of Knossos.

  The floor is smooth and tiled. Gold sconces line the walls, holding unlit torches. Delicate frescos of madder red and gold depict a man with the bronze head of a bull sitting on an alabaster throne. Two crossed bronze labrys axes hang over the arched threshold, leading to a second passageway on the far side of the chamber, perhaps fifteen strides across.

  The chamber is startlingly beautiful—and strewn with bones. Dozens of them. Hundreds. More than I can possibly count. Some are mostly intact, the ribs connected to the spine, a pelvis attached to legs and feet, arms fastened to finger bones. Others lie in jumbled stacks and litter the corners. Skulls lie everywhere, small animals like goats and sheep and rats, but most are human, their eye sockets gazing blank and empty, their jaws gaping in grotesque smiles.

  Kalliope looks sickened. “What is this place?”

  “It’s a graveyard,” Charis says in horror.

  Behind me, Zephyra retches.

  “Where did you bring us?” Gallus leers at me. “Is this a trap?”

  “No, I—”

  “Liar!” Gallus makes as if to come at me again.

  I raise my fists, ready to defend myself. I am strong, but I am no fighter. I’m no match for his warrior’s strength, power, and experience, his body thick and muscled as a bear’s.

  My dagger burns cold against my thigh. If I pull it out now, I’ll lose the element of surprise I’ll need later. I can’t use it now.

  I won’t. I shoot Theseus a pleading glance, hating that I need his help, but hoping for it all the same.

  Theseus places a restraining hand on Gallus’s shoulder. His expression is strained, his eyes hooded. “I said, that is enough!”

  “I’ve done exactly what I promised,” I say, my voice betraying me with a tremble. I fight back the sudden tears stinging my eyes. Though I’ve never set foot in this place, I recognize this chamber. I’ve visited it hundreds of times. “We’re at the entrance to the Minotaur’s lair.”

  Gallus sneers. “She’s lying. All she does is lie.”

  I point across the room to the crossed labrys axes. “The maze-maker built the Minotaur’s lair like his old quarters in the palace the king designed when the queen fell pregnant, before they knew—what he was. Three chambers, all connected and marked by the sacred sign of the labrys. This is the first chamber. Through that archway is the second. And past the second is the third—his bedchamber.”

  Theseus’s entire demeanor transforms. His shoulders straighten, the anger and frustration fleeing his face, his fatigued expression transforming into a hard alertness. His eyes flash with fresh determination.

  With his free hand, he slaps me on the back so hard I stumble, stepping onto a couple of bones. Grinning broadly, he raises the torch in triumph. “You’ve redeemed yourself, Princess.”

  “How do we know he’s not in there right now?” Charis whispers behind me.

  “Maybe we should wait,” Zephyra stammers.

  “Nonsense!” Theseus says boldly. He thrusts the torch into Eryx’s hand and draws the dagger. “The beast isn’t here. I would have felt him.”

  “He must be off hunting for his next meal,” Leda says, her expression darkening as she gingerly toes a human ribcage.

  Theseus doesn’t answer her. He’s already striding fearlessly across the floor, sandals crunching bones as he disappears into the next chamber.

  The tributes stare at each other with wide, uncertain eyes.

  “I’m going with him.” Gallus picks up a
nother thigh bone to match his first one and hefts its weight. “I’m not afraid. You cowards can do as you wish.”

  “I’m no coward.” Kalliope tightens her grip on the thigh bone and looks away from the pile of skeletons. She shudders, but her jaw is set firmly. Kalliope may be many things, but a coward is not one of them. She grasps Nikolaos’s arm gently and tugs him after her. “Come on.”

  Without hesitation, I follow them.

  “This seems like a wretched idea,” Leda mutters behind me.

  But no one wants to be left alone. They’ve made Theseus their leader, for better or worse. Reluctantly, the others trail behind.

  The second chamber is designed much like the first, but with silk benches lining the walls and velvet cushions surrounding a low table in the center. Double shields decorate the frescoed walls while a brazier beside the table radiates a heat that expels the chill clinging to my skin.

  Of the gold sconces, two are lit with low-burning torches. There are two archways, the one we just entered through, and one opposite us, with the crossed labrys axes hanging above it. This archway leads into the Minotaur’s bedchamber.

  Theseus strides through it without a moment’s hesitation, dagger clenched in his fist.

  Dread coils in my stomach, but I can’t allow myself to be weak. I follow Theseus.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  We enter the heart of the Labyrinth.

  The tributes spread out, both horrified and fascinated. Their gazes skip from thing to thing as if unable to focus, their faces betraying their confusion—this is nothing like they imagined. They expected darkness—dank, musty, and terrifying. They expected blood and bones and rotting flesh.

  Instead, they’ve entered the bedchamber of a prince. Every detail mimics my brother’s royal quarters with exquisite precision. I can almost see my mother as I found her so many times: kneeling by the empty silken cot, the room barren and cold around her, weeping for her lost sons.