Labyrinth of Shadows

by Kyla Stone

  “Not the gods,” Eryx says with a shake of his head. He and Kalliope gently lay Nikolaos’s body behind an enormous stalagmite. Eryx strides further into the cave, picks his way around several jutting ledges, and reaches up to carefully tug something from the rock. He holds it out, a hundred lights reflected in his dark eyes, his brown face glowing. “And not stars.”

  “What is it?” I go to him and examine the thing cupped in his palm—a tiny, squirming larva.

  “A glow-worm,” Eryx breathes. “I’ve heard of them, but I thought they were myths, just stories the traders made up to make themselves sound more interesting.”

  “I’ve never heard of them,” Kalliope scoffs.

  “But where did they come from?” I ask. “They’re not from Crete.”

  Theseus comes up beside me. “Your maze-maker must have imported them from across the sea.”

  Gallus’s scowl deepens. “More pretty things for the monster to enjoy in between eating people.”

  “Maybe they were placed here just for us,” Charis says. “A gift from the gods.”

  Leda snorts. “In the Labyrinth? The death-maze?”

  Theseus tilts his chin at Charis. “She’s right. We had no light; now we do. This is a gift! A sign that our quest shall succeed, that the gods are with us!” He grins broadly, the tension and exhaustion draining from his rapt expression. He spreads out his arms and throws back his head. “What did I tell you?” he crows. “Didn’t I say Poseidon hadn’t abandoned me?”

  Gallus slaps his shoulder. His own dour mood brightens in the face of Theseus’s exuberance. “I never doubted for a moment!”

  “You’re the hero of Athens.” Kalliope pins her gaze on Theseus. For a moment, something like longing flickers across her face. “Of course, Poseidon is with you. So am I. We all are.”

  Charis, Zephyra, and Eryx all nod adoringly, their dirty faces shining. They wish so desperately to believe it’s true. Theseus believes it enough for all of them. Even I feel the tug, the desire to enter that warm circle of faith, of hope.

  “We’ll rest here and gather our strength for the remainder of the journey,” Theseus says, glancing around the cave. “Gallus, you guard the far archway, I’ll guard this entrance. We’ll be safe here under the protection of Poseidon.” His gaze lands on me, fierce gray-blue eyes narrowing as if he can see straight through to my traitorous heart.

  I swallow, flushed with shame. I want to look away, but I don’t.

  “Whatever you do,” he says, “don’t get lost.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Do you think it’s safe?” Kalliope stares hungrily at the pool like she’d sell her own soul for a drink. The sight of the glistening liquid makes my mouth water, my throat burning with wanting.

  “I assume it’s from the sea,” Eryx says. “Too salty to drink. It’ll only make you burn with thirst.”

  “Like we aren’t already,” Leda says. “Who wants to be the first to try?”

  “I will,” I volunteer. I’m no longer working to gain the tributes’ trust. I think I’ve earned it from those willing to give it—Charis, Leda, Eryx, Zephyra, perhaps Theseus. This time, I offer because I want to. Because despite my best efforts, I care about these Athenians. It feels like I’ve known them nearly as long as I’ve known Tarina, like I’ve lived my entire life trapped in the Labyrinth with them.

  I kneel next to the pond. It’s clear, but the glow-worms don’t provide enough light to see how deep it is or where it might lead. No fish swim in its depth, and I smell no tang in the air like near the sea.

  The Athenians cluster around me, watching intently as I scoop a handful of water and bring it to my parched lips. I take a tiny sip. The water is spring water, mountain-fed, fresh and sweet and cold, so deliciously cold.

  “It’s clean!” I frantically ladle water into my mouth and down my throat as fast as I can swallow. Water streams off my chin and soaks my tunic. I don’t care.

  Theseus remains on guard, watching the entrance as the others scramble over themselves, tripping and stumbling in their haste to reach the water, delirious grins plastered across their weary faces. He must be as thirsty as the rest of us, but he waits, first ensuring we’re safe.

  “Thank the gods!” Charis says.

  Theseus grins over at us. “Thank Poseidon.”

  “Thank every god in Olympus,” Leda sputters, her mouth full of water. She and I exchange wry looks. “And thank their mothers and fathers and lovers.”

  I drink and drink until my shrunken stomach feels like it might burst. Finally, I sit back, fully sated, and wipe my face with the back of my arm. For the moment, at least, the liquid blunts the sharp hunger gnawing at my insides.

  I glance across the pond at Theseus. He’s likely still upset with me for wandering off. But he’s also thirsty. I argue with myself for a moment, but quickly give in. I’m not angry at him. How can I be? He’s sacrificing his own needs to keep everyone else alive, even me, the one who least deserves it.

  I pull my empty wine jar from my satchel, rinse it out, and refill it with the cool water. When I walk over and offer it to him, he guzzles it down in one long gulp, water dribbling down his chin. He gives me a tight smile as he hands me the jar. “Thank you, Princess.”

  Our fingers touch, sending heat shooting up my arm. I pull back swiftly, turn, and return to the pool, my stomach twisting. I shouldn’t feel this way. I don’t want to feel this way.

  I squat beside the pool and peer into the depths, trying to clear my head. Though the surface reflects the glowing worms, the water itself is a deep, pure blue. I can make out rocky shelves jutting far below, shadows of things that may be stones or something else.

  “How deep do you think it is?”

  I glance up. Zephyra kneels beside me at the pool’s edge. She delicately scrubs a faint stain from the hem of her tunic but tilts her head at the water when she sees me looking.

  I shrug. “In this mountain? It could go down the span of a hundred men. Maybe more. It could reach all the way to the underworld for all we know.”

  “I hope not.” Zephyra smiles tiredly. “Are you all right?”

  I take a closer look at her. She is so thin now, her brown face small and sharp and leached of color. Her cheeks are hollowed, her black eyes enormous, her heartbeat pulsing in the hollow of her throat. “Maybe I should ask you that question.”

  She sinks back on her heels, waving my concern away with a wan smile. “I am fine. I just need some rest. Maybe some food. And also, to see the sun again.”

  We have to get out of here soon. I don’t know how much longer Zephyra will last. “You and me both.”

  Eryx moves next to us at the water’s edge. He frowns, chewing on his lower lip as he turns his own empty satchel inside out and examines the seams. “We should fill our satchels. They’re much larger than the wine jars. They may hold liquid well.”

  I nod. “Good idea. The insides are sown with pig bladders.”

  ‘You heard him,” Theseus says loudly to the rest of the tributes as he gestures with his blade. “Fill up. I doubt we’ll see water again until we reach the Seafarer.”

  We cram the last of our figs and flatbread into our mouths and fill our satchels with water. Eryx is right. The water holds. The others spread out around the pool, searching for comfortable rocks to sit on or flat spaces to lay down and rest while Eryx goes back to examining the glow-worms.

  Across the pond, Gallus leans against a broad boulder near the tunnel we entered, his thigh bone balanced across his knees. He’s staring straight at me. When I meet his gaze, his mouth widens into a slow, savage smile.

  Several strides from Gallus, Kalliope paces, restlessly prowling the rear of the cave, her face hollow with grief and anger. Is she thinking of her younger brother? Does she see his face when she looks at Nikolaos’s lifeless body? Is she relieved her brother lives, or enraged at her father for betraying her, for loving her brother more and her not enough? The truth, I think, is likely a mixture of bo
th.

  For a heartbeat, I see my own mother’s face before me, her eyes blazing as she grips my arm, begging me to enter the Labyrinth for her. She was willing to risk your life to save Asterion’s, a voice deep inside me whispers.

  I flinch and shake my head. It’s not the same. My mother loves me. She believes in me. Kalliope and I are nothing alike.

  My gaze finds Theseus on the opposite side of the cave, guarding the second archway. Though he must be exhausted, he doesn’t rest. He’s crouched in a fighting stance, dagger clenched in his fist, battling imaginary monsters. Always, he’s training, practicing, keeping sharp and strong, ensuring he has what it takes to protect his people and slay the monster.

  He carries the burden of the tributes’ safety like a great weight upon his shoulders. He’s arrogant and irritating but also brave and determined, as resolved to save his people as I am to save my brother. I can’t help but admire him for it.

  Theseus grunts and thrusts sideways with the dagger, a lock of gold hair falling into his eyes.

  My fingers twitch, some part of me wishing to reach up and brush the hair back behind his ear, to touch that handsome, chiseled face, to draw my fingers over his lips and pull him close…

  I feel the invisible tug of him like thread connecting us. But I don’t go to him. I can’t. Whatever it is I feel when I’m near him—the flutter in my chest, the buzz in my blood, the warmth flushing through me at his touch—it must stop.

  I tense, turning sharply away.

  My haunting dream swirls just below the surface of my mind—those gleaming eyes, the red, red blood. I curl my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms until I feel that familiar sting.

  I push it all away—Theseus, my nightmares, the quest, my brother—burying it deep in the darkness of my mind, a darkness hemmed with walls as solid and thick as the limestone walls of the Labyrinth itself.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The worms cast everything in a glowing blue haze. It’s easy to imagine this isn’t a hollowed-out bowl deep in the belly of a mountain, but the radiant crown of Mount Olympus itself, home of the gods.

  My gaze snags on Charis’s white-blonde hair. Leda and Charis are crouched behind the huge stalagmite they laid Nikolaos’s body behind when we entered the cave. I take a deep breath and make my way over to them.

  Charis bends over Nikolaos, cleaning his body with a shred of damp cloth she’s ripped from the bottom of her tunic. The braid coiled atop her head is undone; long, wavy tendrils fall over her narrow shoulders. Beside her, Leda glances at me, her eyes wary. Her soft, rounded face seems thinner, her jaw more pronounced. Her brilliant copper-red hair tangles around her broad shoulders.

  “I’m sorry for what happened,” I say, my throat tight.

  Leda’s face contorts, a muscle in her jaw twitching, but she says nothing.

  Silent tears slip down Charis’s cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping them away. “We’re all supposed to die in here. I thought—I thought I was prepared for it.”

  “No one is prepared for it,” I say.

  “I thought I knew what it would be like. I’ve never even seen a dead body, before this…”

  I sit down beside Leda. The rock is chilly and damp. “I didn’t get to Nikolaos in time.”

  “You did your best,” Charis says.

  I blink rapidly, unable to say anything.

  “Leda should have saved him instead of me,” Charis says.

  Leda clenches her jaw, her face set in stone. “You deserve saving as much as anyone.”

  Charis ducks her head. “I should’ve grabbed him and pulled him back myself.”

  “Stop it,” Leda says sharply. Her eyes are hard and glittering. “This is the monster’s fault. No one else’s. You hear me?” She stares at Charis until she nods weakly.

  Leda looks soft, but she is strong and brave. Braver than I, who fights doubt and soul-rattling terror at every turn. She’s the one who ran in first; she’s the one who rescued Charis—not me.

  Dirt smudges Leda’s cheek. Charis leans in and wipes it off with her thumb. Leda rolls her eyes but doesn’t pull away. They share a closeness. I can tell by the easy way Charis leans into Leda for comfort, the way she teases her; and the way Leda always sighs and grumbles, but is never truly angry with her.

  My heart aches. They remind me of Tarina, of the way we can laugh about nothing, or how we know what the other is thinking without having to ask, how we know we have each other’s backs in the arena, no matter what.

  I think I felt that way about my brother once, too. I know I did.

  Charis smooths Nikolaos’s curls. “He could play the lute and the lyre like Apollo; did you know that? His songs could bring comfort in even the darkest places.”

  Sorrow and guilt pierce my heart. Acid burns the back of my throat. No one else dies. No one except…I refuse to think about that.

  “He’s the same age as my little sister.” Charis’s expression contorts. “How I miss them.”

  “They’ll be fine.” Leda offers her a comforting smile. “You taught them well.”

  Charis looks at me with her wide, somber gaze, sadness etching her delicate features. “Do you truly believe we’ll escape the Labyrinth?”

  I can’t lie to her. I don’t want to. Not here, next to the body of a boy who shouldn’t be dead. The tributes might still abandon me if I admit I know little more than they do, but I owe them the truth. “I don’t know.”

  She bites her lower lip.

  Leda rubs Charis’s shoulder. “That’s fair.”

  I glance down at Nikolaos. He appears so peaceful, with the blood washed from his wounds and the broken parts smoothed and straightened. “Are you going to leave him here?”

  Leda nods. “It’s too dangerous to carry him. We can’t run fast, and the extra weight is—” she inhales a sharp breath, “—a burden.”

  Charis blanches. “I wish we could bury him. How will his spirit find rest in the underworld?”

  “The mother goddess has compassion,” I say. “She’ll understand. Extra sacrifices in his honor will appease her.”

  “We don’t serve your goddess,” Leda says between clenched teeth. “What sacrifices would satisfy her? More innocent children?”

  Heat creeps up my neck. “No. That isn’t what I meant—This isn’t—”

  They both stare at me. It feels like blasphemy to speak it, but I know it’s the truth. “This is the will of King Minos. I—I don’t believe this is the will of the goddess. If it was, she would be no god worth serving.”

  Leda raises her eyebrows. “Then we agree on something.”

  Charis slants her eyes at Leda in disapproval. “The gods deserve our respect. All of them, even Gaia, the mother goddess the Cretans serve.”

  Leda grimaces. “They have our lives. Isn’t that enough?”

  Charis turns to me with a rueful smile. “Back in Athens, I had to offer sacrifices to appease the gods for her offenses every day.”

  I can’t help but smile back. It doesn’t seem wrong, after what we’ve survived. We need to grasp every sliver of joy that we can. “Maybe you should start praying ten times a day.”

  Leda snorts. “It won’t do any good.”

  Charis only sighs and shakes her head. “You can help us prepare the body, if you wish. I asked Kalliope, but—”

  “She needs to grieve in her own way,” Leda finishes.

  I nod, grateful for the invitation. They’re asking me to join them, to share in their sorrow. It’s an honor. I help Charis finish washing Nikolaos. His body is still soft and just beginning to cool, his skin smooth and rubbery. We fold his arms over his chest, and Leda finds a half-blooming moonflower which we place in his hands.

  We have no coins to pay Charon for Nikolaos’s crossing over the river Styx, the first part of his spirit’s journey to the underworld. Charis places a white moonflower petal under his tongue instead. By the time we finish, Charis is crying softly again. Leda—always so tough, sarcastic, and st
rong—gathers Charis in her arms and rocks her like a small child.

  I feel like an intruder. Worse, I feel like a criminal, the cause of their grief.

  I leave them to their privacy and head back to the pool. Eryx and Zephyra have fallen into a restless, exhausted sleep. I don’t see Gallus or Kalliope, but they must be sleeping somewhere. Theseus is still training across the cavern, his skin shining with sweat.

  I blink away my burning weariness and turn back to the pool. I kneel, cup my hands, and drink more water. The liquid streams down my throat, cold and delicious and refreshing. It feels like I can never get enough. I splash my face, scrubbing the dirt and grime from my skin.

  The back of my neck prickles, like I’m being watched.

  “I see you,” comes a slick, oily voice from behind me.

  I flinch and spin around.

  Gallus looms over me, his hulking form casting a formidable shadow. “You think I don’t, but I do.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His lips curl into a sneer. “I saw what you did. You can try to fool the rest of them, but you can’t fool me. In the beast’s lair, you were the closest to Nikolaos. Leda screamed for help and you just stood there. You act like you’re one of us, but you aren’t. I know what you are.”

  I rise to my feet, my hands clench into fists at my sides. “I assure you, I’m nothing. I’m not even a princess anymore.”

  “And you won’t be,” he says in a low voice. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  I glance across the cave at Theseus, but he’s turned away, still training, fighting his invisible enemies. I could call to him, but something inside me withers at the thought. I am Ariadne, bull-dancer, princess of Crete. I don’t need a pretty Athenian prince to fight my battles for me. I glare back at Gallus. “Are you threatening me?”

  “You’re a danger to everyone here. You’re a danger to the king.”

  “He’s not the king yet—”

  “He might as well be.”

  I keep my chin up, refusing to wilt in fear. I should be silent, I should say nothing, but I can’t help myself. I smirk. “You just want him to be king so you can be his brother-in-arms, so Theseus’s glory will reflect on you.”