Page 112 of Labyrinthine
I don’t want to.
But the question sits in me like a knife twisting inward. Slow and deliberate.
I turn to Mallen, and I don’t flinch. “Tell me. I deserve to know.”
Mallen doesn’t move. The silence stretches—tight as a drawn bow—long and painful. Then he speaks, and his voice is low and broken, and I close my eyes like it would be enough to stop the world from ending.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“There’sno need for her to know,” Mallen snaps. His voice is low, guttural. Not desperation—warning.
Darian steps forward, lips curled in a curve too close to a smile. His eyes find mine, watching like he’s waiting for me to flinch.
I don’t.
“I didn’t want you to know, Azhara,” Mallen continues, blade held low, but taut with tension. “When the gods bound the magic in Starsfall, they stripped away its hope. What’s left had to be sealed—this place, this trial. The balance hangs on?—”
“You. You’re the choice. Our salvation or ruin,” Darian cuts in. “That’s why he wants you. Not for love—leverage. Choose him and he’ll chain Starsfall’s magic to the crown. He’ll keep you bound to feed it.”
Mallen growls—not words, just fury—and drops into a crouch, weight shifting as Darian edges closer. Neither movesyet. They circle each other in the square, blades at the ready, expressions sharp. Waiting for the right moment to tear the other apart.
Darian isn’t trying to kill him yet. He’s goading him. Picking at fault lines. Trying to crack the mask Mallen’s held on too tightly for too long.
“You hold the power,” Darian says, eyes locked on me even as his blade angles toward Mallen. “He wants it for himself. To claim the throne. To bind you to him.”
“That throne means nothing to me,” Mallen spits.
Darian lunges. Steel meets steel.
The impact rings through the dark—fast, clean, brutal. Mallen blocks, ripostes. Their swords blur. Feet scrape against stone. A rhythm forms and breaks as they step, slash, retreat.
Neither lands a blow. Not yet.
Another tribute moves, a flicker on the edge of the square. I shift my weight and raise my blade, watching—but Mallen’s already adjusted, his stance shifting subtly to cover both threats. No flourish. No wasted movement.
“All I’ve done is protect you,” Mallen says, not breaking form. “You know me.”
I don’t answer. My fingers tighten around the hilt. He doesn’t look back.
Across from me, Darian’s gaze flicks to mine. His expression hardens, then drops—eyes closing just for a breath. As if it costs him something to keep pressing forward.
“He’s the monster,” Darian says softly. Not to Mallen. To me.
A cold pressure builds in my chest. The torchlight flickers. My breath shortens.
“He comes here to gather the darkness,” Darian continues, advancing. “He feeds on it. The power. The pain. It makes him strong. And it’s consumed him.”
My heart stutters. I force myself to meet Mallen’s eyes.
He doesn’t speak. But the answer is there—in the set of his jaw, the stiffness of his shoulders, the way his blade wavers for the first time.
The mask drops and behind it I see what I always should have.
Guilt.
He was never going to tell me. Never going to stop.
Mallen is the monster in the labyrinth.
