Page 44 of Labyrinthine
“Azhara,” Mallen says behind me, a warning curling through my name.
“I’m not touching it,” I say.
But I could.
I could press my fingers to the lock and know if it pulses for me.
I could speak the names they gave me at my first Reaping and see if the gates answer.
I could offer more than blood.
But I don’t.
The power is in the restraint.
The clearing is still empty but for us. The priestess has retreated. The guards won’t come until midday. No one is meant to witness this hour. This half-light. This soft shift between sleep and memory.
The wind cuts colder now, curling around my bare wrist, biting through the fabric at my throat. The amphitheater clearing is still steeped in the dawn, but the line of sun is creeping up over the palace behind us, gilding the edges of the highest stones. Soon, the labyrinth will be fully awake. Soon, the Reaping will begin.
I remember my first one. I was ten. The first trial drowned in blood. The next year, the screams lasted longer than the fire. They told me not to look away.
I didn’t.
I watched. I learned.
No one ever survives the labyrinth.
“I dreamed about this place last night,” I say. “I’ve never dreamed of the labyrinth before.”
His shoulders shift almost imperceptibly. “What did you see?”
“Nothing. I was alone.”
“That’s not nothing.”
I shake my head. “It was dark. I knew I was inside, though I could barely see anything. I stayed still and something moved. Something came.”
Mallen doesn’t respond right away. Doesn’t try to soften it.
Finally, he says, “You stayed still?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how it finds you.”
I nod. “I know.”
The wind picks up again, funneling through the circular steps and catching the edge of my cloak. I don’t reach to fix it. I let the cold bite. I let the gods see I’m not afraid of a little pain. I’ve lived with worse.
Mallen shifts beside me, his voice quiet now. “That dream wasn’t just a dream.”
“I know.”
“Something’s changing.”
I don’t ask how he knows. I can feel it too. The labyrinth’s breath is heavier this year. It’s hunger more awake. The seal on the gate pulses once, faint but real, like the monster caged inside just turned in its sleep.
“No one’s ever made it to the final trial,” I murmur. “Everyone else died in an arena before they went into the labyrinth.”
