Page 91 of Labyrinthine
He didn’t become a monster because of me. He always was one.
This was never my fault.
“I didn’t think he’d do this,” I whisper. “I thought the worst thing he wanted was control.”
Darian doesn’t answer right away.
He steps closer. “Let me tell you something they don’t want you to know. Before the war—before the gods withdrew—your mother was the only bridge between our kingdoms. She was from Larksbind.”
“I know that.”
“No,” he replies, quieter now. “You know where she was from. Not what that meant.”
The words slam through me harder than they should. It’s not just what he says—it’s how he says it. Like it costs him. Like he’s been carrying this too long, waiting for me to be ready to hear it. And now that I am, he’s not sparing me from the truth.
“Larksbind and Starsfall balance each other,” Darian says softly. “They used to exist in harmony. Until your father decided harmony wasn’t enough. He wanted more territory. More power. We tried to contain him peacefully. We failed.”
I stare at him, my bloodied hands aching from gripping the reins. “He attacked you.”
“He nearly destroyed us,” Darian confirms. “The only reason we survived was your mother.”
“My mother?”
He nods. “She was from Larksbind. He loved her. Obsessively. My father said she was...content. Happy, in her own way. The truce was her idea. She believed her love for him would hold him back. So she married him. And for a while, it worked.”
A wind moves through the trees, dry and sharp. My mare shivers beside me.
“But peace never lasts long in the hands of a man like your father,” Darian continues, voice low. “A seer made a prophecy. She foresaw your mother’s death in childbirth. Your father panicked. He tried everything to stop it—everything but letting her go. And when all else failed, he turned to Obcasus.”
My heart stops.
“That’s not—” I swallow. “That’s not what happened.”
“Yes, it is,” Darian says. “You’ve been told a lie your entire life, but I swear to you, Azhara—I’m telling you what really happened. My father was there.”
I meet his eyes, and the darkness in me stills. There’s no doubt in his gaze. No hunger for leverage. Just truth. Excruciating and raw and inescapable.
“I’ll swear it on the gods themselves,” he says. “On the stones of Larksbind, on my blood, on whatever you ask—I’ll swear it.”
And I know.
I don’t know how, but I do.
He’s telling the truth. I feel it the way I feel the night before the sun sets.
“He used Obcasus.”
“That’s forbidden,” I mumble. “You can’t use it. No one can?—”
“He tried,” Darian says. “He rekindled the old magic. He threatened the gods with destruction if they didn’t intervene to save her. It was madness. It nearly destroyed both kingdoms.”
The reins slip from my hands.
“He unleashed the Obcasus, even though he knew the gods themselves had locked it away.”
I stumble backward, eyes burning.
“He failed. Your mother died anyway. But not before you were born.”
