Page 93 of Labyrinthine
“Then why does it feel like I broke it?”
“Because he made you feel that way,” Darian says gently. “He raised you in the shadow of his guilt and told you it was yours. He twisted the prophecy to justify his obsession. Becausewhen your mother died, he decided your life had togainhim something—or her death meant nothing.”
Whatever’s in my chest cracks. It’s not pain. Not exactly. This is gentler. Something like the last breath before the battle begins.
“I didn’t want to believe he was capable of this,” I tell him. “Even when I hated him. I still needed...something. A reason. A version of him that made sense.”
Darian doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just waits.
“And now that I see it, I don’t know how to hold it. How to carry it without it swallowing me.”
He draws a slow breath. “Meaning isn’t a debt. Sacrifice doesn’t always bring purpose. You don’t have to atone for his sins.”
I close my eyes, trying to steady the tremble in my fingers. “It doesn’t make sense. The Reaping makes no sense if I’m meant to repair relations between the two countries.”
“Your father did more than twist it into a spectacle. The magic trapped in the ritual serves no one. It festers.”
The pieces start fitting together.
“When you marry someone from Larksbind,” Darian continues, “you’ll restore what was broken. Heal the rift. The gods will see it as an offering. If you don’t…” He doesn’t finish.
I stare at the ground as the truth splinters through me. My father took from Larksbind, and now I’m the price of making it right. Not a princess. Not a prize. A reckoning. A cure.
I was never free. Just owned by different hands.
I nod, numbly.
Somewhere beneath the shock, the spiral starts. Darian hasn’t mentioned my magic. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s as bad as my father said it was, and he hid it out of shame. Or maybe that’s another lie—a brutal, binding one—that kept me caged for years.
Whatever’s inside me hums, alive and rising, reminding me it’s still here. That it’s waited long enough. It’s been biding its time like a storm beneath still water, and now it’s stirring.
And if it breaks loose, I don’t know what I’ll become.
Darian’s arm slips around my shoulders, pulling me close. He’s warm. Strong. And for a moment, I let myself lean into it. Just to breathe.
We sit in silence, surrounded by trees and fading light. I try to stitch my thoughts together.
Then Darian says, almost gently, “Mallen knows.”
The words land like a knife. I go rigid. My heart stops. “What?”
“He’s always known,” Darian murmurs. “About the Reaping. About your father’s plans. About the power in you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I shake my head.No. He’s wrong. Mallen’s protected me. He taught me to fight. He wouldkillmy father to keep me safe. He wouldn’t—hecouldn’t—be part of this.
“He’s helping your father,” Darian says.
“No.” The word rips from me. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I were,” he says. “But if you marry someone outside Larksbind—anyone else—the power returns to Starsfall. To whoever sits on the throne.”
My stomach turns. My head spins.
My father. Or someone just like him. Someone he’s placed in my path.
Darian watches me carefully, as if gauging how far he can press before I start to splinter.
