Page 117 of Labyrinthine
I follow the thread blindly. Time doesn’t move the same way in the labyrinth. It might’ve been hours. Might’ve been minutes.Every turn feels wrong. The slope steepens and I drag myself up it, one foot at a time, lungs heaving.
Then light appears—dim and flickering.
The gate.
I stagger through it into the open courtyard.
Shouts rise. The rush of movement is too fast to process. Metal clatters. Boots thunder. I spin, ducking instinctively. A man barrels toward me and I twist just out of reach—but a second grabs my ankle and yanks.
The world tips sideways. Stone slams into my ribs.
Hands crush me to the ground.
I scream and buck, but there’s no leverage. A knee pins my spine. My face scrapes against rough stone. More weight joins the first. My shoulders and wrists are clamped down, my legs immobilized.
“She’s wild?—”
“Hold her?—”
My breath tears in and out, fast and ragged. Blood pulses in my ears. I don’t know who’s touching me, and I don’t care—I just need them off. The panic claws up faster than I can choke it down. My magic tries to spark and then slips through my fingers like oil, useless and uncontrollable.
“We’re not your enemy, Princess,” a voice murmurs, too close. A man crouches to meet my eyes.
The weight eases off me, and I’m hauled upright, my knees buckling. Arms loop under mine to hold me up. My feet drag. The stone blurs beneath me. We’re moving again—toward the tunnels.
“She’s done,” someone mutters behind me. “Barely breathing. If she killed him, she spent everything doing it.”
I open my mouth to speak, and only a rasp escapes.
Arms catch me around the waist and I’m lifted again, slung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of grain. My head dangles.The world rocks nauseatingly with each step. Fury sparks hot in my chest, but it burns out too quickly.
I hate this.
A wide door bangs open, and the smell of chaff and mice hits my tongue. The grain store swallows us in must and dust. A hatch yawns open, black and deep. I’m passed down through it like cargo. Another man grabs me before I can find my footing.
“Sorry,” he mutters and then lifts me again. I’m too tired to curse him properly.
The second ride is worse. My shoulder bangs into his collarbone with every step. I’m relieved when the tunnel finally spills out into night. Cold air snaps against my skin. Horses shift in the shadows, stamping against the ground. The group is smaller than it should be. Not enough bodies. Time seems short.
Something’s gone wrong.
A scuffle breaks out near the tree line. Darian is restrained by three men, thrashing against their grip. His face is bloodied, hair clinging to his skin. He roars something I can’t make out.
His eyes lock onto mine.
The fury drains out of him, replaced by something quieter. Sadder. He nods once before he’s hauled onto a horse. Someone leads a gelding toward me, reins swinging, hooves pawing.
I take a step toward it and then another. My legs tremble. My thighs are soaked in dried blood. I reach for the saddle?—
“Azhara,” Darian calls. His voice is rough, pleading.
I shake my head. “I can ride.”
I probably can’t. But I’ll try.
Two men intercept. I shove at them weakly.
“I said I’m fine.”
