Page 135 of Labyrinthine
He just waits.
“The water’s still warm,” I offer.
He steps in. The water rises around us, rippling. I sit forward, press a cloth to the curve of his shoulder, and begin to clean him. Gently. Carefully.
His hands remain at his sides. He lets me touch him. Lets me see him.
“We are equals,” he says at last. “We always have been. Bound by more than blood or fate. Bound by our will, yours and mine.”
“You’d risk the gods’ wrath for me?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Gladly. But this isn’t defiance. This is faith.”
I stare at my reflection on the water’s surface. “In me?”
When I glance up, I half expect Mallen to look wary, but there’s only quiet surprise in his expression. As if he hadn’t expected tenderness. As ifhe’sthe one bracing to be left behind.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I whisper.
He flinches like it’s a lie. I reach for his hand before he can draw away.
“Not now. Not ever.”
Silence unfurls between us, steeped in steam and heartbeat and the sound of water shifting like breath beneath moonlight—slow, tidal, inevitable.
“Darian said you hold Starsfall’s darkness. That you gather it in the labyrinth and it will consume you. Me too, if I let it.” I hold his gaze. “But that isn’t true. I don’t hold Starfall’s light, and you’re not its darkness. I don’t understand how or why, but I know we balance each other. We fit.”
Mallen’s jaw shifts. “What else did he tell you?”
I press my palms to his chest and trace the contours of his body, slow and deliberate. My fingers knead over bruises, scar tissue, muscle. His breath stutters.
“He said you were working for my father. That in time you’d turn on him. Become worse than him. And that if I chose you, I’d be all that contains you.”
I pause. Then?—
“He admitted lying about what he said in the labyrinth.”
Mallen tips his head back. A low sound escapes him as I dig my thumbs beneath his shoulder blades. He doesn’t answer. He lets me finish, lets me serve him. His body relaxes under my hands, but his silence is louder than speech.
Then he lowers his forehead to mine. His voice is quiet, but the words slice deep.
“He’s not wrong.”
He doesn’t say it bitterly. There’s no anger in it. Just weariness. Honesty.
“He’s just not right.”
Mallen’s hand finds mine.
“The truth lies with the gods,” he murmurs. “But I know this—your magic is more than death. Your darkness is vast. And if it isn’t shared, it consumes. Darian would return that power to the heavens. Strip you of it. Leave you pure.”
His fingers tighten around mine.
“I would share it. Bear it with you. Carry it when you cannot.”
My breath catches.
“Share it with you or surrender it with Darian,” I say. “That’s always been my choice.”
