Page 150 of Labyrinthine
And gods help me, I know it. The thread between us stretches to breaking—there’s panic, fury, and his fear. His mind crashes into mine like waves against a cliff. His heart hammers. I feel it—his dread, his disbelief. The way he reaches for me, again and again, as if touch alone could drag me back. But I’m already slipping through his fingers. I am breath leaving the lungs. A future unfolding. A name he no longer knows how to call without breaking.
But I can’t stop. I won’t.
The street narrows as I ride, flanked by tall buildings with windows like staring eyes. Fire surges overhead, leaping from roof to roof. A shutter crashes open beside me, flames pouring through. My horse startles, but I press her on, spurring harder.Every breath is poison. Every beat of my heart threatens to rupture my ribs.
I round a corner—and the world erupts.
A bolt of fire slams into the street just ahead, hurling stone and ash into the air. The shockwave hits like a slap, knocking the breath from my lungs. My mare rears, screaming, hooves lashing. I cling to the saddle, the heat scorching through my armor. Then we’re through it—diving into the smoke, dodging the collapse of a stone wall to our left as it crumbles in a hail of fire and shrapnel.
My lungs burn.
My eyes water.
The darkness darkens, and for a moment, I can’t see.
I ride blind, guided only by the pulse of magic thrumming in the air—the call that grips my spine and drags me forward.
My father knows I’ve broken from the others.
He’s aiming for me now.
The fire narrows. Focused. Intentional.
He doesn’t need to kill all of them. Just me.
A second strike splits the road behind me—flame arcing so near it brushes my skin with breathless heat, and my hair lifts as if startled by the nearness of death. The force slams into a storefront, and the building detonates inward, collapsing into the street. Debris pelts my armor. Something sharp slices my cheek.
Forward. Always forward.
I drive my heels into my horse’s sides. She stumbles, but finds her stride again, galloping up the winding hill as buildings crack and groan around us. Another strike slams to the right—glass shatters, and the heat sears my lungs. A second on the left, close enough to melt paint from the walls. He’s not just herding me. He’s toying with me. Pushing me up the last street that leads to the palace gate.
But it’s too late to turn back.
I must be death now.
I burst from the mouth of the alley into the upper quarter—and stop, just for a heartbeat.
The palace stands before me, black and jagged against the infernal sky. Smoke coils around its towers. The high gate is half-shattered, scorched from within. The courtyard is empty—eerily so. And yet the air thickens—brimming with hush too loud to be empty. A stillness that feels like breath held just behind a door. Something sees me. Something waits.
The path is clear.
That’s the trap.
I should be afraid, but I’m not.
I ride on.
The fire behind me roars louder now, chasing me up the rise. Another explosion rips through the street behind, but I don’t look. The sound is enough. Stone collapses. Flames roll through the air like waves. My horse screams, and she falters beneath me, her legs skidding on loose ash and bloodied cobble.
“Come on,” I whisper, throat raw.
A shadow falls over us.
I glance up. And for a heartbeat, the world stops.
Above me, hanging in the smoke-choked sky, is a shape—no, not a shape. A figure made from smog. Wreathed in fire. Cloaked in black flame. Eyes like twin suns, burning through the haze.
My father.
