Page 90 of Labyrinthine
We vanish into the underbrush, thick branches clawing at my arms. Darian pushes through first, carving a route through the narrow path. My mare follows his gelding by instinct. Her ears twitch—still alert, but not furious now. She’s tired. Slowing.
I pull harder on the reins and finally get her under control. We reach a clearing and stop, both working hard to breathe. I slide off, legs shaking, hands slick with sweat.
Darian dismounts smoothly, tossing the reins over a low branch. He moves toward my horse, and she snorts, warning him. He murmurs something low. Calming. Then crouches.
“Hold her,” he says.
I do. She shifts under my hands, edgy but no longer wild.
Darian reaches under the saddle, feeling carefully. His fingers go still. Then he pulls out a narrow, wicked shard of metal. Blood stains the leather.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands slowly, the blade cradled in his palm like an accusation.
“I should’ve checked her myself,” he mutters. “That’s not an accident.”
I look away. My skin crawls.
“You know who did this.”
“My father,” I breathe.
Darian exhales. “He meant for you to fall. Injure you enough to bring you into line.”
I nod.
Darian watches me. His eyes are too sharp for his easy smile. There’s a stillness in him now—precise and calculating, like a scalpel deciding where to cut.
“It’s more than that.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. This morning’s mount wasn’t a mistake. The guards saw her state and said nothing. And Mallen wasn’t here to intervene.
That thought hurts more than I expect it to.
I should fear my father.
Anyone with sense would.
But I don’t. Not in the way I used to be. Fear’s gone brittle inside me, all cracked and hollow. He’s broken so many parts of me that it’s hard to tell which ones still feel. And maybe that’s what scares him now. Not my obedience. Not my silence. But the pieces of me he can no longer reach—and the ones already sharpened into weapons.
What I feel now is the absence of Mallen. He would’ve stepped in—he always did, somehow, quietly, as if it was nothing. A whisper to a stable hand. A change to the day’splans. I never saw it for what it was. I never thanked him. I just assumed I was fortunate. That luck is distant now. Stolen.
Darian turns, pacing once before looking back. “He’s done this before. To others.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve been kept too sheltered to understand. Your father doesn’t just punish. He designs consequences. Every strike is meant to lead somewhere. Everything is control.”
“I’m not naïve.”
“I never said you were.”
The words fall quiet between us.
I stare down at my gloves. They’re turning crimson. Blood’s soaked through the fabric, smeared across my palms. It’s not even mine, but it feels like it should be. Like I earned it.
My whole life, I’ve carried the guilt of knowing my mother’s death was my fault. That my life had drained hers. That my father had used his magic to bind the darkness I’d unleashed on the world. Thathewas what kept the curse in check—thathiscruelty was the price of my existence.
And now I see.
