Exquisite Ruin (The Labyrinth #1)

Chapter 6

I GASP, clutching my throat and stumbling to my knees on stone ground—I’d been running, Pogli under my arm. My hand is trying to hold in the blood that I distantly know is no longer spilling out in a fountain.

Horror grips me even tighter.

And yet, part of me, still shaking off the memory as if it were a dream, is filled with as much breathless anticipation as I felt in that moment. And equally breathless desire. Taking quick stock of my surroundings—unbroken, rough-hewn stone walls and floor, tangled roots dangling overhead—my passion quickly ebbs, leaving something disagreeably close to shame. Not entirely because of what Daesra and I did together, of which even a quick reminder makes heat blossom in my cheeks and rekindle low in my belly. But because of what I did, myself. Using my intimacy to bind him.

It was a daring move, to say the least. If I’d failed, it would have been a race to see what killed me first: my bleeding out or Daesra’s tearing me limb from limb.

Honestly, I wouldn’t have entirely blamed him.

At least, by comparison, it dulls the horror that I did in fact fuck him—perhaps far more than once—with such convincing surrender.

I sit back on my heels, finally releasing my throat to pat Pogli distractedly. I understand better why the daemon hates me. Even if those actions still don’t entirely feel like mine to own, I hate myself , a little. Enough to add a sour note to any assurance that I’m better than him. Definitely enough to spoil the memory of the pleasure I took from his hands and… other parts of him.

Such pleasure.

The answer to your most pressing question , he said. By which he meant, of course, Did we fuck?

I sneer in disgust. He wanted me to see this. Wanted me to know. I’m only giving him more of what he wants, whatever this is. My regret. My yet-living desire. My inner turmoil as those two sides of me go to war with each other. He wants me off-balance, ever at a disadvantage, so he can best me in this trial.

Close your eyes , he said. Just like I’d instructed him in the memory.

I may have crawled on my knees for him, but in the end I bound him, dragged him before the gods, and threw him in this maze. Now I’m going to beat him—again. And win, finally, what it is I crave most.

Invulnerability. I’m already powerful—I know this; I knew it at the start when I knew nothing else. But I want power such that everyone knows it, even the gods. Certainly him . I want strength that no one can take from me ever again.

I look around, finally coming back to myself fully. The mirror has deposited me entirely elsewhere. I need to figure out where I am, or what might be about to kill or collapse upon me. I’ve let the memory distract me long enough. Not dwelling on it is the best way to retaliate against his betrayal—that, and not dying.

I appear to have fallen through the cracks between what were once the wide stone tiles of the floor above. Just as the sleek black ground became the walls, the new boundaries of the maze stretch straight ahead of me in a narrower passage of plain stone. The roots are now the ceiling, dangling low enough to brush the top of my head if I’m not careful. Light peeks through only the bigger gaps among the tangled mass. It’s much darker down here. Danker. I sense running water nearby… or below.

In the dim light, I can pick out the pale shapes of marble limbs, an arm here, a leg there, wrapped in the coiled roots overhead. Statues caught and cocooned as if in a spider’s web. I hope these victims are sinking down from above and haven’t been snatched off their feet from the level I’m on. Otherwise, no other statues break the monotony of the passage, which is more like a trench chipped in stone, or even a tunnel, with the roots blotting out most of the light from up top.

I vaguely wonder if the roots actually eat the statues. I saw faces enmeshed in the tree trunks up above, swallowed, but can marble truly be consumed? What could possibly be nourished by stone?

Perhaps I don’t want to know—a notion fast becoming a theme of this particular play. I hope it doesn’t take a turn for the tragic.

Have you never seen a play? I remember Daesra’s taunting voice in my ear, his weight straddling me.

Stop thinking about that , I tell myself sternly.

I look behind me, in the direction I’d come running—where the collapsing maze had been trying to bury me. There’s only a blank stone wall. A dead end. Or a new beginning that the mirror has given me.

There’s only one way forward. I’m sure that will change.

I check Pogli over, feeling along the joints of his useless wings, his shoulders, his hips, while he grumbles appreciatively at the incidental massage. Nothing broken. I pet his little lion’s mane, pulling back the furry wrinkles of his forehead to look into his deep brown eyes. “That was a rough ride. You’re all right, little friend?”

He sneezes on me and paws at his snout.

“I take that as a yes.” I stand, wiping my face with a grimace. “Let’s go, then. But be on the lookout. The bloody bastard can’t be too far ahead.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Daesra calls from down the tunnel.

I freeze. And then realize I can’t avoid him if he’s waiting ahead. There’s only this straight and narrow passage. I take a deep breath, expanding my ribs against my chest harness for a burst of energy, steeling myself. I debate unwinding the torturous tie on my calf to grant me the pain of release—and then rewinding it on my other calf. The problem with bindings, or any pain, really, is that one gets used to the sensation. The ropes in place will begin to lose their edge, so to speak, grow less effective as an offering until I give my leg a rest. Which is another good reason to heal myself, aside from not falling apart—or to switch legs. But I don’t want to do that before I have to.

Then I remember: This is Daesra, and I did that to him. I decide not to take my chances. I’m not sure why he would warn me before ambushing me, but I also have no idea why he would wait for me with good intentions.

I untie my leg and groan with relief—followed by agony, as the feeling rushes back into the deep grooves pressed into my flesh. It’s as if they’re refilling with fire. They provide me with actual fire, ready in my palms, as I tie my other calf, stand on both screaming limbs, and stride forward to meet the daemon.

As it turns out, he’s not far ahead. And he’s not waiting. He’s trapped . Against the ceiling—lodged within it, rather, fully entwined in roots. Only his pale, bluish-hued face peers out like a beautiful but unfortunate marble sculpture. The roots are even tangled in his horns, holding his head fixed. He can barely twitch a finger.

“I could use some assistance, if you don’t mind,” he says casually, as I approach.

I peer up at him in utter bafflement. “Oh?”

“Yes. As you can see, the roots caught me off guard.”

“You can’t free yourself?”

“They’re very tight.” He winces as one shifts around his middle, the wooden fibers creaking and groaning. “They would have broken you in half by now. They’re also everywhere . I’ve had couplings less invasive.”

I arch my brow. “Should I leave you in privacy, then?”

I’m already shifting to do so when he says, “You don’t want to do that.”

“And why not?”

He ignores the question. “I tried fighting them at first, mostly using simple force—air, for the forgetful among us—but they drank most of what I threw at them. They are roots, I suppose. By the time I considered fire, they were touching about every bit of my skin they could. While I don’t fancy roasting myself, I would to get free, but I also don’t know the wisdom of lighting our ceiling ablaze while we’re trapped underneath.”

“Why not disintegrate them, or at least rip your way out?” I suggest as if that were a simple task and not an immense use of aether.

“These roots won’t so easily crumble. Like I said, they’re much stronger than they look. Far stronger than the marble of the statues. Aside from the challenge of generating enough power to tear my way free, I worry the roof might cave in. Not very fun for us, either.”

“ Us , now, is it?” My tone is innocent, but a smile grows on my face. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Think of something. I’m in this predicament partially out of consideration for your fragile flesh trailing behind me. Maybe help me pry them apart without breaking them?”

In response, I laugh. After the times he’s abandoned me, this is just too much good fortune. Still cackling, I practically skip in a circle underneath him with all the joy of a child on a feast day. Pogli barks and leaps along at my side, thinking it’s a game. After my victory lap, I stop on the other side of the ensnared daemon—beyond him.

“I recall you leaving me to the collapsing maze—twice. I also recall you scoffing at my aid when I offered it before.”

I think he might try to argue that he didn’t need my help then, and that I never needed his, either. Instead, his mouth curves in a sharp grin. “What else do you remember, Sadaré?”

If I hadn’t already decided to leave him, that would have done it.

I purse my lips as if in thought. “Nothing particularly memorable.”

Then I begin to walk away.

“Sadaré!” Daesra shouts, drawing me up short, despite myself. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The maze punishes us when we separate. I’m positive now.”

“And I’m not,” I toss back. “Especially since you’re happy to think so only when you’re trapped, and not when you were leaving me behind. What did you say? Fool me once, kindly fuck yourself. Fool me twice —”

“I was testing the maze,” he interrupts. “Once, when we split up to take the two paths forward and down with the mirrors, and the statues attacked despite that. Again, when I thought I could fool the maze by leaving you right behind me with the statue, and then the walls collapsed—on two occasions.”

“That’s because I took a wrong turn to lose Deos.” I sneer up at him. “Whom you don’t even care might be gone.”

“He’s fine,” Daesra says shortly.

I trust the daemon not at all, but I don’t waste my breath questioning him. “The walls resumed their collapse only when you went into the mirror,” I continue, and then I smile sweetly. “So I figure you have until I find the next mirror to extricate yourself from this predicament.”

“That doesn’t explain why these roots seized me here. It’s as if they wanted you to catch up. And I’m sure you remember the farce of us having to imitate the statues. The maze is trying to force us together.”

I regard him for a stretched moment. “You were right before. If this maze was my idea, as you claim it is, I would never have planned it such that we had to suffer each other.” I bow as I echo his own words. “So I believe I’ve finally had enough of your presence.”

This time, Daesra doesn’t call out after me as I turn my back and walk away, not even to curse me. He certainly doesn’t beg, which I somehow hoped he would.

When I reach the first split in this lower section of the maze, it’s a crossroads. I look to my right and left to find the same stone walls but the ceiling less choked with roots. I carry on in the direction I was going, forward, not tempted by the other paths. I need to focus on what’s ahead.

And certainly not what’s behind.

This was never supposed to be clean, or easy, or painless. I’m doing what may be a god’s dirty work. Proving myself worthy of gaining something immense—perhaps something as immeasurable as immortality. The weight of the challenge worth that would be heavy indeed.

Which means the monster at the end of this isn’t going to be pretty.

Against my will, I picture Daesra in my mind’s eye. Some monsters are pretty—far too pretty for what lies beneath. If only the daemon was my ultimate foe and not my rival, I could kill him and be done with it. Not that I can kill him, he would be happy to remind me.

And now that I know I’ve already bound him once before, especially in the manner that I did, attempting to do worse seems a little like squirting lemon juice in a wound. Perhaps I might allow him to be a bit more awful to me before I try such a thing. Never mind that he’s betrayed me since.

And yet, is leaving him to the roots any better than attempting to kill him myself?

I continue down the passage, feeling less triumphant than I thought I might the farther I go. Maybe if I had something to distract myself, other than my wariness of the roots, which aren’t moving at all. Perhaps they got what they wanted in Daesra. I still don’t come upon any statues—well, only those entangled overhead—and the dim tunnel stays straight, with no crossroads. As if it’s trying to remind me, with every step I take, that I’m leaving Daesra behind at the mercy of the maze.

Pogli seems oblivious, trotting along happily at my side, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, his stubby wings bouncing, his curly tail bobbing. At least he’s not judging me this time. Or maybe he simply didn’t see Daesra trapped up above and has no idea what’s going on. If he had, maybe he would be judging me.

Gods. I’m letting guilt get to me so much that I’m projecting the shadow of it onto a brainless chimera. I doubt even the daemon would approve of such pitiable sentiment.

And yet, I find myself stopping, looking back. Daesra is well out of sight, swallowed by the shadows of the tunnel. And, of course, the roots.

I hear a scraping sound behind me and feel an almost playful tug on my hair. Spinning, I have a snarl ready for him on my lips. Was he merely pretending—?

But there’s no one there. Certainly not Daesra.

And then I’m hauled up by my braid, off my feet. My hair tries to rip free of my scalp.

I gasp in pain and surprise. The roots.

I hone my fingernails as sharp as fine knives and claw at my hair before anything else, cutting off half the length of my braid and severing the hold on me. Better to get free and then try to fight—or to flee, if the roots are nigh a match for the daemon.

I land in a crouch, ready to run. But something latches around my ankle and drags my feet out from under me. A woody tendril hauls me up by my unbound leg, cracking my head on the stone floor. Stars explode in my vision. For a moment, I can only let myself dangle upside down by one foot. The root begins to retract with me in its grip, hoisting me higher. Closer to the embrace of the tangled nest. Already the one tendril is squeezing my leg with alarming strength.

They would have broken you in half by now , Daesra said.

Pogli flaps his useless wings, the growl in his throat rising to a cacophonous screeching. Distantly, I worry if he roars at the ceiling like he did at the hedges, he might just bring the tunnel down atop us both. But perhaps it’s worth the risk.

Before I can decide what to do, another root uncoils as fast as a whip, catching my leg at an opposing angle. Both tendrils tighten in different directions, as if they’re fighting over me. Maybe a marble statue can take such abuse, or a daemon like Daesra, but he was right: I wasn’t made for this.

My leg gives under the pressure. Bone shatters within my flesh. And then I’m hanging upside down with all of my weight pulling on the break.

I know pain like I never have before. Slitting my own throat wasn’t so bad. And at least I was able to use that, since I did it to myself.

Now I can do nothing but scream and keep screaming, an animal sound I’ve never heard myself make. My hands fist in my hair, pulling against my burning scalp as hard as I can. Not to cause any pain to take action, but to distract myself from the rest. It’s all I can do. I can’t think. I wouldn’t mind tearing the ceiling down to end this, if I could only focus enough to try.

I can hardly see straight, but in my vision Pogli’s face and jaws begin to stretch, growing and widening, like something out of a nightmare. I watch hazily from where I hang, wondering if the pain is making me hallucinate, until his head and shoulders would truly fit on a lion. And then he leaps at the ceiling, biting down on the roots near me.

Instead of merely dangling there with his too-wide jaws, he thrashes his massive head from side to side, and he rips. Roots tear violently, cutting loose and raining down dirt and stone and a few broken marble limbs. And me.

I instinctively bring up my arms to protect my head before I hit the ground, but I wish I could have sheltered my leg instead. It rebounds off the rough stone floor, and my vision goes white with agony. I’m barely aware of Pogli frantically licking my face, his body and fortunately his tongue back to its usual size. I think I might be screaming again, but I’m not entirely sure with the ringing in my ears. All I can manage to do is turn my face half into the ground to avoid the chimera’s saliva.

For a moment, I blessedly black out. When I next open my eyes, Daesra is standing over me.

“Do you agree with me now?” he asks flatly.

The daemon is whole and unharmed, though his tunic is torn in a few places. I vaguely try to swallow the screams gathered in my throat. He shouldn’t see me like this, but I can’t bring myself to care. In the shadows of the tunnel behind him, I make out the pale shape of Deos. Perhaps the statue helped him get free, but I don’t wonder at it for long. I can’t even feel relief that Deos indeed made it out of the collapsing maze above. I con sider it a victory that I only make a high-pitched whine instead of screaming again.

I expect the daemon to gloat. Laugh as I writhe in agony at his feet. But his face, as he looks down at me keening on the ground, is very still. Deadly. And then he seems to make a decision.

“We need to move before the roots try for us again,” he says. “I don’t know what you did to fight them or if you can do it again in this state—or even if you should . We don’t want to be around if the ceiling collapses, either. But you likely don’t have the stomach for what you need to do.”

I don’t complain that it’s we and us now. Never mind that the roots attacked me after I stopped to consider going back for him—which means I’m still not sure what the maze wants when it comes to the two of us. But right now, I need Daesra’s help more than ever before, so I’m not going to question it. At least, not his motives.

“You want me to move?” I rasp, my throat sounding torn. I choke on a laugh—even that movement is too much. “I think I might die.”

Daesra only turns to Deos. “Hold her.”

Despite half my face still being pressed into the ground, my eyes fly wide. “What?”

But he doesn’t answer, saying instead to the statue, which hasn’t moved, “It’s for her benefit, you have my word.”

“What good is your word?” I groan.

He looks down at me without feeling. “Better than yours.”

Cool marble hands come under my armpits, hoisting me with surprising gentleness. If the statue had shifted me below the waist, I might have passed out again. As it is, I gasp, going lightheaded—too much to be able to protest as Deos’s stone arms lock around my shoulders after sitting me up, holding me firmly in place.

I can’t hide my alarm as I look up at Daesra. “What are you doing?”

He crouches down before me and takes my hand, prying out one of my fingers even as I feebly try to resist him. He traps the others, his fist swallowing mine, and grips my lone finger in his other hand. Like a stick he’s about to break.

I start breathing so fast it makes me even dizzier. “Don’t, don’t, don’t —” My voice is pure panic. I can’t stand the thought of any more pain. It’s consuming me as it is.

“Sadaré.” He ducks his head, forcing me to meet his gaze when I only keep repeating that one word. “Sadaré.” The whipcrack of his tone shuts me up, and he adds, more calmly, “You have to ask me.”

“What?” I whisper, the flood of fear trying to carry my voice away.

“Ask me to do it. There’s no other way.”

Hot tears fall from my eyes. I can feel them tracking through the grime down both my cheeks. He’s right about what must happen. I need far more than the pain of any rope or needle, or even ten, to fix my leg. And there’s no way I would have the strength to do this myself right now.

He could heal me, of course, without doing this. Or at the very least, not make me beg for it.

“Why?” My voice breaks humiliatingly. “Is this another sick—”

“ Think , Sadaré. Why should you ask me? You know this.”

And I do. The answer was simply buried under the mountain of agony that’s crushing my leg. If I’m not choosing the pain, it’s not an offering. I can’t use what the roots did to me to generate aether, because none of that was intentional on my part, and I can’t imagine trying to own or control pain like that, anyway. It would be like trying to harness a hurricane. If I could, I’d be powerful enough to bring this maze down around me.

Probably not wise, in any case.

To stop such an overwhelming force, I need to hurt myself. The simple step of asking him means he’s a mere tool in my design. But, as easy as it should be, my tongue rebels. If I ask, I know what will happen.

“Ask me.” He snarls the words right in my face, his sharp teeth glinting. “And mean it.”

I shiver, more tears dropping. And then I take a deep, stuttering breath, bracing myself. “Do—do it.”

No hesitation: He snaps my finger in one swift motion. My scream shatters the air. Deos releases me immediately, as if wanting no more part in this now that he’s fulfilled his purpose. I would have flopped back to the ground, except Daesra surprisingly slides his bent leg under my arm, letting my weight drape over him. Once again, I don’t question it; I hang there like a wrung rag and sob against his thigh, my hand dangling over the other side of it.

I wish I could distance myself even farther from my finger. Perhaps chop it off, though part of me knows that wouldn’t exactly help. It’s pure fire at the end of my arm, the pain so bright it’s red-orange behind my squeezed-shut eyelids. Almost enough to distract me from the raging bed of coals around my leg.

I don’t enjoy pain like this. It’s so intense that I don’t care anymore how I must look. That I’m bawling in front of him— atop him—like a child.

Daesra’s palm makes small circles on my back. “Let it out. Let the pain run through you, otherwise it controls you. You need to control it .”

I know this. And yet, oddly, his calming speech helps when it might otherwise be annoying. Like a familiar chant, grounding me. So does his touch. It’s a sensation other than my split bones.

“Breathe.” His low whisper in my ear. Coaxing.

I realize I’ve been holding my breath as soon as I swallow my sobs. Fighting it instead of accepting it. I take a shuddering gasp, wishing I could just leave my body entirely.

“Now, heal your leg,” Daesra says, the words sharper than before, cutting deeper through the red haze of my pain.

Distantly, I want to take issue with his commanding tone. But the instruction focuses me, keeps me on task when I’d rather just lie here and weep a while longer.

The red-hot fire of my finger is enough to do the trick. Straightening the bone above my ankle makes me wail, long and loud, and I feel Daesra’s hand cup the back of my neck, fingers squeezing with steady pressure, holding me together with that small gesture. Somehow I don’t pass out, though I’m not sure that’s a boon. But then the pain in my leg begins to ebb. I sob anew, in sheer relief this time. Even so, it will take a little while for the bone to fully knit, and I still have my finger to contend with. I can’t yet fathom moving.

When Daesra gently twists my wrist to examine my hand, I raise my head and snarl at him like a beast. “Don’t touch it!”

He tsks. “You should be thanking me for this. Such a clean break!”

Now that my head is clearer, I hate him again. I distinctly try not to notice how firm his thigh is beneath me.

“You could have healed me yourself,” I say, straightening from his lap with as much dignity as I can muster, which isn’t much considering I have tears and mucus running down my face. “So I’ll save my thanks.”

Daesra stands fluidly on those muscular legs, making my eye-level view abruptly awkward. My gaze quickly drops to his cloven hooves. I resist the absurd urge to flick one with my unmaimed hand.

“That was my way of helping, since I actually can’t come to your aid unless I happen to be serving my own ends at the same time,” he says over my head, his tone composed, as if I weren’t just leaking all over him. “Those are the rules. You’re trying to best me, after all.”

“Are those the maze’s rules or yours?” I sniff loudly. “Does your daemonic nature prevent you from having a heart?”

If the maze wants us to stick together, after all, why would it keep us from helping each other? Unless, of course, this is indeed a competition—simply one requiring close quarters.

“My daemonic nature prevents me from endlessly explaining myself to fools,” Daesra says coolly. “But maybe he can come to your rescue, since we need to move.”

I look up as he gestures at Deos. The statue immediately bends to pick me up, one arm under my knees, the other cradling my shoulders.

“Careful!” I cry out, clutching my wrist close to my chest.

But as before, the statue is gentle. As he straightens with me, lifting me off the ground, my focus goes warily up to the roots.

Pain like that is a lesson I won’t soon forget. Even if it doesn’t leave a scar, it will be forever burned into my mind like a brand.

Pogli immediately starts growling at the tangled ceiling, his flat face craned upward on his stubby neck, looking like a strange, ugly flower with his lion’s mane and knobby horns. He races in circles as if on guard, his piggy tail coiled extra tight.

Daesra glares at him as he starts forward. “Why hasn’t this place devoured that pitiful abomination yet?”

I want to bite back that that pitiful abomination saved my life. Twice, now, while I’ve been too slow or stunned or wracked with pain to react. But Daesra still doesn’t know how powerful the little chimera can be, and I think it’s information best kept secret. A hidden dagger.

I also don’t want him to know how weak I’ve been. My reflexes need to improve in case Pogli is too busy snoring or sneezing the next time.

And yet Daesra must suspect there’s something more to the chimera, because at one point the daemon freezes, raising his hand for Deos to halt as well. I hear a fibrous creaking overhead, a short way down the tunnel. I’m unsure if the maze will attack us now that we’re all together, but Pogli doesn’t take the chance. He charges ahead, waddling right underneath what could be a deadly snare, and starts up his stream of screeching barks. Daesra wedges a knuckle in his ear, wincing, while still standing at the ready for whatever might be about to descend upon us.

And yet the roots of the ceiling grow silent and still, as if heeding the chimera’s warning.

Daesra eventually deems it safe enough to carry on. He gives Pogli a considering look as he passes, but says nothing.

Good. It saves me the trouble of lying. And it gives me time to pull myself together. I can practically feel the cracks in my once-splintered bone sealing—except in my finger, of course. That’s still a ferocious distraction, but I manage to breathe through it. Luckily—strangely—the tunnel stays straight, and Deos walks more smoothly than he ever has, as if careful of jostling me. We only cross one perfectly perpendicular intersection, the unbending tunnels vanishing into shadow on either side. It’s indeed like we’re in the cracks between tiles, only the tiles are bigger than city squares. Daesra goes straight, of course.

Now that my head is clearer and roots hopefully aren’t about to eat us, and I’ve had some time to consider my situation, I say to Daesra, “Thank you. For helping me.”

He smirks back at me. “Why thank me? I wasn’t technically helping you—I was breaking your finger.”

Never mind that he suggested I thank him for it earlier. I nod up at Deos and say through gritted teeth, “How do you justify this?”

“I told you. He’s carrying you, not me. Didn’t I say he would make a fine steed?”

Never mind, again, that Daesra helped shape him in the first place.

“Why are you even still here?” I ask, even though I know—because the maze might not want to let him leave me. I sound regrettably pathetic. My leg is throbbing dully even as it finishes healing, and my finger is a blazing ember cupped to my chest. I think the pain offering has been well accepted, and I begin to consider what might be required to fix it.

“Right now,” Daesra says, stopping, “I need you to scratch an itch.”

I try to sit up a little in the statue’s arms, regain some poise, despite the ungainly position I’m in. “Excuse me?”

“Here.” He points at a spot between his shoulder blade and neck, bending toward me and Deos. When I don’t move, he eyes me through his hair. “Do it, or I’ll break the rest of your fingers.”

I snarl at him. I don’t know what he’s playing at. But I do owe him, unfortunately, so I shift to use my other hand.

“No, do it with your broken finger.”

I gape at him. “Are you more monster than even I understand you to be?”

“Oh, you can’t?” he asks, ignoring me and raising an eyebrow as if genuinely surprised by the obvious. “If your finger doesn’t work, then it can’t serve my purposes. I won’t tolerate that.”

He raises his own finger. But instead of scratching the itch himself, he pierces his fingertip with his long, pointed thumbnail. I barely have time to spot an upwelling of dark blood before my broken joint straightens with an agonizing pop. I shout, but by the time I’m done, the pain is gone. I stare at my finger, flexing it, and then at the daemon.

He leans in again. “The itch, Sadaré. I truly have one.”

Numbly, I reach out and scratch his neck a couple of times with my now-whole finger. The casual contact with his skin sends a strange, buzzing warmth down my spine.

It was all just an excuse to circumvent the rules —whether his or the maze’s—against helping me.

“You… you healed me,” I say.

“ No ,” he says with exaggerated patience, “I shut you up. You were whimpering rather pitifully.”

Any gratitude of mine turns sour. “You didn’t have to listen, nor do you have to keep helping me now that I’ve… scratched your itch. We can once again try navigating the maze with enough space between us for our sanity, but not enough to draw its ire.”

I don’t know how that will work now that we both understand we’re competing—regardless of whether or not the maze actually wants us in close proximity—but I feel it’s best not to ask in such a vulnerable state.

“Unfortunately,” the daemon says, “you have to stay quite near.”

I blink. “Why?”

His tone is breezy. “Oh, I’ve just now decided to keep you with me, undoubtedly against your will.”

The rest of what he says is nearly lost in a wave of alarm, no more warmth humming through me. More like bells ringing in distress.

“With you as my captive,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to my rising panic, “the maze shouldn’t retaliate. I have Deos to do the heavy lifting and your hideous little chimera as improbable reinforcement against unforeseen attacks. Most of all, I’ve ensured my victory—through you.” He grins at me. “Now, how does that feel?”

Not great is once again the answer. Especially not after what he does next.