Exquisite Ruin (The Labyrinth #1)

Chapter 8

WE FIND ourselves back in the tunnel as if we’d never left. There’s no longer a flood of water crashing down upon us, but something else catches my eye from my perch in Deos’s arms, dragging my attention from even a memory such as that .

It’s Daesra. He clears his throat and angles his body slightly away from me, abruptly dousing the flame that lit our path, but not before I spot the bulge beneath the black fabric covering his groin.

“Well, this is awkward,” he mutters. I can hear him adjusting himself under his robes.

I can’t help but smirk, never mind that I’m more than a little damp after what I just witnessed—and not only from the water that nearly drowned us. “I see you’ve remembered that you at least somewhat liked me at one point.”

But no, it’s once again my lesson in remembrance when the flame returns. His absolutely deadly expression quite forcibly reminds me that he’s the daemonic son of Sea, the counterpart of the highest of gods. His burning red eyes scorch the gloating smile right off my face. He says nothing, but his look is enough.

And this is whom I challenged to this trial? This is whom I bound? It was bad enough before I knew which god was his divine parent. I understand more than ever before that the only thing keeping him from killing me or leaving me in a dark hole to rot are the strange rules of the maze. My past self must have been mad to trap us both in here.

My voice comes out higher than I would have preferred. “Didn’t you know what we would see in the mirror?”

The mirrors arrive like answers to questions I haven’t wanted to ask—answers that Daesra has seemed to already know. It would be terribly lucky for me if this time the mirror told me exactly what I wanted to learn about his parentage—what he expressly didn’t want to tell me earlier.

Perhaps the maze is indeed angry that he’s taken me captive. I hope I can count on it.

His flat tone covers the evident fury still simmering beneath the surface. “No, but I could guess. I had a much better idea with the previous memory because it could have only been that, after the first. After the last , rather, as they seem to be going back in time. Now there might be more surprises. I have no control over what the maze might show you.” He sounds resentful about that.

“You could just tell me everything you know and spare us both the awkwardness,” I suggest bitterly, knowing he won’t.

“If I’m feeling generous, perhaps I’ll give you tidbits,” he says, relaxing more now that perhaps other parts of him have. “Lately, you’ve not been terribly well-behaved, so I’m short on generosity.”

“Who’s treating whom like a pet now?” I say through gritted teeth.

He pats my head with a grin, and I jerk away from him with a growl.

“Such a fierce little witch,” he says.

“I despise you,” I spit with all of the venom I have in me.

“I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”

I don’t doubt it. Gone are the days he looked at me like he did in that memory. But I also know something else lies between us, not quite dead and buried, as he just proved. I feel it, too, I have to admit—the same thing I glimpsed when we both posed as violently amorous statues. Some burning spark that drew us together in the first place, whenever, wherever that was.

Probably best if we both ignore it and get on with hating each other. It certainly makes my task easier. Although… if he gets caught up in our fire again, it could slow him down. Maybe enough for me to escape and beat him to the center of the maze. After all, I need to distract him. Seize any advantage I can.

I ponder this as our little party carries on. Soon, there’s a light not made by the flame that I can see in the tunnel up ahead. We emerge into a round chamber with a deep circular pool in the center, more of an underground cistern, with tunnels branching off around it like the spokes of a wheel. There’s an oculus in the high domed ceiling, sending a shaft of light down to the middle of the pool, but strangely, most of the chamber’s illumination seems to come from the water itself. The cistern sinks to depths I can’t see from where we are, glowing a bright turquoise as if it holds an inner light. I spot a stone plinth in the center of the pool, the top of it a few feet under the surface and lit by the pillar of light, like the axle of this strange wheel. Roots cover half the ceiling and dangle down over the lip of the cistern, dipping into the water, but luckily, they’re on the other side of the chamber from us. Less luckily, we probably need to go through them to go forward.

We all move cautiously toward the edge of the pool. Even Pogli is wary, trying to look without getting too close, leaning back on his claws and sticking out his curly-tailed rear as if the water could drag him in. I can’t help but smile before I turn my attention elsewhere. As we approach, I can see to the bottom of the cistern, a depth of about five or six people standing atop each other. And it looks like there are people down there . But no, they’re only statues, I realize with some relief, lying in heaps like they tumbled there… or were thrown. They’re not moving now. Some of them even look to be half-buried in the bottom, like they’re sunken in mud instead of stone. The sight is eerie, but not unlovely, the light of the turquoise water making the pale marble glow almost silver.

Silver , I think.

Lining the outer edge of the cistern are a few stone steps descending in concentric rings into the water before they drop off entirely. As if inviting one in.

I’m more than invited. I might even have a plan.

“Daesra, please, let me rinse off. Please. ” I don’t mind begging now. Despite the flood that nearly caught us, I’m still filthy, covered in so much dirt, old sweat, dried blood, and chimera saliva that I would trade almost anything for a quick bath, even my dignity. I don’t even have to put my hands together in supplication. They’re already tied like that.

He looks as if he’s about to deny me, and then he takes in my appearance himself. “I suppose it does me a dishonor to have my captive looking like that. Besides, you asked so nicely, and it’s not as if you can really go anywhere, bound as you are.”

My pleading expression turns to a scowl and then to disbelief in short order. “Wait, you’re not even going to untie me long enough to scrub myself?”

“Did you mistake my generosity for idiocy? I’ll help you wash.”

I feel a strange rolling in my stomach at the thought of him touching me.

It’s squashed flat when he adds, “Though I’m half-tempted to just throw you in the depths and watch you sink to the bottom like those statues.”

I toss my head. “Maybe I don’t care to get in, then.”

He sighs and gestures the way forward for Deos. “Set her on the top of the stairs, and don’t throw her in.”

I doubt Deos would follow such an order as drowning me, anyway, though it’s hard to know for sure. I can’t exactly ask him. The statue sets me down in the water as gently as ever, before backing away from the edge as if he doesn’t want to get too near, either. I don’t blame him, not with the other statues lining the bottom. However well he can move for being made of marble, I highly doubt he can swim. Pogli worries at the edge, whining. I doubt he can swim, either, especially after how he handled the flood in the tunnel.

As the cool water closes over my legs and hips, I sigh in ecstasy. I slouch farther in, bringing the level over my breasts to reach my armpits and neck, until I realize I’ve made the once-white material of my tunic nearly see-through. For a brief second, embarrassment flares within me, but there’s not much to be done about it. Besides, Daesra’s probably seen me naked more times than I can count. I wonder if the sight of me might even keep him away . There’s more than one way to use his feelings for me, whether they stem from attraction or revulsion—or perhaps both.

But Daesra approaches and crouches right beside me, slipping his fingers under the neckline of my tunic and grazing the nape of my neck in such a casual, familiar way that my skin tingles from scalp to toes. Never mind that he’s only gathering a handful of the material.

“If you want to duck your head under, I’ve got hold of you,” he says.

I throw my face in immediately, in no small part to douse the heat in my cheeks. I open my eyes under the water, but I can’t see anything more from this vantage than I could before. I shake out my hair as best I can. To my utter surprise, I feel Daesra’s other hand dip in to rub at my scalp. I obviously can’t do it myself, but I can’t fathom why he would bother if he hates me that much. It feels so good I stay under as long as I can. Unfortunately, I need to breathe.

When I come back up, he even parts the sopping hair out of my face for me. I try to ignore how good his nails feel, tracing along my temple and behind my ears as they tuck away the wet strands.

I don’t thank him, because I don’t trust my voice in my strangled throat. His touch feels more familiar than it once did, before the memories. I wonder if that’s how I feel to him now, too, or if he’s always felt that way about me, despite his hatred. If he’s always remembered.

I imagine this might be all I get of a bath—already far more than I expected—but then he reaches in the water to gather up a loose section of my tunic. He squeezes out the grime as best he can, and then passes it over my forehead, cheeks, and neck, scrubbing gently. When he starts on my shoulders and upper arms, I can’t help groaning in pleasure.

“I don’t know why you’re being kind to me,” I say, my eyes half-closed.

“I’m not. It’s more a kindness to myself, since you’re truly disgusting.”

I ignore that last part. “In any case, thank you. And thank you for saving me and Pogli from the flood.” I pause for a moment as he continues to wash me, but I don’t hesitate for long. “So if your mother—the god, I mean, also something of your father—was Sea, does that mean you still have an affinity for water?”

“I actually hate it now, even if I still have some of my previous aptitude for controlling it.” He smiles wryly when I look up at him in surprise. “I’m not terribly buoyant, and hooves don’t make the best paddles.” He gestures down at where they’re planted on the stone beneath the bunched muscle of his folded legs, and my eyes linger. “I didn’t get these from Sea, as you just learned. I tend to sink, so it’s not worth the effort.”

The seed of my plan begins to grow.

“I’m not sure about bulls, but can’t horses swim quite well?” I ask, just to keep him talking. Besides, I won’t pass up the opportunity to compare him to a beast.

“Their large lungs help keep them afloat. It’s as if they’re naturally equipped with inflatable bladders.”

“And you’re naturally equipped with muscle and an even denser skull.” I give him a brazen look from horns to hooves.

He casually flicks water in my face. But right before he does, I spot the corner of his mouth twitch.

I can’t help laughing myself as I wipe my cheek on my shoulder. “So you do have a weakness,” I say teasingly. “Water.” Better to drag the observation out into the day and mock it disarmingly than leave it conspicuously ignored, growing rank enough to smell. “I do hope you bathe sometimes ,” I add for good measure.

“I merely said I hate it, not that I won’t touch it. Obviously.” He waggles his fingers against the surface of the pool, stirring up ripples that lap against my breasts. “I can still manipulate it well enough, as you just saw.”

I feel—and see—my nipples grow hard, and it’s not from the coolness of the water, to which I’ve already adjusted. Perhaps it’s because the water’s touch is like an extension of Daesra’s. But I’m not embarrassed now. It won’t hurt if he notices. I even feel a glow of satisfaction when his red eyes flick down to the obvious points beneath the nigh-transparent material of my tunic, which is already hugging the swell of my breasts.

“And even if I sink,” he adds, sounding slightly distracted, “I can hold my breath for a very long time.” He purses his lips. “I suppose I might have inherited that from Sea—one other thing I didn’t lose in my transformation, aside from the inhuman hue of my skin. Or perhaps it’s simply my natural resilience.”

I find myself staring at those lips, imagining what it would be like to kiss them right this moment. I shake myself internally. Why in the gods’ names am I letting my mind wander while I’m trying to beguile him? There was the memory I just experienced, yes, but that was practically a different life for both of us, however fresh it felt. I can’t lose myself in thoughts of him, at least not to the point of forgetting my plan.

At least my lingering stare will make my little act all the more believable.

“I’ve had just about enough water myself, but thank you for the bath,” I say sincerely, holding his gaze.

He blinks at me, mildly surprised. Pleased. “You’re welcome.”

I cast my eyes down coyly. “And I might beg one more favor.” I let the words steep just long enough for his mouth—his luscious mouth—to tilt into a slight frown. “Give me a hand getting out of here, please?” I briefly raise my own, bound in their mimicry of supplication.

His suspicion turns to amusement, a softness around his eyes I’ve never seen before—at least not in the present. It almost makes me feel guilty. Because when he moves to stand, putting me briefly out of his reach until he can crouch down to lift me, I make my move, pushing off the steps and out into the deeper water. He can’t snatch me back in time, even though he tries. His hand swipes out, catching only air and a few strands of hair, which is helpfully plastered to my head and shoulders, thanks to him.

“Pogli, come!” I cry, but surprisingly the little chimera has already leapt into the water after me. I wonder again if he can swim, but perhaps I should worry about myself first.

Daesra’s thunderous shout splits the air. “ Sadaré !”

Oh, is he furious underneath his surprise. And even a touch worried.

After all, my hands and legs are entirely bound. I expect to feel his power embrace me at any moment, hauling me back. Sinking under the surface with too much ease for comfort, I bite my upper arm viciously, welcoming the pain.

And yet, I can’t do anything with the sensation. My bindings won’t part. The water doesn’t respond to my beckoning.

I don’t have time to wonder at it. I can still swim like this, somewhat, though my head is underwater more often than not while I figure out how to wriggle and wave my body just right. Unlike Daesra, I’m a strong swimmer, even if I can’t remember why. And if my power has no effect here, perhaps his doesn’t, either.

Mine is still a mad and desperate plan—a flimsy hope based on a hunch. Which yet requires the cooperation of the maze in letting me get away from him. With my eyes open in the pool, I can peer below now, at what’s making the water glow.

I spot exactly what I guessed in the depths, tucked behind half-sunken statues.

A mirror.