Chapter 28
I PAY FOR it the next day.
The wine lied.
I can’t have fun and function. Every step is misery.
I don’t even have it in me to be cheerful about Min giving me a large ball of red string to help track my path, after I mentioned neither chalk nor charcoal are able to mark the labyrinth’s stone and the Collector seems less sure of direction the deeper we go.
The string unravels behind me as I trudge forward, using the wall for support. I avoid the flickering bloom in the stone. There’s more of it here, oozing a matte, black substance. I should probably look more closely at it, but if I stop, I’m not sure I’ll be able to start up again.
We’ve hit three dead ends already today, and the string has saved us having to remember which direction we came from. The Collector constantly glances at me, worried. I don’t have the energy to reassure them.
With every movement, my joints remind me why I have to stay warm. The cracking of my knees sounds alarmingly like twigs breaking.
I want to tell myself the fun was worth it. I want to believe that making the King of Death laugh is an achievement that softens the pain and lightens the lead in my muscles. I even try to convince myself that the scattered hours of sleep I’ve had since entering the labyrinth are enough.
But my gods, none of it is true.
So I stare ahead, place one foot in front of the other and just try, try to keep moving.
I couldn’t even bring myself to eat when I got here, thanks to the sickly, acidic feeling in my stomach, so I’m running on nothing but determination. And right now, determination seems fucking stupid.
But this is my sixth day, and I need to get to the fourth tier by tomorrow if I’m going to stay on track.
I need to get back to Lowen. I need to get home.
“I need to.”
“Annon? Didn’t you hear me?”
I jump at the sound of Drystan’s voice at my shoulder, but I don’t have the energy to turn. No sound of the Collector’s shuffling gait beside me. They must’ve fled when he arrived.
“What?”
“You dropped something.” He appears at my side, smirking and holding out…
Balled-up string.
Red string.
That’s attached to the ball of string in my hand.
I stare at it. I blink. That’s that, then.
I press the remaining string into his hands, turn and keep going.
Fuck you. The words chime in my head but I don’t have the energy to say them.
I just need to keep going.
“Is that it?” he calls after me.
I just need to keep…
“I thought you’d at least call me a prick or perhaps something more imaginative, knowing you.”
I just need…
The ground rushes up. Strange. It shouldn’t move like that.
Then it disappears.
Something grabs me. The Collector? Or a monster? I don’t have it in me to fight.
“Rhiannon?” It shakes me, then Drystan’s face appears. “Annon?”
He’s got me. Right. That makes more sense. Not a monster. Though his eyebrows peak together in a way I’ve never seen before and he’s surveying me like I’m turning into a monster.
I should push him away. I should pull myself upright and press on.
I can’t.
“Fucking hells,” he mutters. “I thought you were dead.”
“Bad luck.” I manage to shake my head, though it makes the world spin. Only his face, crowding over me remains still—an anchor. “Just tired. Just need a sit down. Some rest. I’m fine.” I’m trying to smile when everything goes dark.