Chapter 49
DRYSTAN’S INTERFERENCE SPURS me on. He wouldn’t go to all this effort to distract and derail me if he wasn’t worried. And he wouldn’t be worried unless I was getting close to the final gate.
I push on toward nightfall, something in my chest telling me which turnings to take. Instinct, the Collector’s spirit whispering in my ear, or just plain hope, I have no idea, but I make good progress.
That night, I refuse to go to Drystan. I refuse to attend his court. Instead, I take meals in my room with the cat, and Min and Asti join me for lunch, but otherwise I rest and ready myself.
Tomorrow is my penultimate day in the labyrinth, and I don’t intend to get distracted again. When I close my eyes, the mountain gates are close enough that I can see the napped facets of their columns, the razor edges where they open.
I’m close. I’m so close.
It takes two cups of vervain tea before I drift toward sleep. Thankfully, they grow it in the glasshouse. I can imagine sleeplessness is the kind of complaint the unseelie wouldn’t see as a weakness but as a sign of strength and vigor.
I wake before dawn, get dressed and pack my bag. I’m standing at the window, shoulders squared, taking in the first rays of the sun, when I’m transported to the labyrinth.
I land, already walking. I follow the pull in my chest at each turn. It steers me true, even though my heart aches for the empty space at my side, and the further I go, the thicker the moldering, pulsing corruption grows.
The final gate takes up my entire view, blocking out the sky. I could toss a pebble and hit it from here. There must only be a few corridors between me and it. Must be.
I’m going to make it.
I’m going to fucking make it.
Especially as there’s a stone arch ahead, and beyond it, a long uphill path. The gateway to the last tier.
I pause at the threshold, searching for any monster or puzzle.
It’s more like a causeway, stretching upward, punctuated by more arches, a sheer drop to either side.
Not only a sheer drop, but nothing beneath, as though this was all one single piece of rock and the winding way has been hewn from it. Below, there’s only darkness.
It’s uncomfortable to look at—disobeying some fundamental law of the universe.
Perhaps it’s going to fall as I cross. Nothing marks the way—symbols or stones in specific shapes, suggesting I need to work out the correct order or avoid touching the wrong letters or spell out some word in the unseelie’s ancient tongue.
I could run. But not that far. Or I can tread carefully. That plays much more to my strengths.
Lightly, I step through the first arch.
Breath held, I listen for the crack of grind of breaking rock. The causeway stands solid.
I nod. Take another step. Wait.
It seems this isn’t that kind of challenge.
I keep my head down and forge ahead, avoiding the tendrils of corruption winding their way along the causeway. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. I should be nearing the next archway.
Except, when I look up, it doesn’t seem any closer than when I set off.
Frowning, I cock my head. It must be a perspective trick—something to do with where I’m standing. A short rest gives my thighs and hips the chance to recover from the light ache before I set off again.
This time, I keep my head up, gaze locked on the arch.
I walk. And walk. And walk. And walk.
And it gets no closer.
What the hells?
Looking back, the entrance is far, far away, and the causeway seems narrower than I realized. If I stumbled, I could easily fall off the edge.
What if I have an episode? Consulting my notebook, I count back. It’s been days. I’m due one. Before I left home, I was having to take belladonna every couple of days. If that happens in here and I don’t realize in time…
My pace slows.
I’m alone. With Drystan’s taunts, Min’s appearance, and the Collector’s strange but sweet company, I hadn’t felt it before now.
If I fell and hurt myself…
I could hit my head. Smash it on the cold, hard stone. No one would know. Sure, Drystan shows up sometimes, but after I told him to leave me alone, I don’t expect to see him until I reach the final gate.
If I reach it.
“I will,” I mutter. And when my heart slows, it gives me enough warning to sit safely rather than falling. I can take belladonna. Haven’t I been looking after my medication and managing my heart for years?
My strides lengthen. The way eases.
Lightheaded, I look up and find myself at the stone arch. The sense of connection in my chest snares into a knot as I pass under it.
No walls, just a chasm. Just oblivion. Only a few feet of slippery black stone stands between me and it.
Besides, I don’t need to fall to fail. My body already fails me every day. I’m weak. Damaged.
Why worry about falling when I’m dying anyway?
I swallow, throat tight and thick with the threat of tears. Everything spins as I rub my head, and my knees shake with each step. “I can do this,” I wheeze.
Alone, what chance do you stand? A small voice in the back of my skull.
None at all.
I might as well give in.
I might as well throw myself on the ground and cry. It’s not like I’m going to succeed anyway.
It feels like an age before I reach the next arch. I stagger as I pass under its shadow.
See how slowly you go? How hopeless this is? Why bother? You’ll never succeed.
It’s right. I’m right.
But my brother. I can’t let him come here. I need to stop him—to save him.
My legs steady. Teeth gritted, I push on—and every step truly is a push, like there’s an invisible weight on each thigh.
Of course you’re right. You poor thing. You were never meant to succeed.
I ignore the thought. Try to. But it’s persuasive, especially as a truth I’ve always known threads through it.
I wasn’t made for this.
Oh, child. It isn’t you. He didn’t even tell you, did he?
“Tell me?”
No one has ever made it through the labyrinth. And every other supplicant was fae. As a human, what chance do you stand?
I stop. “No one?”
No one.
I let out a broken laugh, half-hysterical. What a fool. To think I could win. Such pride. Such foolish, foolish pride.
My knees hit solid stone.
I’m trapped here. Forever.
Vision blurring, I stare at the next gate.
It’s miles away. Or might as well be.
I crawl, the weight of despair full upon me. With each shuffle of my knees over rock, the sun gets lower.
Somehow, I make it to the next arch. Its bleak black rock towers over me. Passing through it feels impossible.
Arms shaking, heart heavy, I crawl beneath its shadow.
I’m dying. Does it matter how it happens? Or when or where?
Why am I bothering with this?
With anything?
I should just lie here and let it come.
So I do.
The cold ground bites into my cheek, my chest, my thighs. I stare across the endless chasm.
The sun dips out of view, casting darkness upon me. I can’t bring myself to care. I barely shiver at the creeping cold of the closing dusk.
Overhead, a raven’s caw splits the air.
I don’t turn to check which one it is. I just watch the sun setting upon the labyrinth and upon me.
I have these few minutes and then just one day left.
It would be impossible, even if I had a year.