7. Chapter 7
seven
B rielle
The silence between Grom and me stretches longer than the winding paths of the Maze. I’ve been following him for what feels like hours, my steps echoing his, trying to piece together this quiet, grumpy man who seems to know every twist and turn like the back of his hand. His pace is steady, purposeful, but he keeps his distance. The tension between us feels like a wall.
I clear my throat, deciding that the silence is unbearable. “What was that creature?” My voice is hesitant, unsure if he’ll even respond.
For a moment, he doesn’t. Grom keeps walking, his eyes focused ahead as if my question hadn’t even reached him. Just as I’m about to repeat myself, he answers, his voice low.
“A southern fiend,” he mutters, almost too quiet to hear.
“A southern fiend?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… comforting.”
He grunts in response, clearly not in the mood for conversation. But I press on. “How do you know your way around here so well?”
There’s another pause before he finally responds. “I’ve lived in the Maze my whole life.”
His words catch me off guard. Lived in the Maze? I want to ask more—how? Why? But before I can, the air around us begins to chill, and I notice the sun sinking lower in the sky. I rub my arms, trying to fend off the chill creeping through my bones.
“We’ll need to camp here for the night,” Grom says, his voice matter-of-fact. “Start a fire. You can collect sticks while there’s still light.”
I glance around, the thickening shadows making the Maze seem even more sinister. “Here? Out in the open?”
He shrugs. “Yes. This spot will do.” He points to a mossy tree, its bark gnarled and ancient, the ground beneath it surprisingly flat.
“But don’t you have a home?” I ask, frowning as I glance around, hoping for some hidden cave or shelter that I hadn’t seen before. “Someplace safer than out here?”
Grom’s eyes darken, his expression hardening. “What I have is none of your concern. You’re still a stranger to me.”
The sharpness of his words stings more than it should, but I roll my eyes, swallowing the retort rising in my throat. Without another word, I turn and head off into the trees, determined to gather the wood he requested.
As I walk, my mind whirls with questions, suspicions that gnaw at the edges of my thoughts. The way Grom seems to know this Maze so intimately, his survival here—it all feels too convenient. Could he have some connection to the Maze King? Could he be working for him? Watching me? I feel so paranoid now.
I wander a little farther from our makeshift camp, eyes scanning the forest floor for sticks. The trees here are thick, their bark covered in strange, dark moss, and the ground is damp beneath my boots. The Maze feels alive, the air thick with something ancient and untamed. There’s an uneasiness that clings to me as I walk, but then my eyes catch movement up ahead.
A small creature, no larger than a house cat, peeks out from behind a twisted tree. It’s covered in sleek, dark fur, with glowing blue eyes that almost seem to pulse with their own light. Long, delicate whiskers twitch as it watches me curiously, and it pads closer, its movements graceful and cautious. Its body is serpentine, coiling slightly as it moves, but its face is almost fox-like, intelligent and alert. A tufted tail flicks behind it, stirring the air with a quiet hum.
I crouch down, mesmerized by the little creature. Its large eyes blink at me, unafraid, and I extend a hand slowly, hoping not to scare it off. To my surprise, it takes a step forward, sniffing the air around my fingers before nuzzling against my palm with surprising warmth.
“Well, aren’t you friendly?” I whisper, running a finger gently along its fur. The creature lets out a soft, musical chirp, almost like a purr, and I can’t help but smile. In a place so full of danger, this tiny, friendly thing is a strange comfort.
I glance back in the direction of Grom, who is still by the mossy tree, busying himself with something out of sight. The creature nuzzles me one last time before slinking back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as it came.
Gathering up a few sticks, I head back to the where we will be setting up for the night, feeling a little lighter than I did before. But as the shadows stretch longer and the air grows colder, the weight of what lies ahead settles back in.
When I return, Grom is already arranging the fire pit, his movements efficient and practiced. He doesn’t look up as I drop the sticks beside him, but I can tell by the way his shoulders tense that he’s aware of my presence.
As I sit beside the log Grom had dragged over, he situates the sticks I’d gathered and starts a fire. I watch him, amazed at how quickly he moves. The heat reaches me and I am grateful as the chill slowly lets go of its grip on me.
My stomach growls loudly, a reminder of the emptiness gnawing at me. I watch Grom as he prods the fire with a stick, his face a mask of concentration. The flames flicker, casting his rugged features in an orange glow. He grumbles under his breath, his voice low but loud enough to reach me.
"Could've had a nice meal if you'd killed the shadowcoil."
I whip around, staring at him in shock. “I would never do such a thing,” I snap, the indignation rising in my chest. My mind flashes to the small creature I’d seen earlier, was that a shadowcoil?. “It wasn’t hurting anyone.”
Grom finally looks up from the fire, his eyes meeting mine with a cold, unflinching stare. “Then you’ll stay hungry.”
My anger flares, and I glare at him, my fists clenching. “You eat those beautiful creatures? That’s horrible.”
He shrugs, unfazed by my reaction. “Beauty means nothing here in the Maze,” he says bluntly, his voice as rough as the stones underfoot. “You’ll learn that soon enough. Everything here, whether it looks beautiful or not, is just trying to survive. That shadowcoil included.”
The weight of his words hangs between us, a grim truth I don’t want to accept. I stare into the fire, trying to push down the lump rising in my throat. “I could never kill something like that,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
Grom’s laugh is low and humorless. “You say that now,” he mutters, turning his back to me as he stirs the fire again. “But the Maze will change you. Hunger changes people. Fear changes people. You’ll see.”
Grom's words feel less like a warning and more like a prophecy. The shadowcoil had seemed so harmless, its glowing eyes watching me curiously. But here, in this twisted world, even the innocent were prey, or worse.
My stomach growls again, louder this time, and Grom looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Still think you’ll survive on principle alone?” he asks, his tone mocking.
I meet his gaze, refusing to back down, but the fire in my chest dims a little. How long could I last with nothing to eat? How much of myself was I willing to sacrifice just to survive? The time seems to move at a slow pace as we sit in silence.
Finally, after what feels like hours, I turn to Grom, curiosity bubbling within me despite the unease in the air. “Why do you stay here? You seem to know your way around; surely you could find a way out.”
He grunts, a low, rumbling sound that echoes through the quiet of the maze. “And where would I go?”
I gesture to the walls, “There are towns out there; places where people live.”
He chuckles, but it’s a nervous sound that barely masks the bitterness in his voice. “You think those towns would accept me?” He gestures to his troll-like form, with its rugged features and hulking stature. “I’m a beast from the Maze. And if it’s so nice out there, then why are you in here? Running from the towns you speak so highly of.”
I roll my eyes, frustration bubbling up. “I told you, I’m here to save someone.”
His laughter is sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Save someone? I sure hope they’re worth saving.”
A moment of silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken thoughts. I take a deep breath, summoning my courage. “Henry. My husband was taken by the Maze King. I am here to save him.”
Grom studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes softening with understanding. “You must really love him to risk your life for him,” he says quietly. “I wonder… would he do the same for you?”
The question hangs heavy in the air, and I feel it strike a chord deep within me. My heart sinks as I meet his gaze, the firelight flickering against the shadows of my doubt. Grom stands up abruptly, his silhouette framed against the dying light. Left alone by the fire, I am consumed by the weight of his words. Would Henry have done what I’m doing for him? Deep down, I know the answer all too well. He wouldn’t.
I sit alone by the fire, letting its warmth soothes the bitterness swirling within me. I should be home, nestled in my bed, safe and sound. Instead, I’m out here; out here for him. But as the flickering flames dance before me, I shake my head; the more I ponder it, the more I realize it’s a lie. Deep down, I wanted this adventure, craved it. I needed to prove myself.
The Maze King may be an insufferable man, but he’s right about one thing: I’m here to prove something, to myself more than anything. Still, he’s mistaken if he thinks he has any real effect on me. His voice echoes in my mind—“My she-wolf”—but I refuse to let it spark anything within. I try to convince myself that his words don’t ignite a heat in my chest. I've never had a man speak to me like that, like I’m more than just a woman, more than a companion or property to a man. He says “ You’re mine” , so maybe hes not all that different.
Yet, there’s a depth to his claim that doesn’t feel like ownership; it feels like a connection, a tether that pulls at my curiosity. I find myself wondering what he truly looks like, how his voice sounds when it isn’t weaving through my mind like a dark, tantalizing whisper.
Suddenly, a piercing shriek disrupts the stillness, followed by a sickening, wet sound that chills me to the bone. Grom returns, a shadowcoil dangling lifelessly from his hand, its body limp and covered in a sheen of fresh blood. My eyes widen, welling with tears at the sight of the creature that had offered me the first glimmer of kindness in this wretched maze.
“Dinner,” he says matter-of-factly, and I watch in horror as he settles down to skin the poor thing.
“How could you?” I yell, my voice trembling with outrage and sorrow.
He looks up at me, his face a mask of indifference. “Just because you’re okay with starving yourself doesn’t mean I am,” he replies, his roughness cutting deeper than I’d like to admit.
I gag at the sight, turning away as the metallic scent of blood wafts toward me, overwhelming my senses. I feel my stomach churn, the bile rising in my throat. Without a second thought, I stand and move toward the clearing near the mossy tree, seeking solace in the shadows as I attempt to distance myself from the gruesome scene. I settle against the rough bark of the tree, its texture digging into my back as I try to find some comfort. Sleep; it feels like the only escape from this twisted reality. But just as I start to nod off, the smoky aroma wafts through the air, jolting me awake. My stomach protests loudly, a reminder of its hunger. I glance over my shoulder and see Grom tending to a stick over the fire, the meat sizzling and crackling as it cooks. The smell is absolutely intoxicating, drawing me in against my will. I turn away, guilt twisting in my gut. He brutally slaughtered that creature; I refuse to eat it. The hypocrisy of my own choices isn’t lost on me, after all, I’ve cooked lamb and other meats in my life, but there’s something primal, almost barbaric, about this.
Grom’s voice cuts through the tension. “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”
I choose silence, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I focus on the sounds of him eating—the squelching, the satisfied moans that send a new wave of hunger through me. My stomach growls again, louder this time, reminding me that I’m still a mere mortal, craving sustenance.
“Will you deny yourself nourishment just to prove a point?” he calls out, the taunting lilt in his voice unmistakable. “And what point is that? That you’re better than those in this maze? You’re not better; you’re stupid. A foolish woman chasing after a man, willing to die of starvation before you ever get the chance to prove your worth.”
I can’t let his words slide. “And what point do you think I’m trying to make?” I call back, my voice sharp.
“That you are more,” he replies, his tone devoid of any mockery, leaving me momentarily taken aback. More? More than what? More than just a victim?
After a moment of deliberation, I finally push myself off the ground, my muscles protesting as I stand. I can feel Grom’s eyes on me as I walk over to the fire, the heat embracing me like a long-lost friend. My gaze falls to the piece of meat he holds out, its charred edges glistening in the firelight, tempting and repulsive all at once.
With a tentative hand, I take it from him, feeling the warmth seep into my skin. My heart races as I bring it closer, inhaling the smoky aroma. Grom watches me, an inscrutable expression on his face, half curiosity, half amusement.
As I bite into the meat, the flavors explode in my mouth—smoky, savory, rich. It’s been far too long since I’ve tasted anything this satisfying. I chew slowly, savoring the unexpected delight.
“Maybe there’s hope for you after all,” Grom says, a teasing edge to his voice, breaking through my reverie.