Chapter 2 #2
I move, grabbing a waterskin and some dried meat from the shelves. If I’m going to trust this man—at least temporarily—I might as well be useful.
Rooke nods approvingly as I pack with the same efficiency he’s shown.
“Here.” He shrugs out of his coat, the movement revealing more weapons than his fine clothing had suggested. “As much as I enjoy your current look,” he says, his grin turning wicked, “I suspect you’ll be more comfortable wearing this.”
My hands falter over the pack as I glance down, catching sight of the damp fabric clinging to my skin, made sheer by the water. Heat rushes to my cheeks.
“Thank you,” I murmur, ducking my head as I hold out a hand to accept his coat.
Instead of handing it to me, he steps closer. Not imposing. Not crowding. Just near enough to settle the coat over my shoulders himself.
His grin doesn’t fade as he helps me shrug it on, his hands brushing my shoulders with an ease that speaks of someone who enjoys toeing the line between charm and provocation. The coat is heavy and warm, its scent a mix of leather and unfamiliar spice, of man and salt.
I glance up to find him studying me, not leering like Magnus, or hungry like the two men whose lives are now forfeit. No, Rooke’s look is assessing and inquisitive—like a man reading a map, trying to decipher the path beneath his fingertips.
He doesn’t move immediately, doesn’t step away. He lingers long enough for warmth to seep between us, for the heat of his body to sink through the damp chill clinging to my skin.
Then his fingers shift, his thumbs grazing the cool, sensitive skin of my neck and clavicle as he fixes the coat into place. A featherlight touch, a brush that is inadvertent but respectful. A spark against my skin.
My breath catches, my body betraying me with a reaction I don’t recognize.
Can I trust him?
His fingers linger, brushing gently at my neck. “These bruises are fresh. Magnus?”
I nod once, watching as his eye darkens. A particularly loud crash makes us both look toward the passage.
“Time to go,” Rooke urges. He moves to the far wall, pressing against a section that looks no different from any other. Stone grinds against stone as a new opening appears. “This way.”
I enter, and he rolls the door closed behind us before stepping around me to lead. He carries the torch easily, lighting our path.
We move quickly through twisting tunnels, Rooke leading with sure steps. Only when the sounds of Magnus’s pursuit have long faded does he slow our pace.
We walk for hours, deeper and deeper into this maze of stone and horror, silent as we pass the bones of those who’d come before.
After what feels like a hundred twists and turns, of backtracking and looping, I finally feel comfortable enough to break the silence.
“How do you know him?” I ask. “Magnus, I mean. You said his name.”
“Ah.” Rooke ducks under a low arch, offering his hand to help me through. “We’re from the same city, though I prefer to run in a somewhat more-refined circle than our friend back there.”
I pause for a beat before accepting, his palm warm and steady against mine.
“The same city? But which—”
He lets go of my hand the moment I’m clear, making no move to linger.
“Questions are better asked when we’re properly settled,” he interrupts smoothly. “There’s a chamber ahead where we can rest. More defensible than these passages.”
I narrow my eyes at his back but say nothing. He strikes me as a man used to avoiding questions. A man who prefers to dictate the terms of conversation.
I’ve certainly met many of them.
The chamber turns out to be another cave, larger than the last. Its ceiling stretches high above us, jagged with stalactites that shimmer faintly in the flickering torchlight.
The air smells damp and earthy, and water drips rhythmically somewhere in the distance.
Most importantly, the cave has only one entrance.
I linger there, unsure if this is a strategic choice or a cage disguised as safety. Rooke has no such hesitation. With practiced efficiency he checks the walls, the ground, the shadows.
“It’s safe,” he declares, shooting me a glance. “You can come in, little maid.”
With nowhere to go and no way to leave this vast cave system, I follow him inside.
Men like him—self-assured, cunning, clever with their words—rarely act without reason. They do not risk themselves for nothing. I have learned enough of the world to know that kindness often has an edge, that debts are collected in ways not always spoken aloud.
So what does he want?
Is it the satisfaction of outplaying Magnus? A favor to be claimed later? Or something more sinister?
I inhale slowly, forcing my body to remain loose, to give no sign of the unease twisting in my gut.
Do not assume kindness. Do not assume cruelty. Let him show you which he is.
I watch him crouch low to inspect the edges of the passage. From his satchel he pulls a handful of small, flat metal discs etched with faint, glowing runes. He places them carefully along the threshold, each one clicking softly as it activates, emitting a faint hum.
“What are those?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder as I use the torch to sweep light across the chamber walls.
“Warning signals,” he replies without looking up. His voice is calm, but his movements are precise and deliberate. “They’ll hum louder if anyone gets close. Not foolproof, but better than being caught unawares. Don’t you have them where you’re from?”
I shake my head, intrigued, watching as his fingers deftly set the discs in a perfect line. “No. In my world, we rely on wardstones and charms. But only the wealthy or powerful can afford them. The rest of us… we make do with watchmen or sleepless nights.”
I keep my tone light, masking the unspoken bitterness beneath my words. The charms my father bothered to employ rarely worked, and watchmen often turned a blind eye to danger—especially toward women.
Using the torch, I sweep its light across the cave floor and walls, searching for anything I can use to build a fire. Near the far wall, I spot a scattering of dry branches and brittle leaves, tucked into a hollow where the damp air hasn’t reached.
As I gather them, my fingers brush over something cold and hard. Pulling it into the light, I find a cluster of small stones, smooth and oddly reflective. They’re unlike any I’ve seen before.
“Interesting find,” Rooke calls from across the cave. He finishes placing the last of the discs and stands, brushing dirt from his hands. “I’d wager those aren’t ordinary rocks.”
I hesitate, the strange stones are cool and smooth in my palm. They glow faintly, as if absorbing and refracting the light of the torch I hold.
“I wonder if they’ll burn,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
“Possibly. Or explode,” Rooke counters with a casual shrug as he saunters over. “That’d make for an unforgettable evening.”
I shoot him a glare, but he only chuckles, crouching beside me to inspect my discovery. His presence is unsettling—not in its closeness, but in the way it seems to fill the space, drawing my attention like the pull of a current.
In my sheltered world, rare are the times I’ve been permitted to be alone with a man not related to me. And now here I crouch, shoulder-to-shoulder with a rogue.
Rooke reaches out, plucking a stone from my hand and turning it over. The glow intensifies briefly, flickering like a heartbeat. We both freeze, our gazes locked on the stone as it pulses faintly in his fingers.
“Well, that’s new.”
I wrap my fingers around the one in my palm, feeling it vibrate against my skin. “It feels... alive.”
“Alive and temperamental, I’d guess.” He sets the stone down carefully atop the pile of branches I’ve gathered, his movements measured. “Let’s not get too friendly with whatever these are just yet.”
The two of us work together in silence, our curiosity tempered by caution. We arrange the stones in a makeshift firepit, surrounding them with the driest wood we can find.
When Rooke strikes a flint against his dagger, the sparks leap toward the stones like iron drawn to a magnet. The kindling catches almost instantly, but it isn’t the wood that burns brightest. The stones blaze to life, their light filling the chamber with a warm, otherworldly glow.
I stare, transfixed. The fire’s light plays across the cave walls, casting intricate patterns that seem to shift and twist like shadows with a mind of their own.
“Look at the shadows. It’s not just light,” I say, awed by the display. “It’s... I don’t know how to describe it.”
Rooke leans back on his heels, his sharp eye reflecting the strange glow. “Magic, maybe,” he muses, though there’s a faint tension in his voice. “Old magic. The kind you don’t find lying around unless someone wanted you to.”
I glance at him, my unease mirrored in his expression. Whatever we’ve discovered, it isn’t ordinary—it belongs to a world we’re only beginning to understand.
For a moment, the crackling of the fire and the distant drip of water are the only sounds in the chamber.
“Well,” Rooke says at last, his grin returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eye. “At least they didn’t explode.”
He busies himself with our bags while I feed the fire, watching the stones happily shuffle across the coal bed. They are living things, moving as if animals. But no animal I know could withstand the heat of the fire.
“Now then,” he says, sitting across from me as I crouch. “You were asking about Magnus, and by extension, my world. Where are you from, maiden?”
I feed the small fire more kindling. “My country is Greeva. Do you know it?”
“Afraid not.” He leans back, shadows dancing across his features. “You see, where I come from, women are as rare as rain in a desert. The feminine Goddess abandoned our world long ago, taking with her the blessing of daughters.”
My hands still on the kindling. The breath in my lungs turns sharp, thin.
“An entire realm without women?”
“World. And not entirely without,” Rooke corrects, his voice taking on an edge of bitterness.
“But few enough there are, and fewer still who are fertile. It is the fertile women that have become prizes to be won, treasures to be hoarded by the powerful.” His mouth twists.
“The world is dangerous for such rare creatures.”
A chill spreads through me, deeper than the damp of the cave, colder than the stone beneath my knees.
My mind catches on his words, latching on to the implications like a snare tightening around my ribs.
His world. Not his land, not his kingdom. His world.
“Your world,” I say slowly. “Then the brides—we’re not from your world at all, are we? The Trickster God takes us from other places entirely?”
“Caught that, did you?” Rooke’s nod holds a hint of approval.
“Yes. Kasaros reaches across the barriers between worlds, plucking those he deems worthy of his game. Some say it’s punishment for worlds that have lost their way, others that it’s a gift to deserving champions.
” He shrugs. “The God’s true motives are his own. ”
“I don’t understand. You said the Goddess abandoned your realm. What happened before that?”
He exhales through his nose, leaning back slightly.
“Long before my time, our world was different. Women were not rare, nor were they seen as prizes. But power is a hungry thing, and over generations, those in control began to limit who could hold it.” He glances up at the ceiling.
“First, women were barred from ruling. Then from certain trades, certain freedoms. The Goddess’s temples were emptied, her sacred places removed.
Little by little, women’s freedoms were taken, until they became dependent, isolated, less and less able to fight back.
When this became too much, the Goddess left, and the ability to bring new daughters into the world left with her.
Natural born daughters are rare in my world. ”
My stomach knots. The removal of freedoms and endless oppression are what I have lived with my whole life. While the feminine Goddess, Grayah, still remains in my world, I imagine it can’t be long before she too chooses to abandon our wretched souls.
“So you use… the Labyrinth? Is this how you… acquire women for your world? Are we prizes?”
“It is both simpler and more complex than that.” Rooke’s fingers play with one of his rings, spinning it absently.
“The Trickster God’s game serves many purposes.
Yes, it brings new women to our realm, but it also maintains a certain…
balance. Instead of wars between kingdoms over every available bride, we have this elaborate dance.
” He gestures at our surroundings. “Champions are chosen from each kingdom to compete for the right to find a bride. Some kingdoms choose their champions through trials of strength, others through contests of wit or skill.” His mouth quirks into a half smile.
“Each realm has its own way of selecting those worthy of entering the Labyrinth.”
My thoughts spin, my mind drawing lines between his words and my own world.
“And you?” I ask, watching firelight catch across the sharp planes of his face. “How were you chosen?”
His dangerous smile returns, but there’s something warm in it now, something that makes my pulse quicken.
“Let’s just say I have a particular talent for getting what I want.
” He gestures at our surroundings. “Though at the moment, I’m simply another player in the Trickster God’s game.
” His eye meets mine, and there’s both challenge and promise in his gaze.
“The question is—what sort of game shall we play?”