Chapter 3 Syrrah
Syrrah
There are two kinds of men, those who take the gamble, and those who are the gamble.”
— RAIDER PROVERB
Istudy Rooke across the flames, weighing my next words carefully.
The fire casts dancing shadows across his features, making his expression impossible to read.
Despite his easy manner, I haven’t forgotten how effortlessly he moved through the darkness or how many weapons he carries beneath his fine clothes.
“I’m a healer, not a player of games,” I say, keeping my tone light.
Rooke’s smile widens. “Everyone plays games, my lady healer. But some choose not to acknowledge the rules.” He reaches into his pack and withdraws a waterskin, offering it to me. “For instance, right now you’re playing the game of survival quite admirably.”
I shake my head. “You first.”
His eyebrow quirks up at my caution, approval glinting in his visible eye.
“Smart girl,” he murmurs. “Trust should be earned, not given freely in this place.”
He takes a drink, then hands the skin over to me.
Thunder rumbles overhead, distant but threatening. The sound echoes through the stone passages, bringing with it memories of Magnus’s pursuit—his booming voice, the cruel promises he whispered. My grip on the waterskin tightens, but I drink deeply, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat.
“We must be close to the surface,” Rooke murmurs, his gaze shifting to the ceiling.
My eyebrows rise in surprise. “You haven’t been here before?”
For the first time, his confident smile falters slightly, replaced by an almost sheepish grin. “Ah, well… no.”
“What do you mean no?”
Rooke shrugs. “I have a knowing, as my pa used to call it.”
“A knowing?”
“That’s right,” he says, straightening. “I know which way to go, no matter where I am. But where those routes actually lead?” He shrugs again. “That’s more of a… pleasant surprise. Though I will say, my gift hasn’t steered me wrong yet. At least, not fatally wrong.”
I frown.
A knowing? Is it magic—or something else? Is it wise to follow a man who might get me killed? I duck my head, already knowing the answer. I don’t have a choice.
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.” His blunt admission catches me off guard. “You shouldn’t trust anyone in this game.”
Before I can respond, Rooke pulls a set of bone dice from his pocket, the ivory surfaces etched with strange symbols. They click softly as he rolls them in his palm.
“How about a game?” His smile holds equal parts danger and charm. “Simple rules—highest roll wins, and the victor gets to ask one question that must be answered truthfully.”
I eye the dice warily. “How do I know they’re not weighted in your favor?”
“Clever girl.” He tosses them to me. “Inspect them yourself. Besides, in the Labyrinth, lies carry… consequences.” His hand unconsciously touches his chest. “The Trickster God may enjoy getting away with mischief, but he despises cheaters within his game.”
I catch the dice, rolling the ivory pieces between my fingers. The bone is smooth, worn from countless throws, the strange symbols seeming to writhe beneath my touch. “These markings—I’ve never seen their like before.”
“Few have. They’re more valuable than the gold you wear.” He gestures to the space between us. “Ladies first.”
“How do I know which is the highest value?”
His smile is swift. “You’ll have to trust I’m honest.”
Arching a brow, I cast the dice. They clatter against the stone, symbols flaring briefly with silver light before settling. Three marks glow faintly upward.
“A fair throw,” Rooke says, scooping up the dice. His fingers dance over them before he casts—two marks show. “It seems fortune favors you. Ask your question, my lady healer.”
“Why did you really help me escape Magnus?” I ask.
A look flickers across his face—a shadow of old pain quickly hidden behind his usual charm. “You remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
His fingers trace the bone dice absently, as if drawing comfort from their patterns. “My sister.” The admission seems to catch in his throat and he flinches, rubbing his chest. “She was chosen for the Labyrinth three seasons ago. I’ve been searching for her ever since.”
I watch him carefully. “You entered the Labyrinth to find her?”
“Among other things.” His smile holds no humor. “You have the same look in your eyes that she did—defiance instead of fear.” He casts the dice. They clatter against the stone, showing a winning throw. “My turn. If you could have anything in all the worlds, what would you choose?”
I expect the question to require thought, but the answer comes instantly, surprising us both. “Freedom.”
The firelight catches the edges of his smile, making it seem almost genuine. “It seems we’re not so different, you and I.”
He offers me the dice and I throw it, winning another question.
I want to probe him further, to understand what he means about freedom, but fear and caution hold my tongue.
“Your eye—how did you lose it?” I ask.
He fingers the eye patch, his touch lingering. “A friend turned foe. Be warned, little maid, no friend is above corruption.”
As we play, I begin to notice patterns in his movements—the way he positions himself between me and the tunnel entrance, how his hand never strays far from his weapons despite his casual demeanor. Every gesture speaks of years of survival, of lessons learned in blood.
Another roll. My victory.
“What happens to the brides who aren’t chosen?” I ask, though I already fear the answer.
Rooke’s face grows grave. “They become part of the Labyrinth. The lucky ones die first.” He gestures at the bones scattered in the shadows. “The others… the Trickster God can be creative in his cruelties.”
Thunder cracks once again overhead, closer now. Rooke cocks his head as if listening to sounds beyond my hearing. “We should rest while we can. The hunters will be moving again soon, and I doubt we’ll remain undiscovered for long.” He offers me the dice. “One last throw?”
I win again. Studying his face in the firelight, I choose my question carefully. “What do you want from me, truly?”
His laugh is soft, almost bitter. “Now that, my lady healer, is the question we’re all trying to answer.” He rises smoothly to his feet, moving to check the warning signals he set near the tunnel entrance. “You should sleep. I’ll take first watch.”
His silhouette remains watchful, but his posture is open, inviting further conversation. I find myself sitting up again, drawing his coat closer around my shoulders.
“I’m not yet tired. How about another round?” I ask, surprising myself.
Rooke turns back to me, that dangerous smile playing at his lips. “Careful, my lady. Curiosity can be as deadly as any blade in the Labyrinth.”
“So can ignorance,” I counter, pleased when his eyebrow lifts in approval.
He settles across from me again, dice appearing in his palm as if by magic. “Your throw.”
The symbols glow silver—four marks. Rooke’s throw shows three but in gold.
“Tell me about your world,” he says. “Fair trade—you’ve heard about mine.”
I feed another piece of kindling to the fire, gathering my thoughts.
“In my world, women are considered lesser beings—weak, in need of protection and control. The only paths open to us are marriage or service.” My mouth twists.
“Healers are… sacred, in a way, but only because we’ve proven ourselves useful.
We train from childhood, learning the properties of every plant, the workings of the body, the flow of life itself.
” I touch the gold bracelet at my wrist. “These mark me as a senior healer. I have pledged myself to the God of healing, sworn oaths that tie me to them.” I stare at it, seeing the golden tattoo beneath.
Kasaros.
Reality hits me as I realize that my former life is forfeit. I am now one of the Trickster God’s brides.
“Are there restrictions that come with such status?” Rooke asks.
I force myself to meet his gaze across the flames.
“Many. We must remain pure of body and spirit. No marriage, no children, nothing but fleeting distractions to avoid calling us from our duty. It’s the price we pay for what little freedom we’re granted.
” A bitter laugh escapes me. “Though one could say those vows do me no good now.”
My fingers trace the gold that marks my status, symbols of devotion that now feel as cold and empty as the stone around us. “I followed every law, kept every vow, and still my God abandoned me to this place of violence and death. Perhaps they never truly listened at all.”
“Your Goddess permits such treatment of her daughters?” There’s a sharpness to his question, like a blade hidden in silk.
“Grayah still reigns, but her power wanes with each generation. The priests say it’s because we’ve grown weak, forgotten the old ways.
That women were never meant to lead. That the feminine has overstepped and must be brought back to balance.
” I shake my head. “But sometimes I wonder if Grayah’s simply grown tired of watching her daughters be bound by laws made by men who cloak them in false holy words. ”
The thought has haunted me for years, whispering in the quiet hours of the night.
If Grayah sees all, if she is the patron of women, does she pity or despise us?
Does she care? Can she hear our prayers?
Our calls for help? Or does she watch in silent resignation, knowing her time, her power, is slipping away just as surely as ours?
I glance at Rooke. “Perhaps one day she’ll leave, like your Goddess did.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he says softly, and for once there’s no trace of charm in his voice. “The price of such abandonment is steep.”
We trade dice, and his next throw wins him another question. “Do you regret it? The path you chose?”
“As a healer?”
He nods.