Chapter 3 Syrrah #2
“Truth be, I didn’t choose it. When my mother and brother died, my father couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.
He thought if I became a healer, I’d be safe.
Protected. In our world, a woman needs the protection of a husband or the sanctuary of service.
He chose the latter for me, thinking it the safer path. ”
I roll the dice between my fingers, watching the firelight glint off their worn edges.
There was never a moment where I was asked what I wanted. No pause for my opinion, no space for my dreams. One day, I was a child with a thousand possible futures. The next, I was told what I would become.
“I’m sure my father meant well,” I add, though the words feel hollow. “But the Gods have a cruel sense of humor, it seems.”
Rooke studies me, the flickering light casting his expression in shifting shadow. He doesn’t speak right away, and for that, I am grateful. I don’t know what else I would say.
Regret. Resentment. Relief. I have felt all of them at once, twisting together until I no longer know which one is truly mine.
I was given a path, and I followed it. And now that path is gone.
My next throw reveals five glowing marks. “You mentioned kingdoms in your world. Tell me about them.”
“Ah, now there’s a question I can answer.
” Rooke leans back, shadows playing across his features.
“There’s the Iron Kingdoms to the north, where strength rules and warriors are forged in endless winter.
The Crystal Cities lie to the east, where magic and technology blend into an alchemy neither wholly arcane nor mechanical.
And then there are the Dragon Peaks, where the last of the great shifter clans still hold their ancient territories, ruling the skies as both man and beast.” A hint of something like awe creeps into his voice.
“They say the drei lords were the last to see our Goddess before she departed. Some still wear scales of gold and silver, marking them as her chosen, though that means little now.”
His expression shifts as he continues. “And then there’s the ports along the coast, where….” He hesitates, then smiles. “Where men like me learn our trades.”
“Men like you?” I ask.
“Uh-uh, one question at a time,” Rooke says as his next throw wins. “Your name, healer. You know mine.”
I hesitate only briefly. “Syrrah.”
“Syrrah,” he repeats, as if tasting the sound on his tongue. “What does it mean?”
“Innocence.”
He chuckles, a low, amused sound, and tosses the dice with a flick of his wrist. “It’s a name you wear well, maiden.”
My brows knit together, and I narrow my gaze. “Why do you say it like that?”
Rooke’s grin widens, his visible eye glinting with mischief. “Like what?”
“Like it’s some kind of joke,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend.
He leans back, utterly unbothered by my tone, and shrugs with infuriating ease. “I suppose it’s… unexpected.” His smirk softens, turning almost thoughtful. “You’ve the look of someone who’s seen more than her fair share of trouble. Innocence doesn’t quite fit—but that’s what makes it interesting.”
My jaw tightens at the subtle mockery beneath his words, but I say nothing, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
The dice clatter to a stop between us, their symbols glowing faintly in the firelight. Rooke tilts his head, gesturing toward them with a lazy flick of his hand.
“Your turn,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, threaded with a hint of challenge.
Another throw, another victory for me. “Earlier, you said lies carry consequences in the Labyrinth. What did you mean?”
Rooke’s hand goes to his chest again, though this time I’m certain he isn’t aware of the gesture.
“The Trickster God marks his chosen—hunters and brides alike. Break your word in here, and the mark burns. Tell too many lies….” He shrugs.
“Well, let’s just say I’ve seen men driven mad by their own deceptions. ”
The dice roll again, falling in his favor. His eye meets mine across the flames, and there emotion in his gaze makes my breath catch. “What do you make of me so far, my lady healer?”
I consider my words carefully, aware of the weight the Labyrinth places on truth. “I think you’re dangerous,” I say finally. “But I’m not yet sure if that danger is directed at me.”
“Perceptive,” he murmurs, and for once his smile seems genuine.
I try to stifle a yawn, the events of the day suddenly weighing heavy on my shoulders. The fire has burned lower, casting deeper shadows across our small sanctuary. Even Rooke’s constant movement has slowed, though his attention to our surroundings never wavers.
“Enough games for tonight, I think,” he says, noting my fatigue. The dice disappear into his pocket as swiftly as they’d appeared. “The hunters will be moving again soon, and we’ll need our strength.”
“You should rest too,” I say, fighting another yawn.
His smile softens slightly. “Sleep, Syrrah. I’ve spent enough nights in places worse than this one to know one of us needs to keep watch.”
I make to shrug out of his coat, but he gestures at me to keep it. “The stone gets cold at night.”
I curl up on my side, pulling the edges close around me, its scent of leather and spice now oddly comforting.
The leather is softer than I’d expected, worn smooth by years of use.
Thunder still rumbles overhead, but here in our sanctuary, it seems distant, muffled by layers of ancient stone.
The fire’s warmth touches my face while cool air from the tunnels whispers against my back, a strange lullaby in this place of danger and shadow.
“Rooke?” I murmur, sleep already tugging at my mind.
“Hmm?”
“If you’re lying about knowing the way out….” I let the threat hang unfinished between us.
His soft laugh holds a note that sounds almost like respect. “Sleep well, my lady healer. I’ll wake you if the monsters come.”
Despite my determination to stay alert, exhaustion drags at my limbs.
My thoughts begin to drift, fragments of the day’s terrors mixing with memories of home—Father’s face, the sweet scent of healing herbs, the weight of promises I’d made.
All of it seems to belong to another life now, another woman who hadn’t yet learned what it meant to run from monsters in the dark.
The last thing I see before sleep claims me is Rooke’s silhouette against the fire, dice dancing between his fingers.