Chapter 6 Syrrah #2
Something flickers across his face—pain, guilt, determination perhaps? “She was taken, chosen for the Labyrinth like you. I won to search for her.”
“What does she look like? Do you know if all the brides are new each time they are hunted? If not, perhaps I saw her?”
“I don’t know. The Labyrinth is a mystery to me.” He falls silent, rubbing his chest absently. “She has hair much like yours, brown eyes. And she’s beautiful, like you.”
My breath catches at his casual comment.
“The end of the maze,” I say slowly. “That’s where Kasaros said we’d find safety. If your sister has survived—or even if she’s been claimed—that’s where she’d go.”
Rooke nods. “Yes.”
“Then we have a common goal.” I step closer to him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Let me help you search for your sister.”
He’s quiet, and I see him wrestling with something.
Finally, he nods. “It appears we have a deal, lady healer.” Rooke extends his hand, and I take it.
His grip is warm, firm, and he’s in no rush to let go.
Instead of releasing me, he turns my hand slightly, his fingers tracing over my wrist as if committing the feel of my pulse to memory.
His thumb sweeps across the soft skin of my knuckles, a featherlight touch that sends a strange, tingling heat spiraling up my arm.
I should pull away.
I don’t.
A slow smile curls his lips, a flicker of something knowing in his gaze. And then, in a move as effortless as breathing, he lifts my hand, turning it over. His mouth brushes my pulse point—a whisper of warmth, a daring press of lips against the frantic beat beneath my skin.
My breath catches. The moment stretches—too long, too short.
Then, just as easily, he releases me, his grin turning teasing. “Let us be on our way, lest we linger and lose our chance to escape this Godsforsaken place.”
On shaky legs, I follow him, walking in companionable silence. The air grows noticeably fresher, and light filters down more strongly now. I catch glimpses of sky through cracks in the ceiling—pale blue-gray tinged with red from the moon. It seems impossibly vast after so long underground.
“There,” Rooke says eventually, pointing to where the tunnel opens into daylight. “Our way out.”
We emerge into a section of the maze I don’t recognize. The walls here are different—ancient stone covered in trailing vines that seem to pulse with their own life. The air smells green and alive, with an underlying sweetness I can’t quite place.
Rooke scans our surroundings, his hand never far from his sword. Three paths stretch before us, each curving away into shadow.
“Which way?” I ask.
He stands still for a beat, and I wonder how his knowing feels. If it’s like a tug or a lightness that settles upon him.
He points to the rightmost path. “This way leads deeper into the maze.”
“And now we have to watch every direction.” I glance up at the maze walls, remembering how Magnus had seemed to appear from nowhere. “Lovely.”
“Don’t worry.” His grin holds that dangerous edge I’m starting to recognize. “I’ll protect you.” He steps closer, and my breath catches as his fingers brush my cheek. “Though after that display with the ledge, perhaps you’ll be the one protecting me.”
Heat floods my cheek. “We should keep moving.”
The maze stretches endlessly before us, each turn identical to the last. Before long, I’m woefully lost but Rooke leads with confident steps, teasing me and pointing out subtle changes to assist with navigation.
I find myself curious, wanting to know more about him and his world.
“You said in your world women are rare?” I ask, stopping to collect some seedlings that poke their heads from between cracked cobblestones.
“Like diamonds in a coal mine.” He glances back at me, his visible eye twinkling. “Though I’d say you shine considerably brighter.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you really flirt so prettily with all women?”
“Sometimes.” His grin turns wicked. “Though usually I have to try harder. The women of the Crystal Cities are particularly immune to charm—too busy with their magical innovations to notice mere mortals like myself.”
“Crystal Cities?”
“Mmm. They’re located in the mountains of Torm.
Towers of pure crystal, they catch the light and transform it into power.
The women there are scholars, inventors—and absolutely terrifying when crossed.
” He chuckles. “I once tried to charm my way past a Crystal City guardian. Ended up suspended upside down for three days.”
“Serves you right,” I say, fighting a smile. “And the other kingdoms?”
“Well, there’s the iron fortresses of the northern kingdoms, where even the ladies carry steel.
Beautiful but deadly—much like yourself.
” He dodges my swat with practiced ease.
“Though the fertile women there are treated as rare commodities, hidden away in secret temples and trained in preparation for pleasing only their husband.”
That, at least, sounded familiar.
“There’s also the Dragon Peaks, where the drei shifter clans still rule. And of course, the coastal ports, where rogues like myself learn our trades.”
“You mentioned them before. Do you mean shifters? Like monsters?”
He shakes his head. “No, though they can be monstrous. Do you not have shifters in your world?”
“Not for many millennia. The battle of man and beast brought forth the shifters, but their blood line has been slain or hidden. I’ve heard tales that they still dwell on the vast plains but never met one.”
“Mayhap you will when you get to my world.”
I shake my head. “No. I think not. Should we make it to the end of this wretched puzzle, I’ll ask Kasaros to return me to my own world.”
Rooke reaches out, offering his hand to help me across a buckle in the cobblestones. His grip is steady, firm, but as my words settle between us, something changes—a flicker—a tightening of his jaw, a momentary hesitation, the briefest flick of his gaze toward mine before he looks away.
It’s so quick, I almost miss it. Almost.
A tension I hadn’t noticed before coils through his shoulders, taut as a bowstring.
But when he speaks, his voice is as smooth as ever.
“To return to your question, most of the women in my world are revered. Yes, some are held away, never to be gazed upon, protected and trained like dogs to do tricks. But most are fiercely guarded, respected for the beauty, joy, and wisdom they bring to our lives.”
“Was your mother a bride?”
He shakes his head. “No. She was one of the rare few who are born naturally.”
“Like your sister.”
He flinches. “Yes.”
I turn over his words, trying to imagine a world where women are respected. “You said you’re a Raider, what do you mean?”
He reaches down to pluck a stray vine from the ground, twirling it in his fingers. “Do you not have those at home?”
“Not that I’m aware, but then I’m not familiar with most things outside the temple.”
He hands me the vine and I examine it, checking the leaves to identify if it’s friend or foe.
“We ride the winds, searching across seas for new places and ports.”
The vine is auriela, a particularly powerful sleeping agent. If added to heat, the oil from the leaves will seep out, and when digested renders the consumer unconscious. A single drop can steal a week, a whole plant could steal a lifetime.
“Give me your hands.”
Rooke raises an eyebrow as I gently wrap the vine in spare cloth, then place it in my pocket. I uncap my waterskin with my teeth then douse our hands generously.
“Auriela,” I explain. “The oil from the leaves will put you to sleep.”
He wipes his hands on his pants. “A dangerous plant to hold.”
“But powerful. We use it to assist with surgeries or recovery. But it is distilled then diluted. It is the work of the Saints to achieve this.”
“Saints?”
“They rule each of our temples—skilled men and women blessed by the Gods.”
He snorts. “Seems like a life of boredom to me.”
“Perhaps. Do you miss home when you adventure?”
“Home is my ship, Innocence. It’s the open seas with wind in my hair and no shoreline to be seen.”
An ache opens in my chest. He’s seen things I’d lost hope of ever experiencing. “I’ve never seen over the temple walls. I’ve always wanted to see the ocean, but such freedom is foreign to me.”
He halts me with a hand to my arm. “And yet you’d return to your world of walls and weariness?”
I open my mouth to justify my decision, but a sound catches my attention—something between a growl and the scrape of stone against stone, like marble being dragged across rough granite. Rooke freezes mid-step, his body tensing.
“What is that?” I whisper, moving closer to him instinctively.
“Nothing friendly by the sound of it.” He draws his sword in one fluid motion. The blade makes no sound as it clears its sheath—a weapon designed for silence. “Stay close to me.”
The shadows along the maze wall begin to move, but not like normal shadows should.
They writhe and twist, peeling away from the stone like silk being pulled from water.
My heart pounds as they coalesce into something solid—a creature of pure darkness, its form shifting between shapes as if unable to decide what it wants to be.
A cacophony of eyes blink open across its heaving, writhing, shifting mass of a body—burning coals in a face made of smoke and night.
More eyes blink into existence along its length, each one fixing on us with predatory intent.
The beast’s body ripples, stretching and reforming until it towers above us, its mass blocking out the sun.
“When I say run,” Rooke murmurs, “head for the path to the right. Don’t look back.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I protest, gripping his tunic. “I made a promise and I intend to—”
A sound emerges from the creature—not quite a growl, not quite a scream. It’s the sound of wind howling through a grave, of stones grinding in the deep dark. The noise vibrates in my chest, crunches through my ears, and sets my teeth to ache.