Chapter 12
Syrrah
As a drei is drawn to fire, so too are hearts drawn to love.”
— FROM THE LOST TEACHINGS OF THE HIGH PRIESTESSES OF AMARA
Morning comes softly at the Wanderer's Rest—pale light filtering through gauzy curtains, the distant sound of birds, the smell of fresh bread and coffee drifting up from below.
Wrapped in warm blankets with the memory of Rooke's touches still singing in my skin, I can almost pretend we're somewhere safe.
But when I stretch and open my eyes, I find Rooke already dressed and watching me from a chair by the window. His expression makes my grin fade and heart stutter.
"What's wrong?" I ask, pulling the sheet to my breast.
His smile seems strained. "Everything." He runs a hand through his hair—a gesture I'm learning means he's troubled.
Does he regret last night?
The thought strikes like a blow, sudden and sharp, winding me.
My stomach clenches, my skin cooling despite the warmth of the blankets.
Had it only been me caught in the rush of it all?
The riot, the joy, the sheer, unrelenting want?
I study him, the rigid set of his shoulders, the tightness around his mouth.
He looks like a man bracing for impact, like someone who has already lost a battle and is waiting to lose the war.
"We should go down. Jorrid will be serving breakfast.”
I allow him this retreat. For now.
The common room is quiet in the morning light. Most of the ghostly patrons have faded with the dawn, leaving only a few scattered figures nursing cups of tea or ale. Their translucent forms seem more obvious now, like frost on a window slowly melting away.
Jorrid stands behind the bar, methodically wiping glasses that probably don't need cleaning. When he sees us, something flickers across his face—sympathy? Sorrow? No, it looks like yearning.
"Sit," he says, gesturing to the stools before him. "I'll fetch you something to eat."
The breakfast he brings is simple but perfectly cooked—fresh eggs, crusty bread still warm from the oven, thin slices of smoky ham. But the food loses its enjoyment as I notice how Rooke barely touches his plate, how tension radiates from every line of his body.
In this place where truth must be spoken, I’m unsure if I wish to know the answer to the question I want to ask.
"Tell me about your inn," I say to Jorrid, trying to break the strange mood that's settled over us. "How did you come to be here in the Labyrinth?"
Jorrid’s hand stills, his expression growing distant.
"My sister was taken, like so many others.
I fought my way into the games, determined to save her.
" His mouth twists. "Failed, of course. Her game had already been played.
When I couldn't leave, I bargained with the Trickster God, and he agreed to grant me this boon.
And so I built this place. Made something useful of my failure. "
"I'm sorry. What was her name?"
“It is—”
An unnatural hush falls over the room, the ambient sounds of clinking glasses and ghostly murmurs abruptly silenced. The air thickens, pressure building as if before a storm. Even the light seems to dim, shadows stretching unnaturally across the floor.
Jorrid freezes, his knuckles whitening on the bar.
"Well now," says a voice that is all too familiar. "Isn't this cozy?"
The Trickster God materializes beside me, filling the empty chair as if he'd been there all along. His mask shifts subtly between expressions, the eternal laugh lines deepening, then relaxing, then twisting into a sneer-like expression.
"Kasaros," Jorrid says, the name falling from his lips like a curse.
"My favorite failure," Kasaros replies, gesturing lazily. "Still playing innkeeper to the lost and damned, I see."
The remaining patrons retreat, their spectral forms pressing against the walls, fading further into transparency as if trying to disappear entirely.
"Your game, your rules, my lord." Jorrid picks up a glass with careful precision. "I merely make the best of the hand I’m dealt."
"Ever the dutiful servant." Kasaros's mask shifts, his smile widening impossibly. "Tell me, do you still mourn for little Valentina?"
Jorrid's expression hardens, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he refuses to answer.
I watch as Kasaros seems to lose interest in the innkeeper. He taps his fingers on the bar, each impact sending ripples through the wood like stones dropped in still water. He hums softly to himself, then turns his attention to me, his burning eyes fixed with unnerving focus.
His head tilts, bird-like and curious. "Are you enjoying my hospitality, maiden?”
I resist the urge to shrink back. Instead, I meet his gaze steadily, though my heart hammers against my ribs. "I've enjoyed very little since being stolen from my world."
Kasaros laughs, the sound like crystal chimes in a hurricane. "Stolen? My dear, I only pluck the worthy. The special. The ones whose worlds have squandered their gifts." He leans forward, his mask now inches from my face. "Do you really miss your cage so much?”
His words hit too close to home, and I can't suppress a flinch.
"Leave her be," Rooke says, his voice low and dangerous. He moves, positioning himself partly between me and the God, though it would make little difference if Kasaros decided to act.
"How gallant." Kasaros turns his burning gaze to Rooke. "The valiant protector." His mask shifts again, the smile turning cruel. "Tell me, Captain Rooke, have you found what you came for? That dear sister you're so desperate to rescue?"
Rooke tenses, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "My search continues."
"Does it now?" Kasaros glances around theatrically. "Strange. I don't see any sign of her." He leans forward, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. "Perhaps you should look harder. Or perhaps….” His mask shifts again, the smile now sharp enough to cut. "Perhaps it is time to tell the truth."
I glance at Rooke, confused by the sudden rigid set of his shoulders, the way his fingers have curled into fists.
"After all," Kasaros continues, reaching out to tap Rooke's chest with one long finger, "lies have consequences in my Labyrinth. As you well know."
Rooke flinches, and a cold lump settles in my stomach.
"What is he talking about?" I ask, looking between them.
Kasaros claps his hands together with delight. "Oh! Have we secrets between lovers? How delicious." He turns to Jorrid. "Innkeeper, you know the rules of my establishment. Truth must be spoken within these walls, must it not?"
Jorrid's expression tightens further. "It is the price of sanctuary."
"Indeed." Kasaros turns back to us, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on interlaced fingers. "So, Captain, tell us more about this sister you're searching for. What is her name again?"
The question hangs in the air, heavy and dangerous. I watch Rooke, sensing his struggle, seeing the pain etched across his face.
"Her name," Rooke begins, then stops, his hand moving unconsciously to rub at his chest.
"Yes?" Kasaros prompts, leaning forward eagerly. "Do go on."
Rooke closes his visible eye, pain etching deep lines around his mouth. "I don't have a sister."
His words hit like a physical blow. "What?"
"I don't have a sister," he repeats, still not looking at me. "I never did."
I shake my head as if I can dislodge the words, make them mean something different. "But you said… you told me….”
"I lied." He finally meets my gaze, and the pain there stops my breath. "I came to the Labyrinth for my brother, Keo. He's being held by the Underworld King. The price of his freedom is a bride.”
"Me. You meant to give me to your king?"
"Yes.”
The single word shatters everything I thought I knew. Every touch, every kiss, every moment of tenderness—all of it built on lies. My breakfast turns to ash in my stomach as memories replay with horrible new context.
Let me worship you, he'd whispered upon waking me for the third time. Let me love upon you, my Syrrah.
Had he been assessing my worth? Making sure the merchandise was pleasing for his master's taste?
Realization slams into me. “Your burns, the sin you said. They were for the lies you told while in this game.”
“Yes.”
I stand so quickly my stool topples backward. Rooke reaches for me, but Jorrid's hand shoots out, catching his arm in an iron grip.
"Not here," the innkeeper says, his voice hard as steel. "This is a place of truth, hunter. Did you think you could bring your lies into my inn without consequence?"
"I never meant—" Rooke starts, but I cut him off with a laugh that sounds harsh and bitter.
"Never meant what? To deceive me? To use me? To make me trust you just so you could sell me to another master?" The words taste like poison on my tongue. "Were any of your words true? Or it an act to seduce me for your king?"
"Syrrah, please—"
"Don't." I back away, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall. "Don't say my name like that. Like you care."
"I do care!" He tries to stand but Jorrid's grip holds him fast. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't expect—"
"Didn't expect what? That I'd be a person instead of a prize? That I might actually believe your pretty lies about freedom and choice?" My voice cracks. "Or that I'd be stupid enough to fall for your charm? To want to love you?”
The words hang in the air between us, sharp as broken glass.
“Syrrah—”
From the corner of my eye, I see Kasaros watching, his mask now a display of pure delight, drinking in our pain like fine wine.
"How fascinating," he murmurs, tapping one long finger against his mask. "Such passion, such hurt. It makes the game so much more... entertaining."
I turn to him, a fury I've never felt blazing through me. "Is that all this is to you? Entertainment? Playing with people's lives, their hearts?"
His head tilts, considering. "What else would it be, little bride?
The universe is vast and eternity is... tedious.
Your brief lives—they are the sparks that illuminate the endless dark.
" He rises, towering over the table. "But the game continues, regardless of your feelings on the matter.
The finale awaits. The choice remains." He glances between us.
"Though perhaps not the choice you expect. "
With that, he vanishes—not gradually, but between one blink and the next, leaving nothing but the echoing sound of his laughter.
I'm done. Done with men who think they can decide my fate. Done being a pawn in someone else's game. I want to riot, to ruin, to rage against the injustices visited upon me. Every man I’ve ever loved has betrayed me. First my brother by dying, then my father by throwing me away, and now Rooke.
My heart cannot take another betrayal.
I turn and run, through the common room, past the ghostly patrons who seem to bow in my wake, and out into the maze beyond. I run until my legs shake and my lungs burn, until the sound of my own sobbing drowns out all other noise.
When I finally stop, I have no idea where I am.
The maze walls loom around me, as cold and unforgiving as the truth I've just learned.
I press my back against the stone and slide down until I sit in the dirt, my arms wrapped around my knees.
Tears fall freely now, but I make no move to wipe them away.
Stupid, I berate myself. Stupid to trust him. Stupid to believe someone like him could want someone like me.
All my life, men have decided my fate. My father giving me to the temple. The priests binding me with vows. And now Rooke, planning to trade me to yet another master.
But this time… this time will be different.
I push myself to my feet, wiping away the last of my tears. I still wear Eryn's stolen boots and carry Peitr's dagger at my hip.
Let them come—Magnus, Rooke, the Underworld King himself. I am done being anyone's prize. I am going to save myself.