Chapter 17 Rooke
Rooke
A healer who fears pain will never be trusted with a wound.”
— HIGH SAINT ELIAH
My dreams are filled with shadows and burning eyes. I see Keo as he was before all this began—brilliant and eager, his hands constantly in motion as he explained his latest invention.
“It’s not just about reaching between worlds,” he’d explained, his eyes bright with excitement as he showed me the strange device. Metal and crystal and something that glowed with inner light. “It’s about understanding them. Mapping them. Think of what we could learn, Rooke!”
I’d smiled, ruffling his hair despite his protests. “Just be careful. Some doors are better left closed.”
But caution had never been Keo’s strong suit. Not when knowledge beckoned.
The memory shifts, darkens. Now it’s Craven standing before us, his massive frame blocking the doorway to Keo’s workshop, his expression thunderous.
“You’ve gone too far this time,” he’d growled, throwing a crumpled letter onto the table. The seal of the Underworld Kingdom was broken but still visible on the parchment. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Whose attention you’ve attracted?”
Keo had paled but stood his ground. “I sent letters to several kingdoms. The theory is sound, Craven. It could change everything. We could have peace. We might be able to have children. Families.”
“This could get you killed,” Craven countered, his voice dropping lower. “Gorbain doesn’t fund research out of scholarly interest. He wants weapons. Power. And now he knows you can give it to him.”
I’d picked up the letter, scanning its contents with growing unease. Flowery language disguising sinister intent—an “invitation” to continue Keo’s research under the Underworld King’s “generous patronage.”
“We’ll refuse,” I said, crumpling the parchment again. “Politely, of course.”
Craven’s laugh had been harsh, humorless. “You think it’s that simple? That he’ll just accept a refusal and move on?” He’d grabbed Keo by the shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. “Listen to me. Men like Gorbain don’t ask. They take.”
Keo had pulled away, frustration evident. “So what would you have me do? Abandon my work? Pretend my research couldn’t result in more women, more wives, more females in this Godforsaken world?”
“If necessary, yes,” Craven had replied, his tone softening. “Or at least until we can secure proper protection. The Dragon Lords might—”
“The Dragon Lords are isolationists,” Keo interrupted, pacing now. “They haven’t involved themselves in mainland affairs for generations.”
“They might for this,” I suggested, already calculating distances, supplies needed for such a journey. “If what you’ve found is as significant as you believe.”
Keo had paused, considering. “It would take weeks to reach them. Months before we’d have an answer.”
“Then we’d better start soon,” Craven said firmly. “Pack only what you need. We leave at first light.”
But we never made it to the Dragon Lords.
The memory fragments, shards of that terrible night piercing through the protective fog of time. Flames consuming our small home at the edge of the port. Craven’s roar of defiance as Gorbain’s men surrounded us. The sickening crack of wood giving way beneath an axe.
“Run!” Craven had shouted, blood streaming from a gash across his forehead as he held the doorway against three attackers. “Get Keo to safety!”
I’d hesitated, my sword already drawn, unwilling to leave him.
“Go!” he’d insisted, his eyes meeting mine one last time. “I’ll follow when I can.”
We both knew it was a lie.
I’d grabbed Keo, dragging him toward the hidden passage we’d used as children to sneak in and out undetected. He’d fought me, screaming Craven’s name as the sounds of combat grew more desperate behind us.
We’d made it as far as the docks before they caught us. Too many to fight, too well trained to evade. I still took down four before a blade found my eye, sending me crashing to the wooden planks in agony.
The last thing I’d seen before darkness took me was Keo being dragged away, his face bloodied but still defiant.
“Keo!”
A gentle touch to my forehead pulls me from my nightmare. I open my eye to find Syrrah leaning over me, concern etched across her features.
“You were dreaming,” she says softly. “Calling out.”
I catch her hand, anchoring myself to her warmth, to the present. “Old ghosts.”
“Keo?”
“Among others.” I sit up, wincing as my wounds protest the movement. The cave is still dark, the strange crystals overhead providing just enough light to see by. “How long was I asleep?”
“A few hours.” She moves back, giving me space. “Dawn’s still some time away.”
I study her in the dim light, noting the shadows beneath her eyes, the tension she still carries in her shoulders. She hasn’t truly slept, I realize. Too wary, too wounded by my betrayal to fully let down her guard.
“You should rest,” I tell her. “I’ll take watch now.”
She hesitates.
“Please,” I add quietly. “You’re no good to either of us exhausted.”
After a moment, she nods, settling on the other side of the small cave, her back to the wall, her dagger still within easy reach. “Wake me if anything changes.”
“I will.”
But even after her breathing evens out, I find myself unable to look away. This woman who’s come to mean more to me than I ever thought possible.
I trace the burn marks on my chest.
Keo or Syrrah.
Duty or love.
The thought forms before I can stop it—is there truly no other way?
The end of the Labyrinth calls to us, promising answers, choices, resolution. But what if those choices are just as impossible as the ones I face now?
Whatever comes, I will find a path that saves them both. That much, at least, I owe to Craven’s memory. To Keo’s suffering. To Syrrah’s trust.
To the man I still hope to become.