Chapter 19
Rooke
It is not death that men fear, but the idea that they were never the ones in control of it.”
— CARVED INTO THE BLACK THRONE
The heart of the Labyrinth calls like a siren’s song.
I feel it as we walk—that familiar pull growing stronger, but there’s a darkness that creeps along the edges of my knowing. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as we slow, creeping closer.
Something cruel approaches.
The maze walls pulse with veins of silver light, like lightning frozen in stone. They grow brighter as we draw closer, but shadows dance between them—deeper than they should be, moving against the flow of our torch.
“Look.” I point ahead where the silvery lines converge. “We’re nearly there.”
Syrrah’s hand tightens in mine. “What happens when we reach the end?”
“I don’t know. But there must be some way to get home.”
“Home,” a voice like grinding stones chuckles from the shadows. “I’m afraid only one of you will be returning there.”
I freeze as Gorbain himself emerges from the shadows like a spider from its web.
He looks exactly as I remember—massive and cruel, his filthy gray beard still stained with the remnants of his last meal.
He lounges against the wall with the casual menace of a predator, eyes holding all the warmth of a winter sea.
“My dear captain,” he says, spreading his arms wide in mock welcome. “I will admit, I’m impressed. When I sent you into this game, I assumed it would be Magnus who claimed my prize.” His laugh holds no warmth. “It’s so rare I’m proven wrong.”
I push Syrrah behind me, but Gorbain only smiles.
“Now, now. No need for theatrics.” He reaches into his black armor and pulls out an iron key. “Your debt is paid. You brought me a bride, just as promised.”
The key arcs through the air. I catch it reflexively, its weight solid in my palm.
Keo.
“That will open Keo’s cell,” Gorbain confirms. “Consider our bargain complete.”
He steps forward, reaching for Syrrah. “Come, my dear. Let me see my bride.”
Time seems to slow. I look down at the key in my palm—salvation for my brother, payment for my debt. Everything I’ve fought for, schemed for, lied for.
I hear Syrrah’s sharp intake of breath, feel her trembling against my back.
I’m sorry, brother.
The key clatters to the ground as I draw my sword.
“Step back,” I warn, pushing Syrrah further behind me. “She’s not yours to claim.”
Gorbain’s smile falls away like a mask, leaving something terrible beneath. “After everything I’ve done for you? Everything I’ve promised?” His blade slides free with a sound like screaming. “You would throw away your brother’s life for a woman?”
“Not just any woman.” I raise my sword, settling into a fighting stance. “Syrrah. She is all that is good in this world and all others. And she has my heart, my sword, and my soul for as long as she chooses to hold them.”
Gorbain scoffs. “You’d dare take what is mine?”
“She is no ones,” I correct, watching him for tells. “Her body is hers, her mind, her talents, her heart. Who she chooses to give herself to is her decision—not ours.”
The Underworld King smirks. “You’d really give up your brother for a hot cunt? I thought better of you, Rooke.”
My hands tighten around the hilt of my sword. We begin to circle each other, our steps mirroring.
“No response? Don’t you wish to know how he screamed? How he begged for mercy as we cut strips of flesh from his back? How he cried in relief when I told him of your bargain?”
The rage that rises in me is familiar—a darkness I’ve carried since the day Craven died. But now there’s something else too. Hope and redemption.
“Syrrah,” I say quietly, never taking my gaze off Gorbain. “The passage behind us leads to the end of the Labyrinth. Take it. Run.”
“Rooke—”
“Please.” My voice cracks. “I can’t watch him break you too.”
Gorbain draws his blade—a massive thing of black steel that seems to devour what little light remains. “Stay, bride.” His smile widens. “And watch me tear him apart.”
I hear Syrrah’s breath catch, feel her hand squeeze my bicep once before letting go. Her footsteps retreat down the passage, and my heart both breaks and strengthens.
At least she’ll be safe.
“Just you and me now,” I tell Gorbain, raising my sword. My voice is steady, but my heart pounds like a war drum. “Let’s finish this.”
Gorbain grins, teeth bared like a predator scenting blood.
He moves faster than a man his size should be able to, his blade cleaving the air where I stood a heartbeat before.
The whistle of steel splits the silence, and I barely manage to dodge, my sword rising instinctively to parry.
The impact reverberates up my arm, a jarring shock that makes my bones ache.
Each blow feels like fighting a mountain.
His strength is inhuman, his reach terrible.
Every step I take back, he advances two, driving me closer to the uneven stone walls of the Labyrinth.
His sword slices through the air with deadly precision, forcing me to pivot and weave like my life depends on it—because it does.
There’s a reason he is king.
The first cut catches my shoulder, a searing line of pain that burns like fire. Blood wells up, hot and sticky, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. The second comes faster, his blade a blur, and it bites deep across my ribs, leaving an icy fire in its wake. I stagger, nearly losing my footing.
“How did you get here?” I ask, gritting my teeth as our swords clash, the impact ringing like a bell in the Labyrinth’s oppressive silence. The scent of sweat and blood mingles in the air, and my lungs feel like they’re working double time to keep up.
I’m injured and tired from my fight with Magnus. On a good day, I might hold my own against Gorbain. Today, I am a mere gnat dodging his boot.
“Kasaros loves nothing more than to play tricks upon his players.” Gorbain is calm, almost amused, as if this fight is already won. “A bargain with such a God is no challenge to barter.”
His words send a shiver down my spine, but I shove the fear aside. He pushes harder, his strikes relentless, and I barely manage to deflect them. The sound of steel on steel echoes through the stone corridors, a haunting symphony of death.
We push off each other, staggering apart. My breath comes in ragged gasps, sweat dripping into my eye. My ribs scream in protest, the earlier wound a blazing reminder of how close I am to the edge.
“I’m enjoying this,” Gorbain taunts, his grin widening as he circles me like a wolf. “I’m going to make this as slow and painful as possible. Then I’ll hunt down my bride, show her what it means to submit to her husband.”
The thought of him touching Syrrah sends a tidal wave of rage crashing through me. My vision narrows, red-hot fury sharpening my focus. I grip my sword tighter, summoning strength I didn’t know I had, and launch myself at him.
Steel flashes as I drive him back, my blade slicing through the air with renewed ferocity. My strikes come faster, more precise, forcing him to retreat a step. And another. For a brief moment, I think I’ve gained the upper hand, but his laughter cuts through my rage like a knife.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he sneers, catching my blade on his and twisting, the motion disarming me in one brutal stroke. My sword spins out of my grip, clattering into the shadows.
Before I can react, his boot slams into my chest with the force of a battering ram.
Pain explodes through my body as I’m hurled backward, slamming into the unyielding stone wall.
The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, and I crumple to the ground, gasping.
My ribs scream in protest, and I taste copper in my mouth.
“Pathetic.” Gorbain sneers as he stalks forward, his shadow stretching long and menacing under the flickering light of the Labyrinth. His sword gleams like a predator’s fang, but he doesn’t raise it. Instead, his massive hands reach for me, calloused and deadly.
Before I can fully rise, his grip clamps around my throat, lifting me off my feet like I weigh nothing. Pain radiates through my body, every bruise and cut screaming in protest, but I refuse to let him see my fear.
“At least Craven offered a little sport,” he says, tightening his grip. My airway narrows, my breaths coming in wheezing gasps, but I claw at his wrist, fighting with every ounce of strength I have left.
He presses me against the cold stone wall, the jagged surface biting into my back.
Black spots dance at the edge of my vision, but I focus on his face, snarling through gritted teeth as I drive my knee into his stomach.
It’s like hitting a slab of granite, but the surprise earns me a fraction of a second to pull my own hand free and punch him across the jaw.
He barely flinches. His laughter, low and guttural, echoes through the Labyrinth. “Still got some fight in you? Good. Makes it more fun to watch you struggle.” His fingers tighten, cutting off my air entirely.
My vision wavers, and my body feels like it’s on fire, but I grit my teeth and keep swinging. My fists find his face, his ribs, his shoulder—anywhere I can land a blow. It’s not enough. He’s too strong, too unrelenting. Blood roars in my ears, and my limbs grow heavy, but I don’t stop.
Not yet. She needs more time.
The thought of Syrrah floods me with a fierce, desperate energy. I know she’s running, fighting, surviving. I have to give her time. I have to.
With a growl, I slam my head forward, the impact cracking against Gorbain’s nose.
He curses, his grip faltering just enough for me to wrench one gasping breath.
With it, I bring my elbow down on his wrist, breaking his hold completely.
I drop to the ground, coughing and gasping for air, but I don’t stop moving.
I lunge for my sword, but Gorbain’s boot crashes into my ribs, sending me sprawling. Pain explodes through my side, and I can taste the metallic tang of blood on my tongue. Still, I drag myself forward, one hand gripping the rough ground, inching closer to my weapon.
“Why do you bother?” he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “You can’t win. All you’re doing is delaying the inevitable.”
“Good,” I rasp, spitting blood onto stone as I grip the hilt of my sword. My arms tremble, my strength fading, but I force myself upright, the blade shaking in my hand.
He chuckles at the shaking of my blade. “Once I’m done carving you into pieces, Rooke, I’ll take my time with my pretty bride. I’ll break her to my will. Make her beg for me. She’ll learn what it means to be a real man’s bride.”
The words strike like a dagger to the heart, rage blazing through my body.
I think of Syrrah—the soft curves of her body, the gentle spirit she carries like a balm to this cruel world.
I see her quiet grace, the way her hands move with a healer’s touch, capable of mending what others would destroy.
She doesn’t belong in a place like this, surrounded by monsters like him—like me.
The thought of someone like Gorbain breaking her, twisting that strength and purity into something corrupt, sets every nerve in my body on fire.
I will not let that happen.
With a growl that rises from the deepest part of me, I grip my sword tighter, locking my knees to keep myself standing. My ribs ache, my muscles scream, but I force them to move. I step forward, ready to face him again, to buy her as much time as I can.
Gorbain raises his sword, taking one step toward me. I raise my own, readying for the coming impact. Before I can act, a sound splits the air—a scream, high and furious, filled with raw, unrestrained wrath.
Gorbain’s eyes widen as a blade bursts through his chest from behind, its steel slick with blood. His grip slackens, and he stumbles forward, shock etched across his face. Behind him, Syrrah rises from the darkness, her hands steady on the hilt. Her face is pale, but her eyes burn with fire.
“You will not touch him,” she says, her voice quiet but unwavering. “Or me.”
With a final, shuddering breath, Gorbain collapses to the ground. His blood pools around him, dark and thick, and the Labyrinth falls silent once more.