Chapter 28
28
I LIE IN THE CURVE OF Notus’ body, heat blanketing my spine, the hard thud of his heart reverberating against my back. Its sluggish tempo indicates deep slumber, yet in the passing moments, it accelerates, grave to andante to allegro.
“You’re awake,” I say.
He brushes a soft kiss onto my shoulder. “I am.”
I can’t help it: I smile. He is awake, as am I, our bodies intertwined, braced against the crumbling wall of the labyrinth. His hand catches mine, our braceleted wrists winking, lead and gold. He’s tossed his robe over our bodies for warmth. The air feels alive against my skin.
Notus releases what I believe to be a huff of laughter. My smile widens. “What?”
“You snore.”
My jaw drops, then clicks shut. “I highly doubt that. If anything, it’s you who snores.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Rolling over to face him, I send him a withering glare. “Quite sure.”
Sleep creases the South Wind’s brow and cheeks and mouth. His heavily lidded eyes are warm, always warm. When I tilt my face upward, he slips his mouth against mine. Wandering hands and drowsy kisses. It would be a luxury to continue exploring each other’s bodies, but time continues to unfold, and darkness threatens all I hold dear. I cannot give in. I will endure. I must.
After disentangling myself, I sit up, facing him with crossed legs. “We don’t have much time until Ishmah falls.”
The South Wind’s expression grows somber. “Failure isn’t an option.”
The truth is this: the Lord of the Mountain may not have claimed my life, but there is a very real chance I will die in the labyrinth. I may not be able to control the how or where of it, but Amir will remain. Ammara will remain. My people and customs and history, all will remain. As will Notus. He is the only one who stands a chance of saving the realm. “I want you to promise me something.”
“No.”
I blink. “No?”
“Whatever promise you’re looking for, look elsewhere. I won’t grant it.” He holds himself in high tension, his right hand balled into a fist.
“Well,” I clip out, tossing him his robe. “Good to know where your loyalties truly lie.”
He shrugs it on. “Maybe you’re quick to accept defeat, but I’m not. If we focus our efforts on escaping the labyrinth, we can return to Ishmah—”
“And then what? Last I recall, Ishmah was overrun by darkwalkers.” And Prince Balior’s army. “How are we supposed to escape this place? And the beast… I’m not sure what it did, exactly, but it gifted Prince Balior some sort of dark power. It’s dangerous, Notus.”
He shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice lacks the assured quality I’ve come to expect from him. “There is the library—”
“Which we have already exhausted.”
He falls silent.
Something softens in me. I have witnessed my loved ones pass, but I, at least, will be granted the gift of meeting them again in the afterlife, once my time reaches its end. What must it be like to always bear witness to the end of another’s life, never to pass on yourself?
“I’m grateful for the time I was given. Twenty-five years,” I say. “Many do not have that privilege.”
“And you do not care to extend your life?” he demands, growing more fractious by the moment. “There is a way out. There has to be.”
“You can’t alter fate, Notus. The curse will take me, whether you want it to or not.”
“I will not allow it!” he roars.
The South Wind has shoved to his feet. A harsh gust tosses grit down the long, murky tunnel. His chest contracts like a bellows. Then he begins to pace. I watch his long-legged stride calmly. Wall to wall, he wears a groove into the floor.
“Notus.” When he next passes, I catch his hand. “Please sit. You’re making me dizzy.”
He’s all but vibrating in place. “I can’t accept it, Sarai. I won’t.” Yet the more he paces, the more I’m certain something shifts in the shadows at his back. I stiffen, squinting into the distance. He doesn’t appear to notice.
“Notus,” I whisper. He drops his head into his hands with a groan. “Notus!”
He turns toward me in frustration. “What!”
“Someone’s there.”
He whirls, sword drawn in half a heartbeat, a powerful gust erupting to spiral down the shrouded passage.
A strange expression crosses the South Wind’s face. He lowers his sword. “Eurus?”
My eyes widen as a tall, broad figure strides forward, shedding the shadows like a second skin to reveal a long dark cloak fluttering around his legs. His hood has been pulled forward to conceal his face. The East Wind. Notus’ younger brother.
Notus sheaths his sword. “You got my message.”
The cloaked figure glides forward, and the motion is so eerily reminiscent of a serpent that a cold sweat prickles my spine. When he is within arm’s reach, he halts. This is no mere mortal. He towers over us, the air around him vibrating with an energy that is his alone. Even this close, I fail to make out any identifying features. The darkness inside his hood is consuming, showcasing neither eyes nor nose nor mouth. It is a crater, an abyss.
“What can I do for you, Notus?”
The low rasp of the East Wind’s voice shivers across my skin. I have heard it before.
The Lord of the Mountain.
I examine this cloaked god, my mouth dry as dust. Yes, it’s him. I’m certain. I recall Notus studying the sheet music in Mirash, an expression of confusion stealing over him upon spotting the sketch of a winged man in the lower corner of the parchment. He sent a message asking Eurus to meet. And here he is.
“We’re looking for information regarding a curse,” the South Wind replies, moving to stand by my side. Hurriedly, I climb to my feet and brush the dirt from my dress. “Information I believe you possess.”
“A curse.” Eurus angles his head. It is a distinctly predatory gesture. “Elaborate, please.”
“Notus,” I whisper, gripping the South Wind’s arm. “This is him.”
“Who?”
Swallowing proves difficult, my throat narrowing with apprehension at what will occur should I confirm his identity. “The Lord of the Mountain.”
For a time, all it quiet but for the staggered rhythm of my heart. Eventually, Notus whispers, “What?”
And so I tell him of the voice I’ve heard with increasing frequency these past few months. I tell him of what occurred when I fell from the outer wall. I had awoken, unbeknownst to me, in the labyrinth. I could never have imagined the Lord of the Mountain was in fact the East Wind, whom Notus once described to me as withdrawn, borderline violent. Some dark current ripples beneath the surface of this deity, some tumultuous past that has shaped him.
A rush of desert air pervades the space, battling back the damp that smells of the sea. “You cursed Sarai?” Notus growls. “You?”
The East Wind straightens, adding to his imposing height, as the opening of his hood angles toward me. My body prickles beneath a scrutiny I’m unable to witness, can only feel in an uncomfortable crawling sensation across my scalp. “You seem surprised, brother,” he replies with a disturbing lack of emotion. “Isn’t that why you sent for me?”
“I thought you might have information about the labyrinth. I didn’t realize you were the one who put her here!” Notus roars. “How? How are you the Lord of the Mountain? How is any of this possible?” His fingers tear through the thick locks of his dark hair.
Hands behind his back, the East Wind begins to circle us, the hem of his cloak hissing along the gray stone underfoot. When he passes, the subtle scent of brine burns my nostrils. I ease closer to Notus, gaze wary. The suffering this god has put me through, put my family through, my realm. Absolutely disgusting.
“You lied to my father,” I snarl at Eurus. “He thought you were benevolent, that you would save my life in return for building the labyrinth to imprison the beast. But you took advantage of a desperate man. You stole our rains. Cursed me to die on my twenty-fifth nameday. Likely sent darkwalkers to Ammara as well.” My chin juts forward. “Do you deny it?”
“I cursed you to die?” He sounds curious.
“Yes,” I grit out. “Cursed to die by the prick of a thorn from black iris, except I was brought to the labyrinth instead. Why is that?” Tuleen’s suggestion of a possible mistranslation is strong, but I want evidence. Truth, from the deity who placed me here.
At last, the East Wind comes to a standstill. “I’m not sure what the king told you, but you weren’t cursed to die, Sarai Al-Khatib. You were cursed to become a sacrifice for the beast. Black iris was the vessel that drew you inside its walls, and now here you are. If you’re able to defeat the darkness of your heart, the labyrinth will let you walk free. Should you fail, however, you will remain trapped here for all eternity.”
“You bastard .” The South Wind plants his feet, palm out, an explosive flurry flinging Eurus backward through the tunnel. Before his brother hits the ground, however, a pair of massive wings unfurl from his back, layered in minute ebon scales. I gasp. He alights on the balls of his feet, and the wings vanish.
“Calm, brother.” The East Wind lifts a hand, though does not sound apologetic in the least. “What is victory without it being earned?”
I rest a hand on Notus’ forearm. Taut muscle, rigid bone. Blow to blow, I am uncertain which brother would triumph. Eurus is certainly larger, bulkier, but he lacks any emotion at all, his demeanor eerily flat. Notus’ fury would drive him to victory.
“As for the rest of your concerns,” the East Wind says, “yes, I took your rains. Seeing as I control the rainstorms and their winds, it is well within my right, and I required that power for a time. But I had nothing to do with the darwalkers. Your father built the labyrinth on an area of land where the fabric between realms was thin. The location was unfortunate for you, but I had no say in it.”
Not only is Eurus pitiless beyond measure, he refuses to take accountability for his role in Ammara’s suffering. “And how long do you intend to keep our rains?” I press. “Our realm is dying. We can’t survive the drought indefinitely.”
He shrugs: easy come, easy go. “Until I no longer have need of them. It may be months. It may be years. That was the cost of your life, the price your father was willing to pay.”
On the contrary, King Halim was deceived. But I haven’t the time to argue semantics. “What of the darkness Prince Balior has unleashed?” I demand. “The beast hasn’t escaped yet, but it will, if the prince has anything to do with it. It has given a mortal man incredible power, and I fear the destruction it will bring. You’re the one who imprisoned the beast in the first place. The responsibility is in part yours.”
Though I can’t see the Lord of the Mountain’s eyes, I sense how they sharpen on me. “How do you know that?”
As if I owe him an answer. The East Wind may be Notus’ brother, but I don’t trust a hair on his head. “Where I acquired that information is none of your concern.”
“Eurus.” Notus is beseeching. “I have never asked you for anything. But I ask this of you now. Help us find a way out of the labyrinth. Help us stop the beast from escaping. Help us defeat Prince Balior—before it’s too late.”
There is a stillness to the East Wind that suggests he cannot fathom such a thing. I question what sort of face rests within the darkness of his hood.
“Even if I wanted to, I cannot help you,” he replies. “The bargain was struck long ago. Your fate is in your own hands now.”
I’ve half a mind to rip back this god’s hood and stab him in the eyes. Amir and I have our battles, but I would never think to hold power over him. No wonder Notus rarely mentions Eurus. His brother is a complete ass.
“You don’t understand,” I say, my voice cracking. “As soon as the beast is free, it will have its revenge. Its darkness will spread. It will consume this realm, and all others after it.” Because a beast unfairly imprisoned for decades? It won’t stop at one god, one realm, one king.
“That is no concern of mine.” Though he does not sound as assured as he did.
I shake my head, teeth clamped around the flesh of my cheek. “Your brother is a piece of work,” I mutter to Notus.
His huff is nearly inaudible. I take it as agreement. “You really won’t help us?” he asks Eurus.
“As I said before, you must conquer the darkness of your heart if you wish to escape the labyrinth alive.”
“And how are we to do that?” Notus snaps.
The East Wind’s hood shifts in my direction. “Your destiny is not mine,” he says to me. “I cannot alter a path that is already laid.”
Does Eurus speak of a literal darkness that must be conquered? A physical manifestation? Something symbolic? And what sort of god would curse a helpless child anyway? One whose morals are lower than dirt.
Suddenly, a rumble fills the space. The earth quavers, and grit spits from the ceiling. The ground lurches. I catch myself against the wall. A heartbeat later, the Lord of the Mountain has vanished.
My pulse sprints forward as the gloom deepens. The ground wrenches open with a bone-shattering roar, a great crevasse opening underfoot. I stumble out of range. To my left, another massive crack gouges the labyrinth, and dust plumes the air.
“Sarai!” Notus, who stands on the other side of the fissure, appears smudged behind the thickening shade. He waves his arms—I think. “You’ll need to jump. Quickly!”And now the crevasse has widened. I tighten my grip on the violin and prepare to leap over the opening. With another ear-splitting groan, the edge of the stone floor crumbles, the space now too large to cross. Seconds later, a wall thuds between us, separating me from the South Wind.
“Notus!” I slam my palm against the rough stone, ears straining. Pebbles strike the ground with a clatter. The echoes stretch on. If he’s calling for me, I can’t hear him. I will have to find another way to reach him.
I dive down the tunnel at my back, the violin and bow cradled against my chest as I try to protect them from the falling rocks. I am a woman, mortal and prey. I am a princess, adrift and grieving. I am a musician without an instrument, a horse without its herd. I feel myself growing smaller, hemmed in on all sides by things I cannot change. My body bids me to yield. There is peace in surrender.
I clench my jaw. No . Surrender is not an option. I will find Notus, no matter the efforts. I will conquer the darkness before it conquers me.
“Notus?” Again, I scream his name and receive no answer. Not even the wind.
But there is a sound, a very strange sound. Tightening my grip on the neck of the violin, I release a breath, turn, and freeze. Darkwalkers, three of them. Their hollowed eyes glow in the swirling gloom.
My heart thunders so forcefully I fear it will skewer itself on a rib. A snarl cuts the air, and they charge.
My bow hits the strings to release a forceful wail as I imagine a wall enclosing me. Down my bow falls, over and over, a multitude of drop chords that ring discordantly. A wall flickers into existence. The first darkwalker crashes into it. I flinch, yet do not stop playing.
The second beast, larger, its fangs as long as my fingers, slams into its scrappier companion. Cracks splinter through the transparent partition. The third beast joins its brethren, and despite the weakening structure, I continue to grind out chords. Solidity , I think. Walls, stone, defense, unyielding.
Yet the cracks multiply and stream outward. I glance around, seeking an escape. When the wall gives, I’ll need to make a run for it. Once more, the trio prepare to charge the barrier.
All at once, a swirling cyclone rips through the passage, punching through the barrier. It snatches up the beasts, flings them against the walls. They scatter, each vanishing down a separate corridor. Footfalls slap the ground behind me.
Two hands, warm and sure, curve around my front. “It’s me,” Notus soothes.
I am pinned, trembling, paralyzed by the ice locking my muscles, yet the South Wind’s warmth thaws my frozen limbs and I turn, sagging against him, the instrument held off to the side to avoid crushing it between us. His heart hammers against my sweaty cheek. “Are you hurt?” he asks.
“No.” I glance over his shoulder. Nothing. I see nothing.
But from out of the silence, there emerges the slow clop of hooves.
It drags forth, its rhythm so eerily precise it could be mistaken for a metronome. My heart hasn’t slowed its pace since I woke to find myself trapped inside these walls, yet now it stumbles. I’m tired. I don’t know how much longer I can evade that which has been sent to kill me.
Hand in hand, Notus and I flee quickly and quietly down the nearest tunnel. At the next fork, we turn right and promptly reach a dead end.
Pivoting, we sprint back the way we came. Left, then another left, a mindless, breathless scramble for the next bend. Eventually, the insistent gallop joins our rapid footfalls. Notus swings me behind him as, ahead, a massive, amorphous shape materializes through the gloom.
The beast steps forward, blocking our path. Shadows peel from its flesh, and I shudder. As its black head swings toward me, Notus unsheathes his sword. His blade whines as it cuts through the dark, warning the beast to keep its distance.
Then something stirs at the bull’s back. Four, five, six darkwalkers materialize, snouts parted to reveal fangs oozing saliva. Notus swears, his features whitened by dread. “Go, Sarai. I’ll hold them off.”
“But—”
“Go!”
Fear is the blade. It cuts quick and clean, straight to the heart of me.
I run.