CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
EMMERY
The labyrinth became an insidious, writhing nightmare. Voices lived inside the walls, taunting and shrieking and stealing Emmery’s increasingly fragile sanity. Because those voices echoed in her head, resounded inside her, and lived in those haunted memories and unceasing dreams.
The endless stone hallways echoed Maela’s scream when Nathaniel’s hot knife had branded her. When her sister had begged the guards to let her go, pleaded for her life, and like a coward, Emmery had sat back and watched her be tied down and thrown into the river. Watched her sink below the surface.
Watched her die.
And with her, a piece of Emmery had died, too.
Her sister’s body had decayed at the bottom of that water, and her skeletal remains waited there still.
Emmery sprinted through the labyrinth, skidded, and slipped. Her wrists bled from catching herself on the rough ground. She called Maela’s name into the unending darkness, but never found her. Never reached her.
Nathaniel’s gooseflesh-raising rasp, the consequence of too many smokes, spoke from the shadows.
He reminded her he held the phantom leash around her neck and tightened it as he pleased.
That he waited for her at the end of that stone tunnel, lurked behind her when the darkness grew too quiet, and whispered all the things he would do to her.
Because she would always belong to him.
The last voice she knew too well. One that lived inside her head and had somehow sunk into these walls, now residing where the mortar joined the bricks.
It sang a vile tune, one of failures, and longing, and unending suffering.
One of lonely nights and loveless glances.
That her magic would overtake her, and the world would burn at her hands.
The fever, her fire, it would all bring the end.
And no matter how fiercely she fought, she would always be a vile, hideous creature, and that soulless, empty chasm inside her would expand and swell and envelop everything she ever was.
Swallow her entirely, until no light remained in her universe.
Until all she could see was unending darkness.
Every bad thing she ever said about herself, every thought inside her berating mind, now played on repeat—mocked, taunted, drove her to insanity, then shoved her off the edge.
Emmery stumbled through the endless labyrinth, her hand dragging along the stone wall as her only guide.
She didn’t care to keep track of the lefts and rights and how long she’d walked.
When she needed to sleep, she merely curled up and tried to shut her eyes.
But in rest, the voices only grew louder.
And she feared, even if they escaped these stone walls, she would never truly be able to leave this place.
She wasn’t sure how long she wandered in the shadows. The labyrinth had a way of distorting time, of stretching and thinning until it looped into endless eternity, like a god carelessly twirled it around their little finger.
And despite how long she’d pounded on the walls or how loudly she called Destonne or Brennen’s names, dragged the cry from the far recesses of her soul, they never appeared.
She clawed at the stone, shrieked and begged and bartered what little of her remained to bring them back to her.
To not be alone anymore. To be free of this torture.
Emmery hauled herself into the room with the same high ceilings, empty walls, and fire tucked into each corner like the first game.
Such ferocious hunger clawed at her that her bleary eyes barely believed it.
But, there was no way she could trust it.
The demons had surely tampered with it. Inflicted it with some sort of disease that would feast on her skin or poison sure to leave her a corpse foaming at the mouth.
She salivated as she surveyed the banquet table covered in lush fruits, roasted meat, and platters of foods she’d never seen. Wine and water awaited and, gods, her throat burned, her veins parched, and her body cried for the insatiable need for sustenance.
But as she approached, Emmery frowned at the table. Some of the dishes looked like they’d been touched, and goblets sat with only a mouthful of water remaining. Her pace quickened, her heart in her throat as she looked over a smear of mashed potatoes, a message written only for her:
Beside it was a massive paw print she would know anywhere.
Emmery nearly sobbed as she traced her own finger through the word.
But if they had been here, why weren’t they now?
What had happened? Or had they gone looking for her?
If that was the case, she surely would have passed them.
She should have waited for them to come back, but as her attention warred between the food and the message, her hollow stomach won.
She tried to start slowly, a sip of water, a sliver of roast beef, a fig split in two, but her self-restraint slipped. Fled her body entirely.
And she feasted.
She didn’t bother with the spoons or plates and sank her hands into the food, not caring the demons surely relished in her desperation. Reduced her to this. But teetering on the edge of death brought clarity that fancy appearances and niceties mattered little. Hunger would always win.
She lost track of what she ate, what she drank, and the flavours merged, melded into pure need and unfettered euphoria.
And when she’d sufficiently stuffed her face, she sat back in the chair, and willed her stomach to hold down all she’d gorged on.
Then she collected rolls, pastries, dried meats, and assorted fruits in fabric napkins and, sure she would find use for it later, Emmery slipped a steak knife into her sleeve.
As she tucked it away, she couldn’t help but think Destonne would be proud of her.
It wasn’t much, but since her flame had been absent, she’d rather have it than nothing.
When she assembled as much as she could carry, she straightened to stand, but grew tired, and slumped back into the chair.
Maybe her fatigue had finally caught up with her, however she didn’t remember her limbs ever being this distant or limp.
The bundled food tumbled to the ground. She fought, oh gods did she fight her heavy eyelids, but sleep smothered her like an inescapable pillow over her face as she fell into darkness.
Emmery opened her eyes to a familiar place, endless and black like the Divide, but she couldn’t manipulate it. Couldn’t mould it to her will. The ground rippled under her boots like water, and each footfall echoed inside her head. Ricocheted off the nonexistent barriers of this place.
A strange tingle in her chest led her forward, toward a sliver of beckoning light. Maybe a door. An exit from this place. A way home.
But as she neared the strange, jagged tear in the realm, it gaped to allow her a glimpse inside.
As it came into focus, Emmery’s stomach dropped.
What she’d stumbled upon left her face burning.
Heat ravaged through her and propelled her blood through her veins too quickly.
And as she stared, unable to tear her eyes away, a dark reality sank into her bones.
What exactly she was looking at.
The shadowy room, illuminated by a red candlelit hue, housed a grand four poster bed in chestnut wood. And on that bed were two people: a man and a woman.
The man lay on his back, the lower half of his body tucked beneath a thick quilt, his evident arousal impressively tented beneath.
From this angle, she couldn’t see who it was, but deep down she knew.
And the woman whose thighs hugged either side of his face, sent a violent thrill through her, pooling heat in places she didn’t know how to process.
Each curve and dip of the woman’s back, accentuated by the candlelight, rolled as her head lolled in ecstasy, and she ground her hips. And though she had no golden vestige, Emmery recognized the woman’s heart-shaped face and silver hair glowing in the low light.
The woman’s desperate whimpers built and her lips parted as her hips lost their rhythm, wild and writhing against his mouth, but the man took control.
His unrelenting fingers dug into the soft flesh of her backside, and his tongue ravished her, helped her chase her release, let her take her pleasure from him.
Her moans escalated to an unbridled cry, and her back bowed as her climax tore through her, punctuated by the sparks popping off at her fingertips.
She pressed her hands against the wall and blackened the paint.
Nipples peaked and cheeks tinged a euphoric pink, the woman panted. When the man rolled her onto her back he pressed their foreheads together and murmured in her ear before their breathless laughs twined like their bodies.
Emmery clapped a hand over her mouth and shrank back, not sure how to escape what she’d witnessed. Because the images burned into her mind, scorched, branded each morsel of detail permanently.
“What are you looking at?” a familiar voice asked behind her.
Like she’d been caught snooping, Emmery nearly leapt from her skin. Her lungs and heart seized in one giant squeeze as she spun, and his name thrust in a rush of breath. “Destonne?”
Before he could respond and more importantly peer around her, she threw herself at him. Destonne caught her as her feet left the ground and she wrapped her arms around his neck. For a moment, it seemed shock overtook him, but his embrace firmed to match hers.
It struck her how she missed his teasing, annoyances, and most of all, his unmatched assurance.
And also how she just missed him. Tears welled in her throat, but she swallowed them down even though the safety and strength of his arms felt like finding her way back to her cottage after wandering the woods.
She wanted to steal all of this moment. Soak up every bit.
“It’s alright, angel,” Destonne said, his voice thick with emotion. He set her feet back on the ground and looked her over. “You’re unharmed?”