Chapter 11
Zyla
The stylized rose was a sign of Blessed Amara, and could often be found on artefacts that had been touched by Her hand. Despite Her loss, power can still be found in a rare handful of those artefacts.”
— CAROVYN HAMAD, SCRIBE OF A HISTORY OF THE GODS
Of all the things I expected, it wasn’t this.
The path we’re taking spills into a clearing where an enormous bare oak looms in the center.
This is a meeting of pathways, a convergence of the maze.
Dozens of lanterns hang from the oak, which grows around the stone walls of the Labyrinth as if slowly consuming it.
Light spills from little porthole windows within the trunk and outlines a round door.
“This is one of the Hunt Inns. The Griffin’s Nest,” says Bael, his brutish hand resting on the small of my back as he gestures me forward. “It’s safe harbor for the night, for none will dare lift a weapon within its walls.”
The door blasts open, bringing with it a wave of heat, laughter and the delicious aroma of roast venison.
Malus’s mercy. Common sense dictates to proceed cautiously, but my stomach growls and has no intentions of being made to wait.
The rations we’ve been making do with are sustaining, but that’s the best that could be said for them.
“I don’t have any coin to trade.”
“I do.” Bael steers me toward the bar, his cloak pulled down over his face.
“Feeling shy all of a sudden?”
He glances at me from beneath the hood. “Do you want to start a bar brawl?”
It makes me realize I’ve never seen him in company, except for Rhykus’ manor, and they were all trying to kill him.
Bael makes his way toward the bar, the crowd parting before him like a school of fish fleeing from the shark in their midst. They can’t see his face, but he’s exuding menace again, almost like a personal perfume.
Eau de villain.
“Hail, friends!” says a small female with goat-like legs and horns that protrude from her curls. “May I interest you in a meal? Or are you after room and board?”
“Room and board, thanks Teanna,” growls Bael, just as I reach the bar.
I stare at the innkeeper, with its eagle-like head, folded wings, and the small wire rimmed spectacles on its beak. It stares back, polishing the glass in its lion-like paws as if taking stock of me and then it stiffens, its flat hazel gaze shifting toward Bael.
“Pharyces,” Bael murmurs.
“Get out,” squawks the griffin, claws extending through the pads of its paws.
“Now, now,” Bael says, hands splayed wide. “No trouble. Not tonight. I just want a warm room, a hot meal, and a bath.”
“The last time you were here,” Pharyces hisses, leaning on the bar, “you nearly burned my inn down.”
Oh, really? I stare at Bael pointedly, because he’s been unsparing in his commentary about my pyro tendencies.
He ignores me, offering a white-toothed smile. “A misunderstanding between myself and Rhykus. And I swear that any inn-burning desire will not come from me tonight. I promise on my mother’s pyre.”
He very pointedly does not look at me.
All the little feathers down the griffin’s neck fluff. But he subsides, shooting a look at me. “This bride yours?”
“We are currently… allies,” Bael murmurs, gesturing Pharyces to lean closer whilst he murmurs in his ear.
I press closer in an effort to hear, but the satyr steps between us, smiling a determined smile. She’s protective of Pharyces.
Bael finally tilts his head toward me, his mouth twisting as if he can taste something unpleasant.
“What? What’s wrong? Don’t they have a room?”
“They have a room,” he says grimly.“There’s just one small problem with it.”
“What do you mean there’s only one bed?” I demand as Bael shuts the door behind us.
Instantly the room shrinks.
He’s promised a truce, but I glance to the side as I sense him moving behind me. An enormous shadow, the heat of his body seems to envelope mine, almost caressing me with its intensity.
“This is a Hunt Inn.” His low voice shivers over my damp skin. “It’s a place meant for claiming a bride in comfort. Hardly the place where you’ll find two beds.”
Instead, there’s one enormous monstrosity dominating the room.
I sling my wet coat off my shoulders and drape it over the back of a chair. It’s an odd shape, and it takes me a moment to realize—
There’s a collar attached to the back of the chair. Shackles on the armrests. And whilst there are slats for someone to sit upon, there’s definitely space for a cock to shove its way through.
Part of me wants to rip my coat right back off it.
“Lovely.” I take a slow tour of the room.
Silk sheets on the bed. Candle light gleaming from a pair of lanterns.
A divan by the fireplace. A locked cabinet whose contents I don’t want to know.
A bath in a wet area to the side. And a wooden X-shaped cross by the far corner, with leather cuffs at each end of the X.
“Do I want to—?”
“No,” he replies, with an amused tilt of his mouth as he follows my gaze. “Unless you’re particularly curious.”
I circle the cross. Beside it, there’s an array of small hand-held whips on a tray.
He promised me a spanking. “If you’ve brought me here purely to make good on your threats to repay me for stealing your knife…”
Bael laughs as he crosses the room to the bathtub, twisting the taps so that water spills forth. “The room’s clean. It’s dry. And I’ve paid enough for the privilege of an uninterrupted night here. We can get some rest without having to be on our guard ’til morning.”
My heart skips a beat. At least one of us will…
“And you need sleep and something to eat,” he continues.
“Your body expended a lot of energy in the healing. I know you want to push on tonight, but if you’re going to get Kari back, you’ll need to be at your best. I ordered dinner to be sent up.
It should be here shortly. Why don’t you take the chance to bathe? ”
I eye the bathtub. “You’re kidding, right?”
“What’s wrong?” He crosses his arms over his chest as if he’s enjoying the moment. “Feeling shy, are we?”
Feeling considerably out of my depth. It’s not just the fact that we’re sharing a room together, and that the bath is out in the open.
I saw his claws. And his hood slipped in the common room below, with several men sucking in sharp, horrified gasps as they recognized him.
They’re afraid of him.
What manner of man does he have to be to earn that fear?
Or is he even a man…?
I close my eyes and release a slow breath. It can’t be true. He healed me and the tender way he touched me afterwards… It feels like betrayal. Like a knife through the chest.
Because some small part of me is tempted by him.
And not just physically.
Whilst we started this relationship in enmity, he doesn’t flinch at my outspoken nature or murderous tendencies. Indeed, he seems to find it amusing. I’ve never met a man who wasn’t affronted by my strong will.
I told myself I never cared. Nothing mattered except getting Aylin back, but the easy way in which we’ve fallen in together makes me realize that some small part of me doesn’t want to be alone anymore. I’ve spent so long focusing only on Aylin that everything else fell by the wayside.
I have nothing in my life beyond my quest.
It’s a stunning realization.
And I want more. I want this quest to end. I don’t just want to find Aylin. I want to find myself too, to try and reconnect with the girl I once was.
“Zyla?”
I’ve been silent for too long, and it shows when I have to clear my throat to speak. “Will you turn around if I bathe?”
Bael must sense some part of my inner conflict. His stare seeks to see right through me, as if I’m some mystery to be solved. “As you wish.”
I release a breath. He cannot be the Beast. Can he?
My gaze strays to my pack, where the well water is stashed. There’s only one way to find out.
“There are clothes,” he says, tilting his head toward a small chest of drawers and the small pile of clothes on top of it, as if he’s oblivious of the direction my thoughts run. He turns the tap off, and steam curls off the bath. “Teanna had them sent up once she saw the state of your shirt.”
“They provide clothes too?”
“Most brides are in some state of disarray when they arrive here.”
“I’ll bet.” I sift through the pile. A silky nightgown slithers off the top, pooling at my feet. It’s barely long enough to cover my ass. I hold it up, shooting him a dubious look that says a thousand words.
“We’re in the Labyrinth,” he counters, though his eyes linger on the silk.
“And everything in here is catered toward the men and their pleasures. The clothes. The food, no doubt. The bath.”
“You don’t have to wear the clothes. You don’t have to bathe.”
“But I do have to use the whips, correct?”
“Are you trying to pick an argument with me?” He looks like he wants to say something, then clearly thinks better of it. “And if you think the whips are purely for a man’s pleasure, then you know little about the darker edge of desire.”
“I know enough.” I was in the knight’s prized cage for nearly a year as they prepared me for the sacrifice, and I learned more than I needed to about their hypocritical behavior.
A tribute must be chaste and pure, but the girls soon learned to be careful even in the parts of the keep where they should be safe.
Never travel alone. Never look a knight directly in the eye.
Even the slightest hint of defiance could be seen as a sign that a tribute was impure of heart and therefore prey for the taking.
“That’s not desire.”
“No? Then what is?” I shoot back.
Instantly, I know I’ve made a mistake.