Chapter 17 Drayven
Drayven
No bride leaves the Labyrinth unchanged. No hunter leaves it unbroken.”
— WARNING AT THE ENTRANCE
Instinct keeps my feet moving through the dark Labyrinth until I find somewhere to hole up and regroup. There—a gap between two headless statues concealed in briars.
I squeeze into the narrow space. My back scrapes my bow against the rough stone. Thorns tear at my skin, piercing leather, but I welcome the pain. It’s a distraction from the hollow ache in my chest.
Florienne’s face haunts me—her blue eyes dulled, her spirit broken. I failed her. Again. But this is exactly why I can’t be her king.
My fist slams into the statue, and I bite back a roar of frustration. A coppery tang floods my mouth. I want to tear this entire Labyrinth apart, stone by stone until I find her.
But I can’t. Not yet.
I force myself to breathe, to think. Blackthorne’s men still search for me. Demaya is out there somewhere. Protecting her was Flori’s last wish, but it goes against every instinct in my body. I have to go back to her.
Any time I close my eyes, I see images of that sick fuck taking what’s mine. And the taunts he made—calling me ‘boy,’ as if he knew me, as if he knew I’d let her down before.
I rest my forehead against the cool stone and think back to the day I lost her. The only other person there was the previous Huntsman. I’d always wondered what happened to him after Kasaros took over.
Now I know. Baron Bartholemew Blackthorne is the Huntsman I replaced.
My fingers brush against Kasaros’s mask tucked into my belt.
I can’t see it, but feel its painted smile taunting me in the darkness.
All this time, I thought I was the only one making a deal for Flori’s future, but the Baron must have made a deal too.
He surged to power, riches, and nobility.
He knew that claiming Flori might make him king, but it didn’t mean he could keep the crown… no, for that he needed power first.
Bitterness seethes in my soul. My fingers clench around the mask.
I could put it on. Become the monster. Win the Hunt.
Flori would live.
But would she survive? I squeeze my eyes shut.
No. She would hate me. Fear me.
The Baron is proof of that.
He was the Huntsman before me. The one who took her. Tore her from her home. Set her fate in motion. And now I know what wearing the mask too long does to a man.
It warps him. Strips him down to his worst instincts until there’s nothing left but cruelty and control.
I force myself to picture it—me in the Baron’s place. Cold. Detached. Owning Flori, not loving her. My stomach churns with revulsion.
If I claim her as the Huntsman, even with good intentions, what’s stopping me from becoming him?
I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to steady. I would rather die than become that.
Which means there’s only one way forward.
I have to win her without the mask, as myself, or die trying.
A twig snaps nearby. I freeze, every muscle coiled tight.
“There!” a gruff voice shouts. “I saw movement!”
Fuck.
I burst from my hiding spot, scimitar singing as it slices through air and flesh. The mercenary’s eyes go wide as his throat opens in a crimson smile.
More shouts echo through the Labyrinth. I spin, blade ready—
And nearly take Demaya’s head off.
She doesn’t flinch. Just arches an eyebrow. “Nice.”
I growl, pulling back. “Get out of here before it’s too late.”
Her eyes glitter with defiance. She twirls my dagger—when did she take that?—and smirks. “Yeah, well, I’m done taking orders. From you, from Flori, from anyone.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
She points my dagger at my face. “Don’t you ever get sick of following the rules?”
I grab her wrist and wrench sideways until her fingers fly open on reflex. My dagger drops into my waiting palm.
Her petulant scowl makes her seem every one of her seventeen years. “You only found me in that barn because Kasaros led you there.”
“Demaya,” I growl, “why are you here? You should be halfway to the exit by now. The Baron’s men will kill you if they find you.”
“Then I guess we better not let them find us.” She cocks her head, studying me. “You look like shit, by the way. What’s your plan?”
“Plan?” I laugh bitterly. Who is this woman? “I don’t have a fucking plan. I just need to get to Flori before—”
My words choke off as the image of the Baron pawing at Flori flashes through my mind again. I grip my scimitar until my knuckles turn white.
“Before what?”
I gesture at her robes. “Before you know what goes on in this Labyrinth.”
“Yeah, I do.” Demaya’s eyes narrow. “But what I don’t know is where you fit into all this. You’re the reason Vespers are here, so why were you protecting Flori? Obviously, you don’t want to claim her for yourself.” A knowing pause. “Right?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Get out of my way before I make you.”
“No.”
“You’re exactly like her! Stubborn. Annoying.” It should comfort me, but I’m flailing. The more Demaya talks, the more I see why Flori wanted to protect her.
She steps closer, searching my face with wide eyes. “You love her, don’t you?”
I look away, toward the darkness. My silence does nothing to dissuade her tenaciousness—another Flori-type trait. Fuck.
“Who are you to her?” she asks. I scrub my face to hide my expression, but these Vespers catalog every twitch and minute change in body language. “Oooh—” she coos. “Your hand. The scars. You’re the boy she dreams about, aren’t you? The one from her village.”
My hand drops, and I sigh. There’s no point lying. “Yes. I’m Drayven. Everything I’ve done as the Huntsman is to keep her safe.”
“You’re why she kept getting passed over for the hunt.” She frowns and taps her bottom lip. “But you won’t claim her… even though you’d be king… why?”
“She struck a deal with Kasaros—if she exits the Labyrinth unsullied, he’ll release her and end the Bride Hunt. If she’s claimed—Kasaros gets her… or something from her blood.”
“Sounds like something Flori would do.”
“I can’t abandon her.” I plead with my eyes. “Not when she’s so close to giving up.”
“Don’t worry. She won’t give up.” Demaya’s grin is all feral youth and reckless determination. “She nurtured us in the Pen. Taught us to be strong. To resist when the time is right. She wouldn’t just roll over for that pig.”
A flicker of hope ignites in my chest, but I crush it ruthlessly. “Need I remind you, there’s one of me and a hired army of them? I’ll need to be Kasaros’s pet to stand a chance. You should be far away from me when I put the mask on.”
“You don’t need the mask.”
My brow arches. “You seem to have all the answers. What’s your plan?”
Demaya’s eyes glint with mischief. “Me. I’m the plan.”
Her dagger whistles past my ear. A wet thud and gurgle behind me. I whirl to see one of the Baron’s men crumple, my blade lodged in his throat.
She flips her hair, casual as can be. “As I was saying. Fucking her good and proper—”
“That’s not what you were saying—”
“—is the only way to stop anyone else staking their claim.”
“Were you not listening?” I put my hands on my hips and sigh. The na?ve optimism of youth. “There’s still a God to contend with.”
“First, save her from being hunted, then worry about the God.”
“You make it sound so easy. ”
“Love makes everything easy.” She strides over and commandeers my bow. “And you’re not old enough to be so jaded.”
She has a point. I’m only a decade older than her, but the years without Flori have felt like an eternity.
“Florienne can’t love me,” I grumble. “She doesn’t know me—not this version of me.”
“There’s only one you.” She tests the bow’s string tension like she’s done it before.
“And for your information, she always talked about you in the Pen.” Her big brown eyes meet mine.
“Told us the story of how you went down fighting. How you never gave up.” She steals my quiver full of arrows—directly from my hip.
“From how she spoke about you, how she looked at you tonight, and how she trusts you to take care of me, well, it’s definitely love.
If you’re too stupid to see that, then I guess I’ll have to do this myself. ”
“Like hell you will.”