Page 10 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

Taleon clicked his tongue around a grin just as the ceiling raised once more. “A name has power, emphasis, do you agree?”

“Power?”

“Don’t question. I suppose you would not think so. What with the gold.” He gestured towards Corin’s garments.

The young heir glanced down at his modest garb, not seeing much gold at all. Not compared to his uncle or the people that watched him begin his trial.

He shook his head and straightened. “You don’t make much sense.”

“Sense?” Taleon scoffed. “What nonsense!”

Corin shook his head. “You said others came through. Heirs.”

Taleon hummed absently. “Some leave. Some don’t. Some join. Some stone. Some echoes.”

“That’s not–” Corin stopped himself. Pressing for answers felt like pulling strings. He was unsure he would ever get a full answer from the man. A man who had somehow survived over a century in the maze.

The Labyrinth shifted ahead of them, a new passage appearing with a low, sighing grind. Taleon seemed to welcome the intrusion, but before Corin could react, something small darted out of the shadows.

It was fast and low to the ground, all sharp movement and clicking sound. Corin barely had time to register the glint of wet eyes and far too many teeth before it lunged.

He moved without thinking.

Corin shoved Taleon back with one hand and slashed downward with his blade, heart pounding as the small creature skidded to a halt, claws scraping at the stone. It hissed sharply, a high and irritated sound, hopping backward with all the offended energy of something more startled than injured.

“Wait-!” Taleon barked.

Too late.

The creature darted forward again, snapping at the air in front of the heirs, then abruptly tripped over its own limbs and tumbled head first into a wall. It scrambled upright, shook itself violently, and let out a sound somewhere between a snarl and a whine.

Corin stared. Blinked. Stared some more.

It was… small.

No larger than a cat, its body lean and knotted with skin stretching tight over sinew. Horn nubs protruded unevenly from its skull, and its tail—if the thin strip emerging from its rear end could be called that—lashed back and forth with manic enthusiasm. Drool dripped from its mouth as it crouched, clearly preparing to pounce again.

Taleon sighed harshly. “Stop that,” he demanded.

The creature froze instantly.

Then, with a pitiful little huff, it flopped onto its side and began gnawing on one of its own thin claws.

Corin lowered his blade slowly. “What in the gods’ name is that?”

Taleon stepped past him and crouched, scratching the creature behind one horn nub. “Have you not ever seen a monster before, young heir?”

“A… monster… I have.”

“This,” Taleon introduced with enthusiasm dripping from his words, “is Bristle!”

Bristle responded to the name by rolling onto its back and snapping playfully at Taleon’s fingers, missing by a thin margin. Taleon clicked his tongue in disapproval, and the creature went still with a low whimper.

Corin stared between the two. “That thing just tried to kill us, and here you are treating it like a beloved pet!”

Taleon’s brow furrowed as he looked over the seemingly playful monster at his feet. “No, the confusion lies. It tried to play. Do you not play anymore? Play, play, play.”

As if on cue, Bristle sprang to its feet and bounded toward Corin, skidding to a stop inches away and dropping something at his feet—a cracked bone. Human, he guessed, and polished smooth by teeth. Its tail thrashed eagerly.