Page 19 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

The idea lodged itself in his chest like a splinter. It was so easy, he thought. And the Labyrinth had practically handed him the opportunity. He wondered briefly if the maze had always walked the heirs into a situation such as this. No wonder most heirs made it out of the trial.

He could see it already: daylight. Stone opening. The weight of the Labyrinth lifting from his bones. His uncle’s gold-drenched smile. Mirelle’s steady gaze. His people’s cheers of joy.

Freedom.

And this creature—myth, monster, beast—was standing between him and the exit.

And the Labyrinth was waiting to see what he would do.

The Minotaur bellowed then, as if demanding his attention. The sound tore through the corridor, vibrating through Corin’s ribs. The Labyrinth seemed to respond then with a low groan, walls shuddering as if in recognition and acceptance. Almost identical to how it seemed to accept Ariadne.

But he couldn’t think of that now. Corin raised his blade. He shifted in waiting, stepping forward just slightly.

It only took another harsh breath and a shift in sword from Corin before the Minotaur charged.

Stone shattered beneath its hooves as it surged forward, a large wall of muscle and horn and fury rushing towards the young heir. Corin barely had time to brace before instinct took over. He rolled to the side as one horn carved through the space where his chest had been only seconds before, the wind of it passing stealing his breath.

“No–wait!” Ariadne cried.

He didn’t listen.

He came up on one knee and slashed at the creature’s flank, blade biting deep into fur and flesh. He swung his sword downward, slicing through the fur and muscle on the beast’s thigh. The Minotaur roared, the sound so close it rattled Corin’s skull, and backhanded him with a forearm the size of a tree trunk. Corin flew, hitting the wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, and tasted blood.

The beast did not give him time to recover.

It swung for him again. Corin raised his sword just in time for steel to meet bone with a shriek that rang down the corridor. A loud grunt escaped him as the force of the hit wrenched the weapon from his grip.

His sword skidded across the stone room and vanished into shadow with a sharp clang.

His heart lurched.

The Minotaur lowered its head and charged again.

Corin drove forward, rolling beneath the arc of its horns. Pain flared as one horn clipped his arm, tearing through fabric and flesh. Instantly, he felt the warmth of blood run down to his fingers.

He nearly cried out in pain but steeled himself with a clench of his teeth. He refused to show any signs of weakness to the beast. He had to succeed—he needed this monster’s psyche. He needed to get out.

He rose from behind the monster, already reaching for the dagger at his hip, and thanked the gods in that moment that he chose two weapons.

The Minotaur twisted faster than he expected. A massive hand closed around Corin’s injured arm and squeezed. White-hot pain exploded through his shoulder, and this time, he couldn’t stop the scream that escaped him. His other hand came up on instinct to drive the dagger into the creature’s wrist—once, twice—until it released him with a bellow of rage. It shot backwards, steam escaping through its nostrils.

Corin could see a stream of dark red blood drip down from the monster onto the stone that lay before them, and he imagined his own growing pool of blood looked similar.

They circled each other then, both bleeding but not willing to give in to the other.

Corin’s chest heaved. His arm burned something fierce and was slick with blood. It was more painful than any injury he had faced before.

The Minotaur was stomping and snorting, one eye half-lidded, as blood started to matte the fur along its side. It was limping slightly—just enough. Enough for Corin to move in.

This is it, Corin thought once again. This is how I leave.

When the beast lunged again, Corin met it head-on with a renewed sense of determination.

He ducked beneath the swing of its horns and leapt, grabbing onto coarse fur and muscle as he hauled himself up its back. The Minotaur thrashed and bellowed a loud groan.

The world became constant motion and heat and the smell of blood, but Corin drove his knees into its spine and clung on as it bucked.

“Corin!” Ariadne shouted, panic cracking her voice. “Stop! Please, stop!”