Page 26 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

She huffed quietly and dipped a finger into the bowl, letting a single drop cling to her skin. “You will not be having much.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” she answered around an eye roll. “It is only because you need it.”

She held her finger out to him. Corin hesitated, meeting her eyes in question. He had heard the rumors of humans indulging in the drink of the gods. They had all gone insane and passed soon after. But Ariadne nodded at him, and he couldn’t deny her then.

As soon as the thick liquid hit his tongue, warmth bloomed instantly through his chest, spreading outward quickly like sunlight erupting under his skin. It rushed over each limb, cascading to the tips of his fingers and toes. All aches, pain, and tiredness seemed to evaporate from his body instantly.

He felt powerful, invincible. Like he could run around Knossos a hundred times and not break a sweat.

But as soon as he felt it, the rush faded away.

He leaned forward as if to seek out another, and Ariadne pulled the bowl away into her side.

“That’s… unfair,” he muttered.

“It is enough.”

He swallowed, reluctantly agreeing. “I feel like I could wrestle the Labyrinth itself.”

“Please do not,” she said dryly. “It would surely take that personally.”

Corin released a soft laugh as they sat in silence for a moment. The chamber was quiet around them but clearly alive with wind and distant birdsong. Now that his body was feeling back to his normal strength, the questions ran through his mind all at once, overwhelming him with the uncertainties he still did not know the answers to.

He cleared his throat. “You said you’d explain. If I let you help me.”

Her gaze sharpened. “I said I would tell you what I can.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

She considered him for a long moment before sitting back across from him. “You may ask.”

Corin didn’t hesitate. “How are you still here?”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the bowl. “I never left.”

“That’s not an answer,” he grumbled.

“No,” she agreed. “It is the truth.”

He frowned. “These–”

Her head snapped up. The light in the chamber dimmed slightly, the breeze stalling as if caught in its throat.

“Don’t,” she wanted.

Corin paused. “Why?”

“Some names still echo,” she replied. “And some doors should remain closed now.”

He watched her carefully then nodded. “Fine. Then, why don’t you call me by my name?”

She relaxed. “Names matter here.”

He judged her words. He had seen what saying her name had done to Taleon and Bristle, and he was certainly not in any mood to run out of another chamber so soon again. “I’ve noticed. You react like the world is ending anytime someone says a name.”

She scoffed. “You are the only one that has said any name here.”