Page 3 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

The priest’s words hung in the air, as heavy as incense. Though maybe it was only Corin who felt the heaviness as a cheer rose at the words. Corin felt it press against him like a physical thing. Everyone cast their eyes to him—everyone except for the priests who remained focused on the inebriated king.

Corin smiled, but he could tell it didn’t reach far. The smile felt to him like a default, like the smile that heirs needed to smile.

But despite the smile, inside, something cold settled deep in his chest.

“The Labyrinth is awake,” the priest repeated, louder now. “It has counted the years, the bloodlines, the debts unpaid. Since the dawn of Minos, it has been our tool and our power. Tomorrow, it will open its paths to the heir of Knossos, so that balance may be kept.”

A murmur rippled through the hall then. Some crossed themselves in the old way, and Corin nearly scoffed at that action. Others raised their cups higher, as if daring the stone beneath their feet to listen as they thought of Mount Olympus.

Corin inclined his head, the movement practiced. It protected his scoff and served to respect the elders. He had been taught since childhood how to stand when spoken over, how to appear steady when his name was weighed against something ancient and hungry. This was the time when all that practice came to use.

“May the gods and Olympus watch your steps, my prince,” the priest said at last, finally meeting Corin’s gaze. His eyes were pale, unreadable, just as they had always been when Corin spoke to the priest. “And may the Labyrinth find you… worthy.”

This time, a scoff did leave his lips.

Worthy of what, Corin wondered. Escape? Survival?

Mirelle seemed to be the only one who noticed his scoff as he caught her smile out of the corner of his eye. She shook her head slowly, and the heir sighed.

The priests withdrew as quietly as they had come, and the music stumbled back into life, louder than before. Uncle Theros clapped his hands together and called for more wine, as though sound alone might drown out the words that had settled into the stone. Laughter followed, brittle at the edges.

Mirelle’s father called her over to talk with another lord. She bid her goodbye to the prince, promising to return shortly, but Corin knew that once she got to talking strategy or trade, he wouldn’t see her the rest of the night.

Corin sat for a while, observing those that would soon worship the ground he walked on as king, before his heart grew too tired to be amongst the inebriated. He rose from the table, slipping away while the crowd reclaimed itself. No one stopped him. No one noticed.

The heir was already accounted for.

The corridors beyond the hall were cool and dim, torchlight flickering along carved reliefs of bulls and spirals and figures walking endlessly forward. Corin slowed as he passed them, his fingers brushing the stone. The carvings were older than the palace above, older than the crown itself.

He paused at a narrow balcony overlooking the outer courtyard. Beyond the walls, the land fell away into darkness, broken only by the faint glow of one of the Labyrinth’s sealed entrances far below—a scar of stone at the base of the hill, marked with gold-veined symbols no one alive remembered carving.

Somewhere beneath his feet, the Labyrinth waited.

Tomorrow, it would open for his trial.

Corin rested his hands on the cold railing and breathed in the night air. He thought of his uncle’s laughter—too loud, too eager. Of the priest’s eyes. Of Mirelle’s steady presence, and how easily it had been taken from him.

Three nights, they said.

Three nights to prove himself king—or become another story whispered after wine had dulled the fear.

“I will not be a coward,” Corin murmured to the dark, though he was no longer certain whom he was trying to convince.

Below, far beneath the stone and earth, something shifted.

He spent far longer than he expected watching the world around him. He breathed in the warm air that tickled his skin. The stars were bright tonight, taunting him with their beauty that he would miss.

There would be none of that in the Labyrinth, no seeing the stars or feeling the sun on his skin, and he feared he would miss it for those few short days.

Corin knew he needed to sleep. He had no idea how much rest he would be able to get once inside. There were monsters and traps and myths running rampant down there. There could be beings running after him from his first step inside the Labyrinth. He had no idea what would happen, and it frightened him.

Still, he didn’t feel tired. His heart was in his stomach and his chest was tight, but he was wired. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep at this point.

Corin began to move towards his chambers, thinking maybe if he tried, he could get a few hours of rest before his trial.

But then he came upon the Hall of Due.

He stared at the grand hall, listening to the steady beats of his heart. A gust of wind pushed past him, whispering in his ear to come inside. He almost continued on to his chambers, but his feet refused to move forward anymore.