Page 36 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

When he straightened, Ariadne was still there, still silent, still watching him as though he were something fragile and dangerous all at once.

“So,” he began, voice quieter now, “I guess it’s not letting me go.”

“No,” she agreed. “It does not appear so. Not yet.”

“It doesn’t want me to fulfill my trial.”

She didn’t respond to that. Only kept her steady gaze on him.

Corin looked at the many archways lining the chamber—each one a promise, every one a lie. He released another shaky breath and slid his back down a large pile of stones until he plopped to the ground.

“Then I suppose it wants something else.”

Corin sat with his back against one of the larger sun-warmed stones, legs stretched out in front of him with his new blade resting across his thighs.

It had been a long time since either of the entities in the room had spoken. The open air above them held the quiet without pressing, as if even the Labyrinth had decided to listen rather than intrude.

Ariadne’s eyes had remained on the blade in Corin’s lap. She stared at it with longing, perhaps remembrance, and the gaze made a chill run down Corin’s spine. Whatever it was, it distracted her enough to where she had needed to restart her weaving.

It was only once she shook her head to banish whatever thoughts plagued her that she broke the silence.

“Tell me about your life,” she requested.

He met her eyes, surprised. “My life?”

“Yes.” She folded herself down onto a stone a few paces away so they could face each other directly. She was careful to not be too close but not too distant either. “Not of the trial. Not of what awaits you outside this place. Just… you. I do not get the opportunity to learn about many down here.”

Corin exhaled slowly, considering his words. He couldn’t remember the last time someone asked him a question such as that without expectation layered beneath it.

“I live in Kno–” he paused, thinking over his words, as he didn’t want to anger the maze with another name. He was sure a kingdom would be safe, but he could not even think about running away from more chaos then. “Well, you know where I live. Or did live.” He winced slightly. “It’s a kingdom built on old gold and even older stories. Everyone walks like they’re carrying the weight of their ancestors on their shoulders. And I guess they may.”

“That sounds familiar.”

He thought of what she would want to hear about. “Whispers of your father’s time still echo in the halls.”

Ariadne huffed softly. “Of course. He would not have liked it any other way, I assure you.”

He smiled despite himself, but it quickly fell as he spoke of his kingdom. “Court life is… orderly, I suppose. Ritualized. Every meal, every conversation has a rule attached to it. Lords who smile while sharpening knives you’ll never see. Ladies who remember every slight and repay them with grace.”

She studied him for a moment. “And you?” she asked. “What do you do when you are not being watched?”

He thought of the early mornings in the training yards, of sneaking out of the ramparts just before dawn, of sitting in the archives with Mirelle while she read aloud and corrected scribes thrice their age.

“I learn,” he said finally. “And I listen. I’m expected to rule after this, so I’ve been taught since birth how to look like I already know what I’m doing.”

Her lips curved faintly at that, not quite the smile that Corin felt himself wishing for. “Do you enjoy it?”

His brows raised. Did he? “I suppose… it’s all I know.”

Ariadne let those words sink in before continuing. “And do you… have friends?”

Corin noticed the way her fingers pulled slightly in her lap. When she noticed his gaze, her fingers slipped away.

“A few,” he answered, a small blush rising to his cheeks. “Mirelle.” he halted and instinctively glanced towards the walls. He expected them to bristle at the name, to send a punishment down again.

But thankfully, somehow, nothing happened. No explosion or monster coming to attack him. The words were able to escape him without protest, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Despite his hesitation, he relaxed. “Mirelle is my closest friend. She’s clever, practical.” He released a sharp laugh. “A born queen, and she’d be a better ruler than most the kings I know.”