Page 44 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

“My daughter,” he croaked, pleading with his hands open and reaching for her, “help me!”

Daughter?

Before Corin could react or question the misted figure, the mist that remained around them shifted again, forming into another solid mass. Instead of steadily forming, this one was violent as the figure seemed to tear through. It revealed a young man, no older than Corin. He seemed crueler in his beauty as he stepped forward with a sickly sweet smile and practiced remorse.

If the first figure in the mist was her father, Corin was scared to know exactly who this was.

“I should not have left you,” the second figure said gently and torturously sweet. “I need you now. Please.”

Ariadne’s breath hitched. She didn’t move towards the figures, but she didn’t move away either. Her feet were planted so stiffly she was sure she had to have been stuck in place. Her hands trembled at her sides, her eyes wide, glassy, and fixed.

Corin watched as many emotions raced over her face—fear, longing, guilt. They came over her in waves as she remained still. Her body fought against any sort of movement or acknowledgement.

Corin didn’t know what was happening, but he knew he needed to get her away from these misted figures before they damaged her beyond repair.

“Hey,” Corin interrupted urgently. The figures continued to beg her for something and everything all at once, and she was too fixated on the pair to acknowledge Corin. He touched her shoulder, but her body was ice cold.

“You are such a disappointment,” her father’s figure spat.

“You cannot even get yourself out of the Labyrinth,” the younger figure added.

Corin blinked, hearing the horrid words of these figures and not understanding what was happening. If this was his trial, why were the figures so intent on causing harm to Ariadne? What had she done to the Labyrinth to deserve this torture?

The chamber erupted then.

More figures clawed their way out of the mist, voices overlapping. Figures he didn’t quite recognize but all seemed regal and intent on torturing Ariadne. They rang out in pleas, begs, and accusations. Ariadne’s eyes bounced between them all as she remained frozen in place.

They circled around her, ensuring their harsh words met her ears without a single beat of silence. Each word, each taunt, was followed by another from a figure across from her.

Though still, her father and the second figure’s words rang out heaviest.

Corin reached out to shake her, but his hands were pushed away by the mists. They directed his hands in the other direction, forcing him to spin so his back was to her, and Corin blinked as realization dawned on him.

It wasn’t only just figures to torture Ariadne.

“Mirelle?”

His friend’s clear figure stood near the wall, glowing faintly as she offered him a sad smile. Her face was pale and tear-streaked in a way Corin had never seen before. She reached out for him slowly as if yearning for him, wishing for him to help her.

“Corin,” she whimpered. “Please! You promised you’d protect me!”

His heart slammed against his ribs. He opened his mouth to respond, but as soon as he did, another shape stepped forward from the coiling mist. This one taller and broader. And male.

His father.

Dead and unmistakable. He stood as regal as ever, as if speaking to Knossos in a formal address, but behind that, he was sad. His face broke into an angry solemness.

Just seeing his father crushed the air from Corin’s lungs. It had been so long since his father had passed, and the emotions coming from the mist ate at the weight of that loss.

“You let me die,” his father accused quietly.

Corin blinked once. Twice. “Let you… what?”

“Are you going to let me die, too?” Mirelle shot out.

Waves of confusion rushed over Corin. This couldn’t be real. Mirelle was safe and sound in Knossos, probably in some council meeting as his representative or enjoying a nice meal with their people. There was no danger to her.

And his father… his father was long gone. It had been so many years since he passed, and it was something Corin had nothing to do with. He was only five years old when it happened. There was nothing he could have done to fight the sickness.