Page 45 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

Yet, here the two of them were, clear as anything else he had seen in the Labyrinth.

More figures followed from the mist. Faces he knew. Faces he loved. Faces he… had failed. His cook, a soldier he had fought with, a woman in town who made his favorite bread, Horal.

They surrounded him with their pleas, each of them reaching his ears louder and louder. The chamber roared with need, with grief, with the impossible demand to save them all.

“Stop!” Corin demanded hoarsely. “This isn’t real!”

The Labyrinth laughed without sound as the walls rumbled and the mist pushed forward even more, growing thicker at the second.

“This is your fault,” his father spat at him. “You couldn’t save me!”

“Save me, my future king!” Mirelle called out, desperation bleeding into her voice.

“You don’t deserve our admiration,” Horal shot.

Corin shook his head, not understanding what he needed to do to stop this chaos, when he caught sight of Ariadne out of the corner of his eyes. She had fallen to her knees, surrounded by her torturous misted figures.

But while Corin had an inkling of understanding that these misted figures torturing them were just illusions of the Labyrinth, she seemed to believe the opposite. She clutched at her dark hair, breath coming in shallow and broken gasps. Her eyes were solidly locked on the figures before her.

“I tried,” she whispered with a broken voice. “I stayed. I endured. I kept it open. I did everything I could.”

The young man knelt before her, reaching out but not quite touching her. “Then do one more thing for me.”

She broke.

Corin moved in without thinking. He pushed through the illusions in front of him, forcing himself forward even as misted hands grasped at him. Voices shouted his name, causing a fresh wave of guilt to crawl up his spine. Guilt that he pushed away as soon as he reached Ariadne.

He dropped to his knees beside her, gripping her shoulders. “Hey,” he started. “Look at me.”

She didn’t. Her eyes were trained on the young man in front of her with the sick smile.

Corin cursed. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her tight against his chest as the chaos swelled around them. She was shaking violently now. Tears raced down her face, and her breaths were coming out uneven and panicked.

“You’re here,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re not alone. They’re not here. I’ve got you.”

The illusions pressed closer at his words, desperate and furious.

A nervous whine erupted from behind him, startling him for a moment. It was louder and clearer than the haunted voices coming from the misted figures around them.

He froze for a moment before shifting his head to look behind him.

There stood a small bundle of mess cowered in the corner, haunches raised and teeth snarled as if set to protect him and Ariadne from the figures in the room.

Bristle.

It barked once, twice, before bounding over to Corin and snapping at any of the misted figures that floated close enough to warrant a threat. Its tail was whipping furiously, shoving away some of the mist from around them.

“Unhand her and come to your betrothed!” Mirelle demanded of Corin, pulling his attention away from the small creature.

“Did you replace me?” The young man that had tortured Ariadne spat out. “How dare you?!”

“I-I…” Ariadne stuttered, not understanding what was happening but feeling the crushing sense of guilt that wrapped around her shoulders.

He had to get her out of there.

Corin stood, lifting her fully into his arms. She gasped then as instinct seemed to kick in. Furiously, she clutched at his body, her fingers fisting his tunic and pulling herself ever closer.

“Bristle, let’s go!” Corin called out.