Page 52 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

Ariadne turned to face him straight on. Her expression wasn’t that of cruelty but it wasn’t exactly gentle either. “That was his sacrifice,” she explained. “Not blood. Not bone. Not love.”

Corin could have sworn his throat tightened when she mentioned love.

She paused as she let the weight of her words settle. Then, “Pride.”

At that, something twisted in Corin’s chest.

“He gave it up completely,” she continued. “He let go of the idea that he was brave. Or clever. Or worthy of the crown he would later wear. He lived in fear every moment he was here. And after three days, the Labyrinth opened.” Her voice softened then. “The Labyrinth made sure he always remembered that, I am sure.”

Corin swallowed.

He pictured his uncle’s careful smile, his rigid posture. The way he never spoke of his own trial unless pressed—and at that point, he was more than likely intoxicated as he bragged on and on about boisterous fighting and dominating the Labyrinth. The other half of the time he spoke of it, he spoke in half-truths and omissions.

Corin thought of the times his uncle would avoid even walking past the Hall of Due as they spoke, instead taking the long way around the castle. Corin never paid it any mind, just the man attempting to walk a bit more.

But now? Now, Corin was doubting everything about his uncle.

“So he lives,” Corin said slowly, “knowing that when it mattered most… he was a coward.”

Ariadne shrugged. “Yes.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

“I did not realize he was your uncle,” Ariadne muttered.

“That or my father.”

She shrugged once again. “Time, as you have encountered surely, moves strangely here. I cannot always say who came last.” She paused for a moment, picking at one of her nails. “Though it would not be the first time a new line was selected either.”

Corin leaned back against the stone, staring into the dark. He wasn’t sure what frightened him more at that moment: the thought of dying in the Labyrinth like Taleon or the thought of leaving it carrying a truth like his uncle.

Or, his mind growled at him, leaving her.

They sat there

longer than they likely should have. An opening came just to the right of Ariadne fairly quickly after their discussion turned to silence, yet they stayed sitting for a while after that.

There was no sign of Bristle coming back. It had bounded off into nothing without so much as a goodbye, and the thought tugged at something in Corin’s chest. Still, he supposed the beast knew these halls much better than Corin ever would. It had survived for a long time down here, and it would survive much longer.

Corin knew his three days must be almost over. He wasn’t sure how much time had truly passed, and he was sure asking Ariadne would get him another vague response. The Labyrinth had to open for him soon, but only if he figured out what his sacrifice needed to be.

He had no idea what it could be, and that thought frustrated him deeply.

The silence around them had weight to it, the kind that settled into the bones and made thinking too loud. Corin was fully lost in his frustrated thoughts when a low sound rolled through the corridors, interrupting their quiet. The growl was so distant but infinitely deep, like stone grinding against stone.

Ariadne’s head snapped up.

It came again, closer this time.

“We should move,” she whispered quietly. “Now.”

Corin nodded as they pushed themselves to their feet, though his thoughts lagged far behind his body. The two started down the new opening granted to them at a brisk walk that edged toward a run as the sound seemed to follow them.

As they moved, Corin’s mind refused to let go of what she’d said earlier. Pride. Cowardice. Sacrifice. The maze didn’t just want to take flesh; it took truths people didn’t want to carry.

And threaded through all of that was something else. A pull. Unwanted, unwise, and growing stronger by the moment.

He didn’t want to leave her.