Page 63 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

XXII

Corin gulped.

The Minotaur emerged from the far passage like a living shadow given weight.

Its horns scraped the stone as it ducked through the archway, long and curved. The tips were dulled and cracked from centuries of battle. Its massive shoulders rolled as it stepped into the chamber, muscles shifting beneath hide. It was covered in scars caused by old wounds and fresh ones alike.

One dark eye fixed on Corin immediately; the other was clouded, the remnant of an ancient strike that had never fully healed despite its countless deaths and resurgences. Steam curled from its nostrils with every breath, each exhale carrying the scent of iron and earth.

It stopped when it saw Ariadne.

Just for a moment.

Something passed between them—recognition, concern… restraint. Then, the Minotaur’s gaze slid back to Corin, and its posture changed just as quickly. It lowered its head, hooves scraping against the stone, the ground trembling beneath its weight.

Corin’s pulse thundered in his ears. He shifted his grip on his blade.

This was it.

He took a second to glance back at Ariadne. She stood frozen near the edge of the chamber, her hands clenched tightly at her sides, tears tracking silently down her face. She didn’t plead. She didn’t move. She only watched him, eyes wide and shining with a grief so raw it hallowed him out.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured softly. He wasn’t sure if she heard his words, but he needed her to know.

He drew a slow breath, and when his eyes fell back to the Minotaur, it was already charging.

The impact of the beast came fast and brutal. Corin barely had time to throw himself aside as horns tore through the space where he’d just been standing.

Stone exploded beneath the force of the blow, shards skittering across the floor. Corin rolled quickly, came up on one knee, and slashed upward with the blade Ariadne had gifted him.

The Minotaur roared—deep and furious and mighty inpatient—as steel bit into its flank.

The beast wheeled on him instantly, a massive arm swinging swiftly through the air. Corin raised his blade just in time, but the brute force of the strike sent him skidding backward across the uneven stone. His arm jolted painfully from the impact, radiating through his body sharply as the air released from his chest.

He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could only to see the Minotaur come at him again, hooves pounding and horns lowered. He dodged again, just narrowly avoiding impact once again.

They circled each other then, breath ragged. His sword was raised between them, but his hands shook slightly as he tried to catch his breath.

For a moment, and not for the first time, Corin wondered how many heirs had fought the Minotaur. And out of those, how many had managed to kill it.

Corin darted in, struck low, then retreated as a horn narrowly missed his ribs. The Minotaur adapted quickly, its movements surprisingly precise and agile despite its size. A heavy fist caught Corin across the shoulder, spinning him and driving the air from his lungs. He staggered, vision blurring slightly, but managed to stay upright.

Blood ran warm down his arm, and he cursed loudly.

The Minotaur had managed to strike the same arm from their previous battle. While Ariadne’s ambrosia had fully healed the limb, it still stung greatly from the memory of an old injury, the new one pushing forward to ache greatly.

He didn’t have time to think about it, though. He needed to welcome the pain, embrace it.

Use it.

The Minotaur lunged again, and Corin met it head on. He ducked beneath the horns, rolled between its legs, and slashed upward, drawing a bellow of pain from the beast. The creature stumbled, more surprised than hurt, and Corin realized his opportunity.

He didn’t hesitate. He leapt, catching hold of coarse fur and muscle, hauling himself up its back as the Minotaur reared and thrashed.

The world became noise and motion—roaring breath, shaking stone, the violent rise and fall of the Minotaur’s body beneath him. Corin clung on, every muscle screaming as he clenched them and dragged himself higher.

He gripped the one horn in his free hand to pull himself into a better position. A position he had been in once before.

He found the place.