The Broken Ones (The Malediction Trilogy 0.6)(47)

“And where exactly will I be wearing it?” she asked, setting the garments aside while she worked on unfastening the buttons on her dress. I turned to give her privacy, hearing the faint splash of water as she wiped away the filth from her ordeal.

I hesitated, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer. “The labyrinth.”

The splashing ceased.

“Is that your plan, then?” she asked. “That I hide in the tunnels with the sluag for the rest of my days? Because that isn’t precisely the standard of comfort I’m used to.” She laughed at her own joke, but it was high-pitched and strange.

“No.” I pulled on my scaled coat, then put my cloak back on, checking the inner pocket for the small bulge that had been present with me every waking minute, my fear of losing it almost as great as my fear of being caught with it. “Wait here. I need to get the key.”

Ducking out into the hallway, I glanced in both directions before coating the floor with a layer of magic to muffle the sound of my steps. From the lower level, the King’s laughter echoed through the floors along with the awful weight of his magic. Such an enormous amount of power that he never used but to intimidate. Never used but to further his own ends, which never amounted to any good but for him. Angoulême was supposed to be his enemy, yet in this, they were as good as allies.

“Laugh while you can,” I muttered under my breath, then delved into the lock on my father’s study, muting the sound of the click as it opened. It was black inside, but I moved through the room on memory alone until I was next to his desk, then formed the faintest ball of light to guide my motions.

The key sat in a golden box on the table, and I unraveled the magic that was its true protection, easing a weight I’d constructed years ago onto the key’s cushion before allowing the trap to settle back into place. When I was younger, I’d taken it countless times without asking to go adventuring with my friends, but then the only risk had been a slap on the wrist.

Tonight, the stakes were much higher.



* * *



Shutting the gate, I led Pénélope into the tunnels until we were round several bends before dropping my illusion and illuminating our surroundings. Her eyes were wide, the sluag spear she gripped shaking, her heart a rapid thunder that matched my own, although for different reasons.

“Stones and sky,” she whispered, reaching out to touch the crushed wall of a building, fingers tracing what had once been a window frame. “It’s like walking through an enormous tomb, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” The truth was, I had never given it much thought. We came here for fun, excitement, and adventure, not to contemplate the dead. And death was too pressing, too imminent, for me to want to think about it now.

“I thought it would be more ominous,” she said, bending to examine the pattern of the cracked paving stones. “But it’s more sad than anything else. All those lives lost in the space of a heartbeat, not even a chance to say goodbye. To tell those who mattered that they were loved.”

“But at least it was quick,” I said, taking her hand. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

She made a noncommittal noise, but followed me through the ruined streets without hesitation until we reached the narrow crevice leading into the labyrinth proper.

“It looks like the pathway to a nightmare,” she said, her steps faltering. “Marc, I don’t know if this is a good idea. I’m not trained to fight – especially not against the sluag – and if we were to become separated, I haven’t the wherewithal to find my way back.”

“That won’t happen.” I pulled her close, wanting to tell her that if I had my way, we’d never be separated. But I wanted the moment I said those words to be right, to be special, not to be forced out by circumstance in the way so much of our relationship had been. “As long as we’re quiet, the sluag are unlikely to even notice we’re here.” And with a dozen half-bloods having been recently sentenced to the labyrinth, the creatures were likely sated. But I didn’t tell her that.

Her grip on my arm tightened, and she said, “I’m afraid.”

But before I could offer any words of comfort, she turned sideways to ease through the crack and into the depths of the labyrinth.

We moved silently through the tunnels, and not for the first time, I realized how much I’d underestimated her. How much we’d all underestimated her bravery. Though her heart never ceased its frantic drumming, Pénélope did not hesitate again, squeezing through tight spaces, climbing over slick boulders, and jumping down into holes without question. True bravery was not doing something without fear, but rather, I thought, doing it despite fear.

“It’s this way,” I said, gesturing left. “Close your eyes.”

Her tongue ran over her lips nervously, but her lids closed over her eyes and I took her arms, guiding her forward until we stood at the end of the tunnel, the fresh air clean and tantalizing as the faintest breeze caught at the loose strands of her hair. “Open your eyes,” I said.

A faint gasp exited her lips as her eyelids opened and she took in the cavern. I’d come back twice since stealing the élixir. In those visits, I’d removed the bodies and drained the foul water, but that hadn’t seemed enough. So though I had no talent for the creation of beautiful things, I’d set to making the cavern as worthy of her and this moment as I could, clearing rubble and scrubbing away mildew and dirt before redirecting a stream of water so that it ran through the center and beneath the stone platform I’d carefully constructed. On the walls, I’d placed tiny pieces of silvered mirror that caught and reflected the large orb of light I suspended in the middle, making the shadows appear filled with stars.