Page 27 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
The door creaks, and Grom stumbles in, bloodied and torn, like the pathetic excuse for a guardian he’s become. His face is smeared with dirt, his clothes shredded from the battle I know he must have lost. The sight of him stikes fear in me.
"Tell me you have news of her." My voice slices through the air, colder than the stone beneath my feet. "Where is she?
Grom falls to his knees, head bowed as he trembles. Good. He should be on his knees after the failure he's made of this. Myblood boils because I know she is dead, I’ve killed her. If he looks like this I can’t even imagine what has happened to her. My body starts to shake again and I don’t even try to hide it.
“My King… I tried to warn you," he stammers, his voice thin with desperation. "The maze… it's changing. We got separated by shade hounds.”
Shade hounds. The pit in my stomach tightens. My eyes narrow as I glare down at him. “What do you mean, separated? Where is she? Where did you last see her? Is she alive?”
Grom gulps, eyes darting around as if the walls themselves will answer for him. "She was with me until the maze closed... a wall... it shut between us. She’s in the Abyssal Quadrant.”
“I know that much,” I growl, stepping forward, my shadow looming over him. “Your news offers me no relief.”
“I tried searching, my King,” Grom continues, voice shaking. “But the maze… it’s not the same. The walls, the paths... they're shifting in ways they shouldn’t. I fear something foul is happening.”
“And you left her there?” My fury is a palpable thing now, claws sinking into my skin. “Why are you here, groveling like a worm, instead of still searching?”
Grom’s head hangs lower, his body trembling. “My King… these weren't just any shade hounds. This was a pack. Not stragglers that were simply lost in the changing of the maze. They were organized, they knew who they wanted. I was able to defeat them so she can get away. She was alive and safe when I lost her.”
The room falls silent, his words twisting inside me like a blade. A pack, hunting her specifically. I bristle, knowing all too well what that could mean. My thoughts snap to Nyria, and the possibility that she’s behind this betrayal claws at my mind. If she has done this, if she dared defy me…
My gaze hardens as I glare down at Grom, who cowers at my feet.
“If this is Nyria’s doing, she will beg for a swift death,” I say, my voice low and lethal. "And I will make sure her end is a warning to any who think to challenge me in my own kingdom."
Grom shifts on his knees, his body trembling but not from fear—it’s the weight of something deeper. His skin is torn and raw, the aftermath of his battle with the shade hounds plain to see. But even now, he refuses to give in to the pain, his desperation to find her outweighing everything else.
“That is why I came here after my failure to reach her,” Grom says, his voice thick with remorse. “I needed you to know… this may be bigger than we think.”
I pause, the fury that has gripped me since he entered the room softening slightly as I take in the state of him. The gashes across his chest, the way his breathing rattles—this was no coward’s retreat. He took the brunt of the shade hounds' assault, defending her as best he could. Despite his failure, Grom had tried to protect her, risking his life for Brielle.
For that… I am grateful.
My jaw tightens as I look down at him, forcing the words past the jagged edge of my pride. “You protected her. You took their attacks for her, and for that, Grom, you have my gratitude.”
His eyes flick up at me, surprise flashing through them, but I don’t let him speak.
I turn toward the door, my voice sharp. “Isthra!”
A figure glides into the room, tall, draped in a soft grey dress that whispers against the stone floor. Her body is human-like, but her face is something else entirely. Dark feathers frame her sharp features, beady black eyes unblinking, her face like that of a crow. She has been in this castle among my staff for as long as I have taken the thrown.
“Isthra, see that Grom gets to Griffin,” I order. “He is to be patched up, taken care of and fed before he leaves.”
Grom shakes his head, trying to stand on his weakened legs. “No need,” he rasps. “I’ll be fine. I need to get back out there, to find her.”
I see it now, not just the pain of failure in his eyes, but something deeper. He isn’t merely ashamed of letting me down; he cares for her. Truly cares for Brielle. The thought tightens my chest, though I keep my face unreadable.
“There is no point in returning if you are too broken to finish the task,” I snap, though my voice is not as harsh as before. “Go with Isthra. You will need your strength if you wish to make up for your failure.”
Grom hesitates, torn between the urge to keep searching for her and the reality of his injuries. But eventually, he bows his head, his loyalty to me and Brielle still burning behind his eyes.
“As you command, my King,” he mutters before limping after Isthra.
I watch him leave, the tension in the room thickening once more. “Send for Grath,” I bellow, my voice reverberating through the stone walls of the throne room. The tension in my chest tightens, a knot of frustration and something deeper, something darker that I dare not name. Isthra slips out with Grom, and I can hear her soft steps retreating down the corridor. But I need more than healers and guards. I need soldiers.
Moments later, Grath strides into the room, his heavy boots making the floor quake with each step. The man is a beast, towering over most of my soldiers, his armor scratched and dented from countless battles. His face, half-hidden beneath a thick beard, is stern as he kneels before me.
“My King,” Grath says, his deep voice a low rumble, “what do you need of me?”
