Page 33 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
“Nyria,” I say quietly, taking a step toward him, “has her claws in you, doesn’t she?”
Valak’s eyes flash, and he takes a half step back, confirming it without a word. I feel the surge of anger rise in my chest, hot and violent. I want to strike him down where he stands, but I need answers more than I need blood right now. Though if he doesn’t speak soon, I’ll take both.
“I have no allegiance to her,” he says finally, but his voice lacks conviction.
“You speak to your King with a mouthful of lies?” I snarl, my anger boiling over. I’m in front of him in an instant, gripping his collar and pulling him close, the dagger pressed lightly to his throat. “You had orders, Valak. My orders. And you disobeyed them because of her?”
His breath is ragged, but he doesn’t flinch. “I didn’t have a choice.”
I tighten my grip, the tip of the blade drawing the slightest line of blood. “You always have a choice and that choice is always loyalty to your fucking King, Valak.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “And Brielle?” My voice drops lower, barely a whisper, but it holds all the weight of my fury. “If she dies, it won’t be just you who pays. The entire quadrant will burn.”
He trembles now, the arrogance gone, and I see the fear in his eyes. Good. He should be afraid. He should be terrified.
“Where is she?” I demand, releasing him and stepping back, though my eyes remain locked on his. “What is Nyria’s plan in all this?”
“I don’t know.” His voice shakes.
I let out a low, dangerous chuckle before my hand moves to the dagger at my side. With a speed most never witness I throw the dagger sinking it into his thigh as he falls against the stone wall. “You must think I’m weak, do you Valak?”
He screams out and shakes his head, his eyes wide. “No, no, but Thorne, she’s—”
“Enough.” I rush him pushing the dagger deeper as I press him against the wall harder, the stone cracking, the anger coiling tighter within me. “If you want to live through this you’ll give me something useful. Now.”
There’s a long silence, the only sound is his labored breathing. Finally, he speaks."Nyria has an artifact," he finally said, his words slower than I liked. I froze. An artifact?
I take a step back, trying to calm the surge of fury. But my thoughts kept circling back to Brielle, lost in the maze. My maze. The one I was supposed to command, and yet—no connection. No control. The walls and pathways shifted beyond my reach, and the crystal ball I usually used to see her? Dark. Useless.Darker magic is at work here and I knew it the moment my crystal ball denied me sight of her.
“What do you mean by an artifact?” I stared him down, the air thick with my rising fury. He wasn’t offering the information freely; that much was clear. His reluctance wasn’t born of fear, though. It was something darker. Something treacherous.
“Valak,” I growled, stepping closer. My fists tightened at my sides. “Tell me how she controls the maze with this. What artifact does she have?”
He kept his eyes low, avoiding my gaze, his lips twitching, but he said nothing. The insolence was a knife in my gut, twisting deeper. His posture was too calm. Too collected. I took another step, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Do not make me ask again.”
Still, he was silent. Something snapped in me.
With a vicious move, I seized him by the throat, slamming him against the stone wall of the throne room again. The force cracked the stone behind him for sure this time, as he choked, his hands clawing at my arm. But I didn’t loosen my grip.
“You’ve known something this entire time,” I snarled, my face inches from his. “And you’re going to tell me now, or I swear, I will rip the answer from your dying breath.”
He coughed, struggling for air. I could see the calculation in his eyes; the weighing of options, the flicker of fear beneath his defiance. But he was still trying to play me.
I pressed harder, his skin turning red under the pressure, his pulse pounding against my palm. “Speak.”
He grunted, the fight leaving him as I squeezed his neck tighter. “Alright! Alright,” he gasped, his voice rasping, barely a whisper. “She has... the Crow’s eye of Ashtear.”
I loosened my grip slightly, just enough to allow him to explain.
“The... the crows eye,” he choked, “was hidden in the Catacombs of Midnight. No one was supposed to find it, but Nyria... she did.” His eyes flicked up to meet mine, a flicker of something dangerous beneath the panic. “She didn’t just find it. She bonded with it. It’s fused to her.”
I released him, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. But my rage wasn’t sated. Not yet.
“Bonded?” I spat. “What does that mean?”
He rubbed his bruised neck, avoiding my gaze. “The crows eye... It’s a cursed thing. Ashtear’s own eye, torn from his head, bound to dark magic. It wasn’t hidden away to be protected; it was hidden because it was too dangerous. It latches onto its host, feeds on their desires, their hunger for power. Nyria... she has carved it into her.”
I stood there, processing the horror of it. Nyria had bonded herself to an ancient, cursed relic, and now she wielded control over the maze; over me. The thought was like acid in my veins. But something wasn’t right.
