Page 42 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
For a second, all I see is red. My grip on Brielle loosens as I pull away, fury boiling in my chest. My Crow, my companion, my only friend, now lay lifeless at Nyria’s feet. But even through the haze of rage, something catches my attention.
Nyria is scrambling, blind with pain, her hand searching the ground frantically, her breath coming in ragged gasps between guttural screams. I step closer, intent on finishing her, when I see what she’s searching for.
The cursed crow’s eye.
It glimmers in the blood at her feet, a small, glassy orb that pulses with a faint, malevolent glow. My crow must’ve ripped it right from her face, stripping her of the power she’s wielded. I stride forward, and with a sharp movement, I plant my boot directly above it, the heel hovering inches from the cursed object.
“Nyria,” I bark, my voice as cold as the shadows gathering around us.
She freezes, her head tilting up to face me. Blood drips from the hollow socket, her face a twisted mask of pain and fury.
“You looking for this?” I growl, gesturing down with a flick of my head, my eyes never leaving her.
For a moment, she stares, her remaining eye wide with desperation. And then, with a snarl, she lunges for it, her fingers clawing toward the cursed eye.
But I’m faster.
My boot comes down with a sickening crunch, and I twist my foot, grinding the eye into the stone floor beneath me. Shadows erupt from beneath my heel, swirling up in thick, billowing clouds of smoke and darkness as the cursed object disintegrates into nothing but dust. Nyria’s scream pierces the air, high and sharp, filled with a terror I’ve never heard from her before but that I delight in so much.
“NO!” she wails, clutching her empty socket as she crumbles to the ground. “No, no, no!”I feel it, the shift in the air, the way the oppressive weight of her magic fades as the cursed eye is reduced to ash. She writhes on the floor, her hand slapping at the ground in futile desperation, her wails becoming softer, weaker. The shadows that once obeyed her no longer answer her call. I stand over her, silent for a moment, watching her reduced to this; a pitiful, broken creature, no longer the fearful ruler of the North she once was.
"You should have known," I murmur, voice low. Her remaining eye flickers up to me, hatred burning within it, but I can see the fear now; the fear of someone who knows the end is near. I stride closer, her body trembling, broken by the loss of her power. Her wails are nothing more than pitiful whimpers now. Without a word, I reach down and grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her up with brutal force. She gasps, clawing at my hand, but her strength is nothing now. I drag her across the stone floor, her feet stumbling as I pull her toward Brielle.
The chaos around us stills in an instant, the clash of metal, the cries of battle; all silenced. Her army of shadows dissolves into nothingness, collapsing as though the darkness itself has lost its will to fight. Brielle doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t cower away from the scene before her. She stands tall, her chin raised, eyes blazing with an anger so fierce it nearly matches my own.
I stop in front of her, gripping Nyria by the hair with one hand, my sword in the other. The blade hovers at her throat, a hair’s breadth from spilling her life across the floor. I lean down, snarling into her ear.
"Kneel before your queen."
With a swift kick to the back of her leg, I force her down. She collapses at Brielle’s feet, her body crumpling to the ground, her face twisted in pain. I stand behind her, sword still pressed against her throat, my gaze shifting to Brielle. Nyria winces, gasping for air, her breath shallow as she dares to lift her head.
"You’re at the mercy of your queen now, Nyria. Will you grovel? Ask for forgiveness?" I growl, my voice dripping with contempt.
Her lip trembles, her pride shattered, but she says nothing. There are no pleas, no words of defiance left. She is defeated.
Brielle steps forward, her eyes burning with cold fury. She looks down at Nyria, the woman who tormented her, who tried to break her, and for a moment, the silence is suffocating.Brielle’s lip curls in disgust, and with venom in her voice, she says, “Save your words, Nyria, because just like you, they will be forgotten.”
Nyria shudders at the words, the final blow to her pride.
“This is a queen,” Brielle continues, her voice unyielding, “This is what a queen does. Isn’t that what you said?”
Nyria’s face contorts with pain, but it’s the truth in Brielle’s words that wounds her more deeply than any blade could.
Brielle takes a breath, her voice steady as she utters the final condemnation. “May Villinia’s soul rest in peace.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, and in that instant, I see it. The strength, the command, the fire of a true queen in her eyes.
“Kill her,” she says, the order clear and sharp.
There is no hesitation. I draw the blade clean across Nyria’s throat, the steel slicing through flesh with a deadly precision. Blood sprays in a violent arc, splattering the stone floor and staining the ground at Brielle’s feet. Nyria’s body goes limp, her hands clawing at her throat for one last desperate moment before she crumples, lifeless, to the floor. And then, silence. I stand there, breathing hard, my eyes locked on Brielle. The woman who faced a nightmare, who endured the horrors of the maze, who now stands as queen. The queen who commanded me without fear, and I… obeyed.
Brielle’s eyes are locked onto mine until they drift past me, widening as she stares at something on the ground. I turn, following her gaze, and feel my heart seize at the sight.
Where my crow had fallen, there’s now a body, a woman crumpled on the stone, her blood pooling beneath her. Her hair, dark as raven feathers, fans out in stark contrast against the cold, unforgiving floor. That hair, the same raven color I’d seen every day, every flight, every watchful moment. I stagger, breath catching in my throat, disbelief choking me. No. Not her.
I drop to my knees, hands trembling as I reach out, lifting her gently, so gently. Her head rolls back, and her face tilts up toward me; familiar, even now, even after all these years apart. My voice cracks as I breathe out, "Mother."
My chest feels like it’s being split open, an ache so deep it steals the air from my lungs. I pull her closer, cradling her frail, broken body as if I could shield her from everything that’s already happened. Her blood seeps into my hands, warm and accusing, marking me, binding me to this unbearable truth. I feel my throat close, the grief so raw and sharp that it feels like I'm swallowing glass. Her eyelids flutter, and she opens her eyes, pale and glassy, but somehow they find me, focusing with a clarity that defies her broken body. She looks up at me, her lips parting in a faint smile, so gentle, so warm, and I feel myself shatter.
