Chapter 3 - The Palace Games
Queen Pasiphaë stood at her chamber window, watching the distant quarry where men moved like insects across the wounded earth. She counted the supply wagons—only eleven today, down from seventeen the week before. The workers' movements had changed too, no longer the confident patterns of builders but the furtive scurrying of men who knew they fed something that should not exist.
She pressed her palm against the cool stone, feeling the vibrations that traveled up from below. Not settling. Not construction. Breathing. The rhythm had grown stronger these past months, as if the thing below was getting impatient. As if it knew its food was coming. Her body remembered what her mind refused—the weight of it inside her, the way it had moved before birth with intelligence that shouldn't exist in a womb. She pulled her hand back, but the tremor followed, traveling up her arm like recognition.
Her reflection in the window glass showed a woman maintaining perfect composure, but she could see the truth beneath—the exhaustion, the revulsion, the careful calculations of a woman planning which servants to sacrifice and which to save when everything finally collapsed. Because it would collapse. Minos's obsession guaranteed it.
Behind her, the door opened without announcement. Only one person in the palace dared such presumption.
"Majesty," Lieutenant Theron's voice carried that particular tone of respect that managed to sound like mockery. "Forgive the intrusion."
She didn't turn. "You're early, Lieutenant. The council doesn't convene for another hour."
"I prefer to be... prepared." His footsteps crossed her chamber without invitation, stopping at her writing desk where he casually picked up one of her letters. "Correspondence from Rhodes? How interesting. I heard their governor has been slow with tribute payments."
The casual violation of her privacy was typical Theron—testing boundaries, asserting dominance through small cruelties. She turned to face him, noting how he didn't even pretend to not read her private correspondence.
"The governor seeks an extension due to crop failures," she said evenly.
"Crop failures." Theron set down the letter with deliberate slowness. "Strange how many of our tributaries suddenly discover agricultural difficulties. Almost as if they sense weakness."
Before she could respond, Lysippe appeared in the doorway, her face carefully neutral despite the Lieutenant's presence. "Your Majesty, shall I—"
"Come in, Lysippe." Pasiphaë kept her voice steady. "The Lieutenant was just leaving."
But Theron moved toward Lysippe instead, close enough that the woman had to step back. "Ah, the loyal lady-in-waiting. Tell me, what gossip do the servants share these days?"
Lysippe's eyes flicked to the Queen before answering. "Only the usual, Lieutenant. Concerns about wages, complaints about increased work—"
"Lies." The word cracked like a whip. Theron circled her slowly. "Three kitchen staff fled last night. The stable master's family departed for the mainland yesterday. Even the harbor master has been making inquiries about positions in Athens." He stopped directly in front of Lysippe, forcing her to look up at him. "So I ask again—what do the servants say?"
"They say..." Lysippe's voice trembled slightly. "They say the construction disturbs their sleep. That there are sounds from below that... that shouldn't exist. And they whisper about the foreign architect—how he works without rest, without fear. They've seen him carry stones that should break a man's back, work through the night without fatigue. They say he's not natural."
"And?"
"And that those who ask too many questions tend to... disappear."
Theron's smile turned calculating rather than cold. "Like that scullery maid, Thalia. So interested in the lower passages. Such unfortunate timing, her disappearance." He paused, watching Pasiphaë's reaction with the patience of a man who knew exactly which wounds to probe. "Though I wonder—was it curiosity that killed her, or did she see something she shouldn't have? Something about our... special guest below?"
The threat hung in the air. Thalia hadn't simply gone missing—everyone suspected where missing servants ended up. But saying so would acknowledge truths that couldn't be spoken.
"You should go to the council chamber," Pasiphaë said. "I'm sure the others are gathering."
"Oh, I'm certain they are. Kleomenes arrived before dawn—the man practically lives in fear these days. And our good Commander Asterion brought extra guards again. As if guards could protect against what really threatens this kingdom."
He moved toward the door, then paused. "Your Majesty should know—I've begun a formal investigation into the foreign architect. His... irregularities demand scrutiny."
"On whose authority?"
"On the authority of anyone who still cares about Crete's security." His tone carried an edge that bordered on insubordination. "Unless Your Majesty wishes to forbid such investigation? That would be... interesting."
The trap was obvious. Forbid it, and confirm she was hiding something. Allow it, and risk him discovering truths that would destroy them all.
"Investigate as you wish," she said. "But remember, Lieutenant—some knowledge carries a price. Make sure you're willing to pay it."
His smile widened. "Every truth is worth its cost, Majesty. Every single one."
After he left, Lysippe's composure crumbled slightly. "He grows bolder."
"He smells blood in the water." Pasiphaë moved back to the window. "Tell me what the servants really say."
"They say the King hasn't slept properly in weeks. That he dismisses even his most trusted guards for hours at a time, locked in his study with documents no scribe is permitted to copy. The servants who clean his chambers find stone dust on his robes—the gray-green kind from deep construction, not the white limestone from the upper works."
"And the architect?"
"They say he works without rest, without fear. That Daedalus looks more haunted each day, but the foreign one just... continues. As if he's done this before." Lysippe paused. "They say he's not natural. That no normal man could bear what he's building."
Pasiphaë absorbed this. An immortal architect building an impossible prison for an impossible creature. And Theron, not as stupid as he seemed, circling truths that would destroy them all. She could feel it in her bones—the same bones that had carried the monster for nine months—that time was running short.
"Double the guard on my chambers," she said quietly. "And prepare food for travel."
"Majesty?"
"I won't be here when the servants learn we've been feeding them to a monster."
The council chamber reeked of fear-sweat poorly masked by expensive perfumes. Kleomenes sat hunched over his ledgers, his ink-stained fingers trembling as they traced columns of losses. Across from him, Commander Asterion maintained his soldier's posture, but his eyes kept flicking to the door as if planning escape routes. High Priest Polyidus clutched his prayer beads openly now, abandoning all pretense of serenity.
They all straightened when Theron entered, the way rabbits freeze when a hawk's shadow passes overhead.
"Gentlemen," Theron said, not bothering with any honorific for men he clearly considered beneath him. "How wonderful to see you all so... punctual."
He didn't take a seat. Instead, he stood behind Kleomenes, close enough that the treasurer could undoubtedly feel his breath. "Tell me, Kleomenes, what's our current treasury balance?"
"I... the figures are complex, Lieutenant. Various obligations and—"
Theron's hand came down on the table with calculated force—not rage, but precision, making everyone jump exactly as he'd intended. "I asked for a number, not excuses. Unless you'd prefer I investigate where the missing funds actually went? I'm sure the King would be fascinated to learn about certain... redirections."
"Forty thousand talents," Kleomenes whispered. "Down from seventy thousand last quarter."
"Thirty thousand talents vanished. In three months." Theron leaned closer. "Either you're stealing, incompetent, or covering for someone. Which is it?"
"The construction project—"
"Ah yes, the project." Theron moved to stand behind Asterion now. "Tell me, Commander, how many soldiers have requested transfers this month?"
Asterion's jaw tightened. "Military movements are classified—"
"Forty-three." Theron's voice was almost conversational. "Forty-three transfer requests. Your own lieutenant—your own protégé—applied for a position in Syracuse. What does that tell us about morale, Commander?"
"The men are... unsettled."
"Unsettled." Theron laughed, a sound with no warmth in it. "They're deserting, you mean. Rats fleeing a sinking ship." He moved to Polyidus. "And you, priest? How many offerings at the temple this week?"
"The people's faith remains—"
"Seven." Theron cut him off. "Seven offerings, compared to the usual hundred. Even the gods are abandoning Crete."
He moved toward the King's seat, then paused—not taking it, but standing behind it, hands resting on its back. The threat was clearer than if he'd sat: I could take this whenever I choose. "The King is indisposed. Again. Speaking to shadows in the deep. The Queen hoards supplies—yes, Majesty, I know about the grain shipments redirected to your private stores. The treasury bleeds gold into secret accounts—each of you has one, don't you? The military hemorrhages men who've heard the stories." His fingers drummed on the throne's back. "And you all sit here, pretending normalcy while the kingdom prepares to devour itself."
"What would you have us do?" Polyidus asked carefully.
"I would have you acknowledge reality." Theron's voice turned harder. "Something is being built beneath our feet that terrifies hardened soldiers. Our king speaks to shadows in the dark. Our queen hoards supplies like she's planning to flee. And a foreign architect appears from nowhere to build impossible structures with impossible materials."
He stood abruptly. "I'm taking direct control of palace security. Any movement in or out requires my approval. Any meetings, any correspondence, any whispered conversations in dark corners—I will know about them."
"You exceed your authority—" Asterion began.
"My authority?" Theron moved so fast the old soldier barely had time to react, suddenly looming over him. "My authority is whatever keeps this kingdom from collapse. Unless you'd prefer to explain to the King why you allowed threats to flourish under your watch? I'm sure he'd be fascinated to hear about your nephew's new shipping contracts with Athens. Very lucrative, I hear. Very... suspicious timing."
Asterion went pale. They all had secrets, all had contingency plans, all were preparing for a fall they saw coming but couldn't prevent.
"From now on," Theron continued, "you report to me. All of you. Every anomaly, every rumor, every servants' whisper. The architect, the construction, the King's behavior—everything goes through me."
"And if we refuse?" Kleomenes asked, finding a spark of courage.
Theron smiled. "Then you'll explain to the King why you're obstructing investigation into potential threats. I'm sure he'll be very understanding. He's been so... reasonable lately."
They all knew what Minos had become—paranoid, obsessed, cruel beyond even his usual nature. But worse were the whispers that he'd been seen entering the labyrinth's lower chambers alone, emerging hours later with blood on his robes that wasn't his own. To be brought before him now meant risking more than death.
"I thought so." Theron moved toward the door. "Oh, and gentlemen? Anyone thinking of following our harbor master's example and seeking employment elsewhere should remember—I have men at every port. Every road. Every path off this island." He paused at the threshold. "Loyalty isn't optional anymore. It's mandatory. And I define what loyalty means."
After he left, the silence was deafening.
Finally, Polyidus spoke. "He's going to destroy us all."
"No," Asterion said grimly. "Whatever's beneath us will do that. Theron's just making sure we're all here when it happens."
Kleomenes was already gathering his ledgers with shaking hands. "I need to... review some calculations."
They all understood. He was going to destroy any evidence of his own escape preparations. They all were.
But as they filed out, each man knew the truth—Theron's crude tyranny was nothing compared to what they all suspected but couldn't voice. The real monster wasn't the Lieutenant.
It was whatever the King visited in the darkness below. Whatever the Queen had given birth to. Whatever required a labyrinth that defied the laws of nature itself.
And soon—very soon—it would be hungry again.
Queen Pasiphaë received Theron in her formal chamber this time, dressed in full regalia. If he wanted to play power games, she would remind him who truly held authority. But his bow was perfunctory, his eyes already cataloging every detail of the room—the packed trunk partially hidden behind a screen, the stack of correspondence with foreign kingdoms, the map of Mediterranean trade routes spread on her desk.
"Planning a journey, Majesty?"
"I often review trade routes. It's part of governance—though you seem to have forgotten the distinction between investigation and usurpation."
"Strong words." He moved uninvited to examine the map. "Rhodes, Syracuse, even Egypt. All kingdoms that have recently expressed... concern about their tribute obligations. One might think you were exploring alternatives to Cretan loyalty."
"One might think many things, if one were prone to paranoid speculation."
"Is it paranoia when servants flee in the night? When soldiers desert their posts? When even the royal family makes..." he gestured to the trunk, "preparations?"
She met his gaze steadily. "You overstep, Lieutenant."
"Do I?" He moved closer, close enough that she could smell the leather and metal of his uniform. "Then tell me, Majesty—what is the King building? What requires such secrecy that even the council cannot know? What makes grown men weep in terror when they work the lower levels?"
"Ask him yourself."
"I would, if he were available. But he spends his nights below, doesn't he? Visiting something that requires regular feeding. Something that Athens pays tribute to keep contained." His voice dropped. "Something that shares your blood."
The words hung between them like a blade.
"You speak of things you don't understand," she said quietly.
"Then educate me. Tell me why my investigation threatens the kingdom. Tell me what Sisyphus of Corinth really is. Tell me what we're all pretending not to know."
"I'll tell you this," she said, standing to face him fully. "You're a small man who thinks brutality is strength. You've never questioned why you serve, only how to serve yourself through service. You would steal the throne the moment Minos showed weakness, but you can't see that the throne itself is poisoned."
His face darkened. "Careful, Majesty."
"Or what? You'll investigate me? Threaten me? You think your crude intimidation matters when we're all standing on the edge of an abyss?" She laughed, and there was hysteria at its edges. "Investigate away, Lieutenant. Find your truths. But when you finally understand what we've built here, what we've fed and contained and enabled—you'll wish you'd remained ignorant."
"Every truth is worth—"
"No." She cut him off. "Some truths eat you alive from the inside. Some truths make you complicit in horrors you can't prevent. Some truths turn you into the very monster you sought to stop."
She moved to the window, looking out at the construction that never stopped, never slowed. "You want to know what your King builds? It's a cage for something that should never have existed. You want to know what the architect is? He's someone who has experience with impossible prisons. You want to know the secret we all carry?"
She turned back to him, and her smile was terrible. "We're all food, Lieutenant. Every single one of us. We just don't know when it's our turn to be eaten."
"You're trying to frighten me."
"No, I'm trying to save you. But you're too stupid and brutal to recognize mercy when it's offered." She returned to her seat. "Continue your investigation. Uncover every secret. Force every truth into the light. But know this—when it all comes crashing down, when the thing below finally breaks free, when Crete burns and bleeds—it will be because men like you couldn't leave well enough alone."
"If there's truly such danger, then my investigation is even more critical—"
"Your investigation is meaningless. You're looking for foreign spies when the real threat has been here all along. You're guarding against enemies outside when the monster is already within. You're so focused on protecting Minos's power that you can't see he's already lost it—to obsession, to shame, to the horrible love a father can have for something that shouldn't exist."
The last words slipped out before she could stop them.
Theron's eyes sharpened. "Father?"
But Pasiphaë had already turned away. "Leave, Lieutenant. Go terrorize servants and threaten councilors. Play your brutal games while you can. But remember—when the truth finally comes, when you finally understand what you've been serving all this time, you'll have no one to blame but yourself."
"This isn't over."
"No," she agreed. "It's just beginning. And you're too blind to see that you're hastening the very ending you seek to prevent."
After he left, she stood at the window for a long time, watching the sun set over the construction site. In the dying light, she could see them—workers fleeing before full darkness, guards abandoning posts, everyone who could escape doing so.
Everyone except those bound by blood, by guilt, by terrible knowledge.
The vibrations through the stone had grown stronger. Hungry. Impatient.
Soon, it would feed again.
And Theron, in his brutal ignorance, would eventually become it's meal.