Chapter 2 - The First Stones

The throne room of King Minos stretched before them, painted columns rising into shadow. The escort's boots echoed against polished stone. Daedalus's stomach clenched with each step. Beside him, Sisyphus walked with unnerving steadiness. The new assistant's calm made Daedalus's own terror feel even more maddening. In his arms, the leather portfolio grew heavier. Hours of desperate creativity that would either satisfy the tyrant who ruled Crete or provide fresh entertainment through their deaths.

Icarus would be fourteen now. The thought struck without warning, as it always did in moments of stress. Old enough to appreciate architectural beauty, young enough to still believe his father-. Daedalus's hand moved unconsciously to his chest, where he kept a small bronze compass his son made before Minos took him. Its weight was both a comfort and torment.

The throne itself sat on a raised plate at the chamber's far end, carved from a single block of black marble. Upon it sat King Minos, motionless as the stone itself but infinitely more dangerous. Shadows under his eyes had deepened since the last architectural review.

To his right, Queen Pasiphaë stood in formal posture, hands clasped. The golden brooch on her neck caught the lamplight - Daedalus's own work, commissioned years ago. Perfect symmetry in the design, each horn precisely angled. He'd been proud of it once.