Chapter 6
TYCHE MUST FAVOR YOU
Gavrel
All at once, something wrenched against my ribcage. So sharply it was as if invisible hooks latched beneath my sternum and yanked. My pulse slammed into the back of it, a violent, convulsive thud that tore through me like I’d been struck by lightning.
Every fiber in my body went rigid. Muscles locked so hard they were ready to tear from the bone. My spine arched against the cold earth, jaw clenching as a shockwave rippled down my limbs. My lungs seized, shuddered, and dragged in a trembling breath.
Then, with a sickening lurch, the golden thread pulled me back into myself, into flesh and sinew and the aching weight of my body as I collapsed against the earth with a gasp.
My vision flickered, swimming in and out of focus. I clung to the lingering tremors of our bond, letting it anchor me. My fingers curled reflexively, nails digging into the cold pebbles as sensation returned in stinging jolts.
The air reeked of sulfur. Shadows still loitered faintly in my periphery—ghosts that had ripped me apart and were irate at being denied the pieces of me they’d nearly claimed.
Fucking void.
Wide-eyed, Maya studied me, her hands squeezing my shoulders as I stood on shaky legs. “My Ancients. How did you come back?”
“I … Where am …”
Therrok clapped a beefy, blue-gray hand on my cheek in a way that reminded me of Rhaegar. If my friend had claws and wings. And a permanent frown. “They had you. Never saw anyone get loose, ya lucky bastard. Tyche must favor you. How ya feeling?”
“Like Kosmos reached inside me and released me from a swift death,” I muttered.
The corner of his stern lips twitched, exposing an elongated incisor, like he expected the Ancient of Luck to appear and slap me for existing.
I blinked several times, clearing away the foggy tendrils still clinging to my senses. The lingering tug under my ribs vibrated, and I dug my knuckles into my scar.
A heady mix of terror and hope skittered up my spine.
Seryn.
Her name hit me harder than any blow ever had.
Maya’s gaze softened as she released her grip, though she didn’t step back. “You shouldn’t be alive.”
I huffed a humorless laugh. “That makes two of us.”
She gave a slow shake of her head, scanning me, as if she might still find a hole where my soul should’ve been. “Phobetor’s umbras don’t make mistakes.”
“Then he’s losing his touch.”
Therrok barked a short, gravelly laugh, the sound like a blade being sharpened against rock.
I rolled my shoulders, testing the weight of my body again. My skin prickled, gritty and itchy. But I was standing.
Breathing.
Whole.
Mostly.