Chapter 32
I’ve had many close calls with death since this journey with Thane Valkor began, but clinging to a rotted rope from a shattered bridge as water rushes beneath my feet has to be the closest yet.
I yelp as I dangle above daggerlike boulders.
“Zaira!” Algar peers over the edge, his eyes wide and panicked.
I breathe raggedly as my nails dig into the rope. My raw palms sear with pain as I hold on with all my might. Algar throws a hand down for me to grab.
I let go with one hand to reach up, my other arm burning under my weight, then yelp again as the rope shifts.
Snap.
“No,” I whisper.
The rope is rubbing against a sharp edge of the gorge, the threads fraying one by one.
“I can’t reach!” I wail.
“Just try!” Algar sticks his hand down as far as he can while pressing his belly flat to the ground. But right as our fingertips brush, the rope sways left from a rush of wind. My body hits one of the rocky walls, and I slide down the rope several feet.
Another snap splits the air like the crack of a whip.
The water sounds louder, or perhaps it’s all in my head, or really, it’s the drumming of my heartbeat. The rope has now severed almost all the way through. It won’t hold me much longer.
“I refuse to let you die like this, woman!” Algar says.
He shouts something over his shoulder. Seconds later, Zephra climbs down his arm with a thick, dark-green vine.
Her eyes are desperate as she spits the vine out of her mouth and pushes it toward me.
Algar grips the other end while I reach for it.
Two more snaps echo in the canyon.
The rope lurches downward. I can’t help but scream as I drop several feet, panic rising in my chest. I try to steady myself before I reach up to grab the vine with both hands and hold on tight. As soon as I do, the wood and rope crash into the rapids.
Dangling from the vine, I gulp for air, watching the rope I was just holding hit the raging water and get swept away.
“There we are!” Algar grunts as he pulls me up. I imagine how hard this is for him to do at this moment, considering he’s lost some of his strength.
I dig the tips of my boots into the slick crevices of the gorge, but I keep slipping.
I can’t get proper footing. My foot slips once more, my hands skidding down, blood now coating the vine.
I look up at Algar, who curses as the vine slips farther out of his hand.
He loses his grip on it, and I sail downward.
I plummet and scream until I’m jerked to a stop. The abruptness causes my back to slam into the jagged edge of the gorge with enough impact to knock the breath out of me. Hands stinging and muscles trembling, I focus on trying to find a toehold in the rocky cliff.
I can hear Algar calling my name, demanding that I keep hanging on as he tugs on the vine. As he does, I can’t help wondering where Thane is. Is Rynthea okay? I hope Kelrean hasn’t been killed by the assassins. King Draedor would never forgive us. Well…if any of us even survive.
I need to keep going. I have to keep going.
Analla needs me.
But I’m so lightheaded. I blink several times and breathe deeply, trying to pull myself together.
It doesn’t work. If anything, I slip farther down the vine.
Just like the fraying threads of the rope before it snapped, my strength is failing. I blink back tears. This is it. I’m sorry, Analla.
As I continue slipping, something with dark, massive wings flies by. The sun is too bright to catch it, but it circles around again, revealing outstretched talons.
Great. Something else wants to kill me.
It hovers directly above me and, with a screech, clamps its talons around my body. To my surprise, it doesn’t pierce me with its sharp claws as it lifts me higher in the air. Its wings create their own wind as it squawks.
Breath fills my lungs again when I realize what’s happening.
I’m being saved.
Spreading its talons, my savior drops me on stable ground at the top of the gorge, and I land on my back with a grunt. Finally able to get a good look at the creature, I see it’s an oversize hawk with brown feathers and a sharp yellow beak. It circles above, cawing loudly, before landing near me.
It squawks again, only this time it sounds pained.
Skin squelches and bones crunch like they’re being worked through a grinder.
I can’t look away as the bird transforms, wings shifting into arms, beak diminishing to form a mouth and nose.
It’s turning into a familiar man with a full head of hair and the eyes of a lion.
Naked, Kelrean writhes on the ground with roars that sound as deep and ferocious as the king of the beasts. He’s in pure agony, his claws digging into the dirt, bones cracking even more until, finally, the cries stop, and he settles on his stomach.
“Kelrean,” I whisper, crawling to him.
He struggles to open his eyes. “Zaira. My favorite mortal.”
A weak smile spreads across my lips as I reach for his hand. “You saved me.”
He smiles, too. “Don’t mention it.”
I help him stand up.
Algar hobbles toward us while pulling a robe out of his bag. “Good grief! Put that thing away!” He tosses the robe to Kelrean.
Kelrean catches it right before it can slip out of his fingers. “Did you steal this from the castle?” he asks through labored breaths.
“Of course not,” Algar says.
Kelrean points to the emblem engraved on the chest with his lips pressed together.
“Okay, fine! I did. There were three more in the wardrobe! You all can spare at least one.”
I can’t stop myself from looking at the “thing” Algar’s talking about as Kelrean slips into the robe. The prince is… Well, let’s just say I understand why he’s so confident in who he is. There is absolutely nothing lacking in size there.
I turn away, giving him some privacy.
Zephra flaps above Algar as he moves toward me. “Zaira, are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m okay. Where are Thane and Rynthea?”
Algar looks at me, then at Kelrean, who is busy tying the robe at his waist. We bolt toward the cliff.
As we approach, I spot a dark figure below.
Thane clings to a ridge at the bottom of the gorge, barely hanging on.
Water splashes over his head, trying to drag him down.
Rynthea is only a few feet higher than him on the same ledge she fell on, still unconscious.
I look to my left at the vines clinging to the boulders before running to pry some off. Algar assists me until we have several in hand.
“Help me knot these,” I say hurriedly, tying the vines together with my blistered, bloody hands. It hurts so much, but it has to be done.
Thane is going to fall. I can see his grip slipping.
All the other assassins are gone, likely taken by the rapids or dead on the opposite side. And just as I suspected, Thane hollers before being pulled underwater.
“This way!” I run along the edge of the cliff as fast as I can, watching Thane get dragged through the rapids. I hoped this would be my only concern, but of course my life is never that easy. The rapids end at a waterfall.
A steep, steep waterfall.
His body slams into boulders and sharp edges of the gorge.
I see his head hit one of the rocks before lolling a bit, but he remains conscious, using every bit of energy to stay above the surface.
Miraculously, he catches onto a slim stone outcropping in the water.
He sputters, wiping his eyes before looking up at me.
I slide down one of the ridges, keeping myself steady on a ledge.
I hold up the vine in both my hands, hoping he’ll understand what I’m trying to say. As if he does, he nods, and I toss the vine in his direction. A gold hoop wraps around the end of the vine like a lasso and tugs me forward an inch. I pull backward against it, digging my heels into the ground.
“Algar! Help me pull!” I call.
Algar joins me on the ledge and tugs. The strain is enough to hurt my shoulders, and my palms are so raw and burning, but I keep pulling, finding relief the closer Thane comes to the gorge wall.
We’re so close to saving him, and then we can get to Rynthea…only— Gods damn it.
Rynthea has fallen in the water, too.
She startles awake from the cold rush, unleashing a deep roar only a minotaur can produce.
“Oh shit!” Algar yells as we keep pulling Thane up.
She floats past Thane, who has already made it to a safe ledge and holds on to it with an elbow anchored on top.
My chest tightens when I realize I have no solution for Rynthea. There’s no way we can toss her a vine, too. She’s too far away and getting closer to the falls.
Thane breathes rapidly as he throws an illuminated hand up in her direction.
With the remaining strength he has left, he manages to stop Rynthea from going any farther.
He peers over his shoulder, curls flat on his head, water spilling over his lips as his arm shakes.
He’s doing his best to keep her steady. She’s able to shift toward the edge and wrap her arms around a boulder.
When she does, Thane’s hand falls, his eyes close, and his head drops on the ledge.
And then something miraculous happens.
A bubble of water forms around Rynthea like a cocoon and carries her to our side of the rapids. Confused, I watch as she hovers in the safety of the bubble. Then I notice a group of people in brown and gray tribal clothing a short distance away.
One of them has his hands in the air as he manipulates the water, the muscles in his large, tan, inked arms flexing as he places Rynthea on the ground with a gentle splash.
The land quakes beneath my feet, and I back up as Thane’s ledge breaks away from the gorge. Rocks and dirt descend, falling like rain as he and the ledge are transported around us to reach safety.
I climb back up and run to Thane, lowering to my knees and pressing a hand to his forehead. His skin looks a little gray, and he’s hardly moving. But he’s breathing. That’s what matters.
The woman who controlled the ledge stands a short distance away. She drops her arms, and her deep brown eyes connect with mine. Her gown is beige and billowy, her face utterly flawless. A silver crown with golden flora sits atop her head.
The man who manipulated the water joins her, and both approach as the tribe members wearing brown masks with hollow mouth holes close in on us. Spears are in their hands, and every single tip is pointed at us.
I’m hoping Kelrean can aid us, but he, too, has a hand in the air. The other is pressed to his ribs. His eyes are closed, and his face looks contorted in pain.
“Speak,” the woman with the crown orders with her eyes still trained on me. She has warm, wheat-like skin and hooded eyes. Her lips are plump, and pale-yellow lines are painted on half of her face. The loose waves of her hair are the darkest shade of black I’ve ever seen.
“We’re not here to cause trouble,” I say, holding my hands in the air. She studies my hand, tilting her head a bit. The tribe thrusts their spears forward, bringing them dangerously close to my head.
“Do you possess magic?” she asks, shoulders squaring.
“No—no! I’m just a mortal.” I pull my hands down. “I have no powers.”
She scans me before cutting her gaze to Algar and Kelrean. She pauses on Kelrean, studying his robe—mostly the engraved emblem on the chest. He’s breathing much harder now.
“A royal,” she says.
“That I am,” he wheezes. “I apologize for my…my lack of introduction. I’m Prince Kelrean Shattore of Bernwood, and it is possible that I will bleed to death without your help.” Kelrean lifts his hand, revealing a fresh bloody patch on the robe near his ribs. It’s seeped right through.
“Kelrean, oh my goodness,” I gasp. Algar and I rush to his side, catching him before he buckles.
“You are very close to Immalon borders,” the woman says, like she couldn’t give a damn that he’s bleeding. “We nearly killed you.”
“Well, I’m thankful you didn’t.” I cling to patience. “Can you please help us?”
She looks from me, to Thane, and then Rynthea. “They are with you?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“One is a sorcerer with exceptional combat skills,” she remarks, raising a brow. “A severe threat to my people.”
“I guarantee he won’t hurt you or your people. I can explain everything if given the chance, but please help us.”
Thane is still unconscious on the rock. I really hope he’s not drowning from fluid in his lungs. Rynthea is stirring, so I assume her lungs are fine.
The woman sighs, glancing at the muscled man to her left. She speaks in the native Thelasian language, causing the man to straighten his posture. Then she shouts an order to her tribe, and they lower their weapons.
Two of them peel Kelrean away from us, while a few others lift Thane off the rocky ledge and assist a stumbling Rynthea.
“Follow,” the woman commands with her back to us, sauntering away.
I glance at Algar, who gives me a what the fuck? expression.
I have a good guess which tribe this is… I just didn’t know they still existed. But if this is the tribe my mother told me stories about, then I know we’re in good hands. They exist to nurture and protect, especially when it comes to their own.
I use that as my sliver of hope and follow the elementalists into the forest.