Chapter 18
Nyx
When I'd imagined completing the Trials, I'd expected a full week of terror. Being on edge, fighting my way through blood and ash and exhaustion.
What I hadn’t imagined were the small pockets of peace, of joy, even.
Dusk came on quickly, as Thorian predicted it might, but luckily Fenric found us shelter, a cave on the side of a cliff face, just up from a stream twinkling with perfectly clear water.
We were able to clean ourselves, fill our canteens, and drink to our heart’s content.
While Thorian built the fire, I used a bit of magic, as stealthily as I could, to draw several rabbits to the campsite.
“This is unreal,” Fenric said, after easily catching them with his spear and throwing them over his shoulder. “I’ve never seen animals behave like that before.”
Thorian gives me a look, then glances away, as if he might suspect my involvement in dealing with the rabbits. I try not to look too suspicious.
Now, the three of us sit contentedly around the fire, feasting on the rabbits.
Part of my chest squeezes for the small things, for the terror of being killed and eaten, but Hilda taught me long ago that it’s good to hold that empathy.
That we should be thankful for the sacrifice of life to sustain our own.
I’m thinking of Hilda and Ivor, wondering about how they’re getting on at the estate, when a gust of wind blows through our little camp, making the fire die down and pushing a shiver up through me.
As flexible and comfortable as the fighting leathers are, they are not very warm.
“Here,” Fenric says, shrugging off a jacket and placing it over my shoulders. It’s fine, lined with fur, and heated thoroughly through from the warmth of his body.
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“High metabolism,” he says, interjecting, his hand up. “I practically radiate heat. Don’t really need the jacket. I just scooped it up in the din of the fight and thought it might come in handy.”
Thorian makes a noise low in his throat, and when I glance over at him, eating slowly and surely through his rabbit, I feel a hint of guilt. Why should I? Fenric is just a teammate offering another teammate his jacket.
Maybe I am the one who insisted we let him onto the team, but if Thorian wasn’t blinded by his hyper-independence and stubbornness, he would have easily seen that adding Fenric to the team was the obvious thing to do.
“We need to talk strategy,” Thorian says, with the air of the hardened leader.
I nod, tossing what remains of my rabbit, all bones and gristle, into the fire and turning my attention to him. Fenric long finished his, and, in fact, still looks ravenous, but hasn’t complained.
“First, what kind of fighter are you?” Thorian asks, his gaze straying to the staff in Fenric’s hand. One end is sharpened, which is how he managed to pin down the rabbits. And how he killed the dire wolf earlier.
Fenric dips his head, breathing deeply and lacing his fingers together tightly, “Actually, I’m not. Before this, the only thing I knew was farming. I can tell you how to rotate crops and the best fertilizers for a dry season, but beyond some hunting, I’ve never raised a hand to another.”
Thorian stares at him for a long moment, the light of the fire flickering up over his face, as though he’s trying to figure out if Fenric is telling the truth.
What does he think, that Fenric would lie about his abilities just to get at us?
It doesn’t make sense. Thorian might be formidable, but the two of us as a pair are less than intimidating.
If it weren’t for Fenric’s help in that first fight, I'd be dead, and Thorian would already be out of his chance to win the Trials.
Besides, Fenric needs us as much as we need him. No one survives the Trials alone, and I can't imagine many competitors would welcome a berserker into their camp. If he throws away this alliance, he may not get another.
“Okay,” Thorian finally says, letting out a quick breath tinged with frustration. Idly, he picks up a stick and pokes at the fire, making it roar to life in a wall of heat. I shiver again, grateful for the extra warmth, even if it’s seemingly symbolic of his anger.
“And when I’m in my other form,” Fenric admits, wincing, “it’s hard to focus. Sometimes the rage is so intense I don’t even realize what I’m doing. I could hurt you.”
He says this to Thorian, but I feel in my bones that he really means me. The thought of him actually hurting Thorian feels impossible. But me? I shiver again, this time not from the cold.
“We’ll do what we can to work with that,” Thorian grunts, poking at the fire again, his gaze flicking to me when it comes completely back to life, the heat returning to the space. Almost like he wants me to return Fenric’s jacket.
I’ve been doing my best not to think about it. The kiss. What was I thinking? Doing that with a man I’m supposed to be teammates with? Beyond being reckless, it’s just silly.
It’s not like Thorian is interested in me, anyway. That was surely a rush of adrenaline from nearly dying, and I was literally a woman who had thrown herself into his lap.
The more I think about the kiss, the more it feels like pushing against a loose tooth, the pain impossible and irresistible at once.
“You’ve done this before,” Fenric says, either not noticing, or not caring about the tension between Thorian and me. “So, what should we expect? Shouldn’t we use your previous experiences to our advantage?”
For a minute, Thorian looks at him like he’d like to get his sword out again, then he sighs and nods, looking into the fire. “Like they said, the forest changes each time, sometimes feeling like completely new places. So it’s not like I have information about the fastest way to get to the Spire.”
A beat passes, and he goes on, looking at each of us, “But I do know this… those beasts yesterday? The dire wolves and bone serpents? Those were the easy ones to fight.”
Fenric shifts. “There are larger beasts?”
“More than just monsters.” Thorian drops the stick and stands, starting to pace, like the memory of what he’s been through here at the Trials is too much for him to stay seated.
Now that he’s stoked the fire, I’m plenty warm, but I keep Fenric’s jacket around me.
I like that it smells like him, and it feels like a protective layer between me and the rest of the world.
“The forest itself will test us,” he says, pointing up at the sky, which is a blanket of dark, midnight blue, not a single star by which to guide your way.
I don’t envy any of the teams trying to make their way through this place without the light of the sun.
“It will shift and change, and the early dusk is just one of its many tricks.”
Fenric tenses his jaw. “Did they really mean that the seasons can change?”
Thorian nods. “We could wake up in the morning covered in snow. Or find the cave we went to sleep in gone, and instead we’re sleeping in a field of wheat. It’s disorienting, to say the least.”
“Does it move you further away from the Spire?”
“From my experiences,” Thorian says, finding my gaze, “we are not moving. The world simply changes appearance around us.”
“Great,” Fenric mutters, which makes me laugh. The absurdity of this. All this fighting and risking our lives and sanity.
But the prizes are worth it.
“It’s not just that,” Thorian says, his face settling into a grim, determined stare. “It’s more than physical. There are beings that will test us emotionally and psychologically, as well.”
He trails off without detailing any of those beings to us, and I’m almost grateful for that. Will knowing about them help when we meet them? And what’s the guarantee that we’ll even run into the same ones he has?
Once again, I find myself wondering how gaining minor godhood can be so motivating to him, to go through this kind of thing again and again, never with the promise of getting the reward he so desires.
Before I can stop myself, I say, “After this is done, we’ll have the greatest Pantheora celebration yet.”
Fenric and Thorian look at me, the change in subject so sudden that it takes them a moment to adjust, so I continue talking.
“This year was rather dull,” I say, clearing my throat and taking the fire-prodding stick, drawing it through the dirt as I talk. “But all that really matters is that we’re together. Oh, and whatever yummy things we can manage.”
“Did your parents serve candied carrots?” Fenric asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes!” I say, pointing to him, a laugh bubbling up.
It feels serendipitous to know that we share this, however common, tradition.
“They called it the food of the gods. We have it every year, even now that they’re gone.
But next year, no more wilted greens and—” I shudder theatrically, “dry roasted chicken.”
“Oh, is that so?” Fenric asks, laughing and throwing his head back. “You should be thankful you had meat at all, your highness.”
I flush and start to apologize, remembering that even with all my misfortune, I still come from a wealthy background. As dim as things have been, my childhood was far more gilded than many others, and especially that of a berserker.
“Relax,” Fenric says, leaning back against his stump, stretching his feet out toward the fire. “I’m just teasing you. Perhaps you’ll have to show me how to do it right when I have the money and status for it.”
“I will,” I promise, heart filling with joy. “Both of you can come to our manor. Lyra and I will show you, and everyone in our holdings, the best Pantheora celebration on our side of the city!”
“That sounds fine,” Fenric says, smiling. “I’ll bring my parents, my brother and sister. My brother is obsessed with trying goose.”
“Then we’ll have goose,” I say, unable to stop the smile from spreading over my face.
“Hilda’s my housekeeper, but also like a mother or auntie to me.
I’m sure she knows how to cook one. She could cook anything.
In fact, she’s so good at cooking that the other families near us have been trying to poach her for years. ”
Fenric laughs. “What a concept.”
“And her husband, Ivor,” I say, swallowing and thinking about the last time I saw him, I was leaving the house and coming this way, swearing that I would get my sister back by going before the gods.
“He’s brave. Very loyal. He's been like a father to me. When this is over, I’ll get our family another carriage so he never has to walk to town again.
And he’ll play for us at the Pantheora celebration. ”
“It would be a pleasure to meet them. And what about you?” Fenric asks, turning to Thorian, tipping his head in that direction. “Any special traditions you enjoy that we should honor next year?”
For a second, I expect Thorian to say something like, If we even make it to next year, but he doesn’t.
I even think that he might laugh at the concept of staying in touch with us after the competition.
Instead, his face impassive, he mutters, “I have never celebrated, even if I’ve been at some celebrations, as required when joining the Trials. ”
Without meaning to, I gasp. As much as my family hated Valtor and all the other gods, the idea of not celebrating Pantheora is impossible. To fall out of their favor, even with how far out of it we were, was not worth the risk of not doing it.
Besides, with how long I’d done it, year after year, it would have felt empty to forgo the traditions. After so long, it became something belonging to my family, rather than something we did simply for the gods themselves.
“Never?” Fenric clarifies, sounding just as surprised as me.
If a berserker and a girl fallen from favor still celebrate, it’s impossible to consider a demi-god, one who would stand to gain much from being in the gods’ favor, would abstain from taking part.
Thorian shakes his head, and, still standing, grabs the stick once more, rearranging the fire so it begins to die down again.
“We should sleep,” he says, not meeting my eyes. He walks around to the other side of the fire and pulls out a roll from the pack we grabbed earlier. He spreads it out on the ground, then stands and gestures to it for me. “We’ll need all the rest we can get.”
I nod and stand, knowing Thorian is right. Together, the three of us work to clean up and prepare the campsite for the morning. Or for a quick getaway.
Then, we stretch out beside the fire, exhaustion taking over me. Without any stars above us to light the night, I close my eyes and drift off, feeling strangely untethered and unsure of what’s to come.