Chapter 22
Nyx
Fenric isn’t going to make it.
I move before I realize what I’m doing, lurching toward the edge of the swamp. The movement is so sudden that even Thorian doesn’t catch me in time, though I feel the swipe of his hand, I hear him say, “Nyx, don’t—”
But it’s too late. One second I'm standing on the shore. The next I'm splashing into the water.
"Nyx!" Thorian shouts.
I ignore him.
Fenric is only a few steps away, but after watching Cedric die, those few steps feel impossibly far. Those few steps feel like enough for me to lose this sweet man forever, and that’s something I won’t allow.
The moment the swamp water closes around my legs, I understand in a terrible, haunting way. I understand why the knights looked so exhausted. Why they stopped fighting. Why Cedric eventually let himself sink beneath the surface, claimed by the swamp forever.
The water is wrong. It feels as though something is reaching beneath my skin and wrapping itself around my bones. The strength rushes out of me immediately. My legs feel heavier. My chest tightens. Even breathing becomes harder.
The swamp doesn't simply drain your body. It drains your will.
A voice inside me whispers that I should stop. Just stop. Sit down. Rest.
The shore is too far away. Fenric is too heavy. The Trials are too hard. None of it is worth it.
The thought terrifies me. Because it doesn't feel like my thoughts. The swamp is putting it there. Trying to convince me to surrender. Trying to make me stay.
"No," I gasp.
The word comes out weak. Pathetic.
I force myself to take another step. Then another. The water clings to me greedily, sucking at my boots and pulling at my clothes. It feels as though dozens of invisible hands are dragging against my body, trying to pull me down.
Ahead of me, Fenric stumbles.
My heart nearly stops. Not him. Please not him.
For one horrible moment, I see Cedric again. I see that knight dropping to one knee in the water. I hear his screams. I see his skin stretched over his skull.
The image crashes through me with enough force to make me sick.
"Fenric!" His name tears from my throat.
He looks toward me. Or maybe through me. I can't tell. The berserker form is fading rapidly now. His body is shrinking. The impossible strength that carried him across the swamp is disappearing before my eyes.
If he falls now, he'll sink. The swamp will take him. Just like it took Cedric. Just like it's trying to take all of us.
Fear surges through me. Not for myself. For him.
I push forward, ignoring the weakness spreading through my limbs. By the time I reach him, my legs are shaking so badly I can barely stay upright. I throw my arms around his waist.
Gods. He's heavy.
Not because of his size but because the water seems determined to keep him. It drags against him. Against me. Against everything.
Every inch we move feels stolen.
Every step feels like a battle.
I dig my heels into the mud and pull. Nothing. I pull harder. My muscles scream. The swamp pulls back. For one terrifying moment, I think we're both going down.
Then I slip.
The world tilts.
Water rushes toward me.
I let out a startled cry… and something catches me. Strong hands. A powerful grip.
Seconds later, both Fenric and I are being hauled bodily toward the shore. Thorian. The demi-god drags us the last few feet through the mud and onto solid ground before collapsing to one knee beside us, breathing hard.
For several seconds, none of us speak. We're alive. Barely. But alive.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he asks, kicking the water off his boots and circling around to glare down at me. But the only thing I can see is Fenric in my arms. His clothes are torn and he’s soaking, but he’s alive.
Somehow, the blows Thorian laid on him before, on the other side of the swamp, are erased,. Fenric’s face is as smooth and handsome as before the punches that broke his bones and had him spitting out a tooth. In fact, with him this close, I can see the freckles dusting over his nose.
He opens his eyes, and I let out a noise of relief, of joy. The only other time I’ve ever made a noise like that was when sitting at Lyra’s bed, watching as the medicine took hold and eased her coughing fit, giving her another day.
“Nyx,” Fenric whispers, his voice hoarse, his pale green eyes searching mine. “You saved my life.”
Thorian drops down beside us and grumbles something about what a stupid choice it was, but Fenric doesn’t pay him any mind. He just stares right at me.
“Neither of us aged. Neither of us were affected too much.”
I avert my eyes. I guess my kind is more immune to the waters than I thought. “Must not have been in long enough.”
Then, in a move that shocks me, Fenric reaches up and slips his hand around the back of my neck. The touch is careful. Almost hesitant. As though he's giving me every opportunity to pull away.
I don't.
His eyes search mine for half a second, warm and uncertain, carrying a vulnerability that makes my chest ache.
Then he kisses me.
The kiss is nothing like I expect.
After everything we've been through with the swamp, the monsters, and the fear, I'd expected desperation. Something frantic and overwhelming.
Instead, it's sweet. Tender. Fenric kisses me like he's relieved I'm alive. Like seeing me standing here is a gift he wasn't entirely certain he'd receive.
I melt toward him before I can stop myself, my eyes slipping closed as his thumb brushes lightly against my jaw. His lips are soft, and despite the exhaustion weighing on every part of me, a flutter stirs low in my stomach.
It’s a feeling I don't have a name for.
Or maybe I do.
It grows when he shifts closer, his hand remaining at the back of my neck, steady and reassuring.
The kiss deepens slightly. It’s not demanding, not hurried, just enough to make my pulse stumble.
Enough to make me suddenly aware of how close we are.
Of the heat of his body. Of the way his breath catches when I lean into him.
The entire world seems to narrow. The Trials disappear. The swamp disappears. For a few precious seconds, there's only this. Only him.
A soft sigh escapes me, and Fenric makes a quiet sound in response, one that seems to vibrate straight through me. The sensation leaves me strangely breathless, my skin warm and my thoughts pleasantly tangled.
When he finally pulls back, he's breathing hard.
So am I.
His forehead nearly touches mine as his eyes search my face, as though he's trying to determine whether that was real or something he imagined.
The look in them sends my heart into a very inconvenient rhythm.
“Sorry,” he says, then shakes his head. “I thought maybe we should celebrate with a kiss. You know. For surviving.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
“That was your idea of a celebration?”
His ears redden.
“Maybe.”
The sight is so unexpectedly adorable that it takes me a second to remember how to think.
I open my mouth to tell him that kiss was the perfect idea. That when his mouth touched mine, I realized I'd been wanting to kiss him for far longer than I should have. Maybe that much was obvious by the fact that he'd somehow found his way into my dream as well.
The thought makes heat creep into my cheeks.
Unfortunately, it also makes me realize that a celebratory kiss and actual interest are not necessarily the same thing.
Before I can decide whether saying any of that would be the worst idea in history, a low snort comes from beside us. Fenric and I both turn. Thorian is watching us. Or more specifically, watching me. His expression is impossible to read.
“Well,” he says dryly, “that's one way to celebrate.”
My face grows even hotter.
“Oh gods.”
Should I not have let Fenric kiss me after Thorian kissed me?
Thorian’s gaze slides to my lips. “Like hell he's the only one who gets a kiss for surviving that swamp.”
The words are barely out of his mouth before he reaches for me.
I don't have time to react. Not properly.
One heartbeat I'm looking up at him, trying to understand what that look in his eyes means, and the next his hand is sliding around my waist and pulling me toward him.
The movement is firm enough to leave no room for misunderstanding.
His mouth finds mine, slanting over my mouth and stealing my breath. His kiss is thorough. Intense. Possessive in a way that leaves no room for arguments.
The kiss deepens immediately, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. A little moan slips from my lips, and the world tilts beneath me. My fingers find the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric as though it's the only thing keeping me upright.
Some distant part of me is aware that Fenric is still sitting beside us. Aware that Thorian knows he's there. Aware that this kiss feels suspiciously like a statement.
Thorian's hand tightens slightly at my waist. It’s not enough to hurt. Just enough to make me aware of exactly where I am. Exactly who is holding me.
My pulse pounds.
Every nerve in my body seems suddenly awake.
The exhaustion from the swamp. The ache in my muscles. The fear that has followed me since the Trials began. For a few precious moments, all of it disappears beneath the simple fact that Thorian is kissing me like he means it.
When he finally pulls back, it's only far enough for me to draw a shaky breath.
His eyes meet mine. Dark. Intent. Entirely too focused.
For several seconds, neither of us speaks. I can feel my heart hammering against my ribs. Can feel the warmth lingering where his hand still rests against my side. Can feel the way my entire body seems to hum with awareness.
Then Thorian's thumb brushes lightly against my waist, and the gesture is somehow more devastating than the kiss itself.
I stare up at him, completely unable to remember whatever I was supposed to be thinking about before this happened.
Which is unfortunate. Because I suspect it was important.
Somewhere in the middle of all the kissing, Fenric has climbed to his feet. He stands beside Thorian now, close enough that my gaze naturally drifts between them.