Chapter 22 #2
The silence that settles over us is different now. Charged. Heavy with everything left unsaid.
Fenric is still watching me. His expression has softened since the swamp, but an intensity remains in his gaze that makes my pulse quicken. It’s warm. Interested. Hopeful.
Then I look at Thorian.
That doesn't help.
If anything, it's worse.
The demi-god's expression is harder to read, but the look in his eyes is unmistakable. Focused. Intent. The same look he'd worn right before he kissed me.
My heart begins doing entirely unreasonable things.
For one absurd moment, I wonder if I'm imagining both men staring at me like I’m the last woman on earth. If the exhaustion and adrenaline and near-death experiences have finally broken my brain.
Then Fenric's gaze drops briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
No. Definitely not imagining it.
A strange flutter works through my stomach. What exactly is happening here? What is happening between them? Between us?
I think about Fenric's sweet, careful kiss. Then I think about Thorian's kiss. The thought alone nearly makes me forget how to breathe.
"Um," I begin intelligently.
Neither man looks away.
I clear my throat. "What exactly does all of this—"
I’m not exactly experienced with matters of the heart, but a kiss to them could mean nothing, even while it means something to me.
A scream tears across the swamp. The sound shatters the moment instantly.
All three of us turn. Oswyn, one of the Crimson Fangs, slips beneath the water.
The vampire disappears so suddenly that for a heartbeat I think I've imagined it.
Then Talon lunges forward along the shoreline, shouting his name.
"Oswyn!"
His voice carries across the swamp. Sharp and desperate.
Talon paces the edge of the water, swearing viciously as he searches for any sign of his companion. His boots slap against the muck. The rest of the Crimson Fangs spread out behind him, all traces of their usual confidence gone.
Nothing surfaces.
Nothing answers.
The swamp simply swallows the vampire and remains still.
Along our side of the shore, all the groups finish making it to the other side. Everyone looks exhausted and spent, but they’re alive. Except the knight and the vampire.
My stomach turns. Two lives. Swallowed by that horrifying water.
"Looks like almost everyone survived," Thorian says, already pushing himself upright and surveying the area.
Fenric steadies himself on his feet, swaying only slightly before tugging his clothes back into place. He mutters something under his breath about hating berserker magic, then glances over at me.
Our eyes meet. A smile spreads across his face, quick and warm. Entirely too warm.
My heart gives a little stutter.
What a ridiculous time to be developing a crush… or multiple crushes.
“Well, we survived another one of the Trials,” Fenric says, just before we hear a loud whoosh and feel heat pressing down one side of the swamp.
Thorian pulls me backward, and we turn in time to see a massive fireball tear through the air.
It slams into one of the remaining knights.
The man doesn't even have time to scream before he's engulfed.
A second knight catches the edge of the blast and staggers backward, his armor glowing red-hot in places as he cries out in pain.
The smell hits a moment later.
Burning flesh.
Burning cloth.
Burning hair.
Thorian growls under his breath and automatically shoves me behind him.
"Warlocks," Fenric says, bitterness coloring the word.
The three of us immediately sprint for the tree line as another explosion erupts behind us. Then another. The warlocks aren't even trying to hide anymore. They’re trying to prey on all the weakened competitors on the other side of the swamp.
"They floated themselves across," Thorian says as we run. "Or found some other way through. Then waited."
"Waited for everyone else to weaken themselves crossing the swamp," Fenric finishes.
"Exactly."
A branch snaps beneath my boots as I race through the undergrowth. My lungs burn. My entire body still feels exhausted from the crossing, but even so, I notice something troubling. Fenric is slowing down.
At first, it's subtle. Then it isn't. He stumbles. Catches himself. Keeps going.
A few seconds later he stumbles again. This time he drops to one knee.
"Fenric!"
I grab his arm and haul him back up. His skin feels cold. Far colder than it should.
"I'm fine," he says.
He's obviously lying.
The berserker transformation is gone completely now, and whatever strength carried him through the swamp appears to have vanished with it.
We keep moving.
Twenty steps later he nearly falls again. This time I manage to catch him before he hits the ground.
"Gods," I whisper.
His face has gone pale. Not tired pale, but sick pale. The kind of pale that reminds me of Lyra during her worst bouts of fever.
Behind us, another fireball crashes through the trees. The blast shakes the ground. Heat washes over us. And still Fenric struggles just to stay upright as we keep running.
Thorian sees it too. His expression hardens. "You need to get him out of here."
I blink. "What?"
Thorian points directly at Fenric. "He can't keep this pace."
"I'm fine," Fenric insists.
The statement is immediately undermined when his knees nearly buckle again.
I catch him before he falls. The effort sends pain shooting through my shoulders.
"You're not fine," I snap.
"Go," Thorian says.
The single word lands like a punch.
"No."
His eyes find mine. "Nyx."
"No."
Because now I understand what he's saying. What he's planning.
My stomach drops. "We stay together."
"We can't."
Another explosion rocks the forest. It’s closer this time. Pieces of burning bark rain down around us.
Thorian glances toward the sound, trying to determine how much time we have left. Not much, judging by his expression.
"Go," he repeats. "I'll hold them off."
My chest tightens.
"Thorian—"
"I'll catch up."
"You don't know that."
The words come out sharper than I intended. For a second, something flashes across his face. Something gentle. Then it's gone.
"Nyx."
The way he says my name makes my throat ache.
I don't want to leave him. I don't want to walk away. Not after the swamp. Not after the kisses. Not after finally realizing how much he means to me.
Another fireball slams into a tree nearby. The trunk explodes.
Fenric flinches violently beside me. Then he nearly collapses again.
Reality crashes back down. If we stay here arguing, Fenric dies. If the warlocks catch us now, Fenric dies.
The realization is brutal. Because it means Thorian is right. I hate that he's right.
"I said go," Thorian says quietly.
His dark eyes lock onto mine. Impossible to ignore. Impossible to disobey.
"Get him somewhere safe."
I swallow hard. Then nod. Just once.
The victory doesn't look like it makes him happy.
"Good."
Another explosion lights the forest behind him.
Orange flames race across damp moss and twisted roots, burning despite everything being soaked through. The air fills with sulfur and smoke.
"This way!" someone shouts in the distance.
The warlocks. They're already tracking us.
"Come on," I say, ducking beneath Fenric's arm and hauling it over my shoulders.
He tries to walk. He really does. His boots scrape through the underbrush as he forces one foot in front of the other, taking some of his own weight, but every few steps he sags against me again, nearly buckling my knees beneath the sheer size of him.
He's far too big for me to carry, yet somehow we're moving.
He coughs weakly. "Vultures is a fitting name."
Even now, he's trying to joke.
I want to laugh.
Instead, I tighten my grip around his waist and force us onward.
Together, we begin moving deeper into the forest. After a dozen steps, I look back. I can't help it. Thorian stands alone between us and the approaching warlocks. His sword is drawn. His shoulders are squared. The firelight dances across his dark hair and leather armor. He’s waiting. Ready.
The sight twists deep in my chest. For one terrible instant, I almost turn around. Almost run back. Almost tell him that he isn't allowed to stay behind. That he isn't allowed to get himself killed.
But Fenric stumbles beside me, reminding me why I'm leaving in the first place. So I force myself to keep going.
Even then, I look back one more time. Just to make sure he's still there. Just to see him.
The last thing I catch before the trees swallow him from view is Thorian raising his sword toward the approaching flames. Then he's gone.
Fenric stumbles and slows, then starts to cough, while I desperately try to tug him along with me. Distantly, but not too far, there’s the sound of someone following behind us.
Is it Thorian? Or the warlocks? Fear clenches my guts.
There are four warlocks in the Trials. I have no idea how many of them Thorian can take on himself, but it’s likely some of them managed to find us, managed to follow Fenric and I out.
When Fenric slows too much, and I can barely hurry him along, panic starts to claw its way up my throat.
The forest seems endless. Every direction looks the same.
Smoke curls between the trees from the warlocks’ flames, turning the world gray and hazy.
Somewhere behind us, another explosion rattles the woods, followed by shouting that sounds entirely too close.
The warlocks are coming.
And Thorian isn't here.
The realization hits me all over again. Thorian stayed behind. He stayed behind for us. And if we don’t move fast enough, he might walk away from the warlocks only to find us dead.
That’s if he even manages to survive his battle with them.
A fresh wave of fear crashes through my chest. I picture him standing alone among the burning trees, sword in hand, facing a group of magic wielders while Fenric and I stumble blindly through the woods.
I want to turn around. I want to go back.
Every instinct I have screams at me to run toward him instead of away.