Chapter 15
Nyx
"No—"
I'm moving before the word is fully out of my mouth, scrambling toward the edge on my hands and knees, the gravel tearing at my palms, my heart lurching so violently I can feel it in my teeth.
Large hands close around my arms from behind, Thorian's or Talon's, I can't tell, hauling me back from the drop, and I fight against them with everything I have left.
"Fenric!" His name tears out of me, raw and ragged, swallowed almost immediately by the storm.
I need to see. I need to get to the edge and look down and see him, even though every rational part of me knows what I'll find and knows I won't recover from it. I need to know. I can't just stand here not knowing.
"Fenric!"
The hands hold me back, and I stop fighting them only because my legs give out, my knees hitting the ground hard.
The rain comes down in sheets and I can't catch my breath and I can't think past the image of him cutting that bridge, of his face as he went over, of the drop below that bridge that I already know is unsurvivable.
Fenric.
In a flash I see every version of him I've collected since the first day.
The excitement in his voice when he emerged from the forest with a handful of berries.
The way his eyes would shift from pale green to vivid, burning green.
His laugh. The warmth of him, the relentless, furnace-bright warmth of him, always burning with life in a way that made everything feel more survivable.
He wanted nothing more than to free his family.
If we win, I’ll still find a way to free his family. I swear it.
I think of that first day at the banquet. The weight of his gaze finding mine across the room. The first time I ever saw him.
And now, the last.
I should have told him. On the other side of that bridge, I should have held onto him and told him that I've been falling for him since that first moment, that somewhere between the swamp and the graveyard and every dark mile in between he became something I couldn't imagine losing.
He died not knowing. I let him cross that bridge without making sure he knew.
"Come here," Talon says, his arms coming around me. His voice sounds almost normal. Almost. But there's a tightness beneath the usually easy cadence that tells me he's holding himself together by a thread just like I am.
My tears wrack my body, convulsing through my chest and into my stomach so hard I think I might be sick. I can’t breathe, and I curl into Talon’s body, my only comfort at a time when I can’t be comforted.
Fenric is dead.
The man who looked at me like I could hold the moon. Who saved my life at the sacrifice of his own. He was so smart, so considerate and gentle. He managed to soften even Thorian, whose granite facade softened at Fenric’s jokes and generosity.
“I’ll kill those fucking wizards,” Thorian growls, and when I glance up, I can see, through the flashes of lightning, his white knuckles around the hilt of his blade. “I’ll fucking kill them.”
Another barrage of sobs rolls over me, and I struggle to suck in a breath.
“Breathe, Nyx,” Talon says, trying to sooth me. He murmurs words I can’t make out, then tips my face to the drizzling sky and commands me to breathe.
But I can’t.
I’ll never be able to breathe again.
My chest is tight, and with Talon's coaching, I fight for air, sucking in great, heaving gasps that never feel like enough. Everything hurts.
Losing my parents was the worst thing I'd ever gone through, but this is different. A different kind of love, a different kind of loss.
I have no idea how long we've stood at the edge of the cliff. No idea how long I've been crying, or how long Talon has been holding me, or how long Thorian has been pacing, growling his threats to the Vultures.
Then Thorian is there, and without a word he takes me from Talon's arms and pulls me against his chest. One hand comes up to my hair, stroking slowly, carefully, and he murmurs to me in a low voice, words I can barely make out over the rain and the wind and the ragged sound of my own breathing.
It doesn't matter what he's saying. It's the sound of it that reaches me, that deep, steady rumble against my cheek, unhurried and certain, like he has all the time in the world and intends to stay until I'm ready to move. Like he isn't going anywhere.
Slowly, incrementally, my breathing evens out.
But, finally, Thorian takes a step back and looks down at me. "We have to keep going.”
"I can't just—"
"He cut that bridge so the warlocks couldn't follow us across and finish what they started." His voice is quiet but firm, and he holds my gaze steadily, like he's decided I can take it. "We can't let that be for nothing. If we stay here, we dishonor what he did."
"Thorian—"
"Not only that, but the gods will change the trial for the teams still on the other side. And when they do, whatever comes next will be worse." He glances toward the canyon, then back at me. "We don't want to be anywhere near the other teams when that happens."
I close my mouth.
He's right. I hate that he's right. I hate that Fenric is gone and we have to keep moving and there's nothing else to do but keep moving, and somewhere in that canyon is the warmest person I've ever known and we're just going to walk away from him.
But I think of his face when he cut the rope. The deliberateness of it. The choice.
He knew what he was doing. He made sure we got across first.
“Nyx,” Thorian says gently, swallowing and finding my eyes. A muscles ticks in his jaw. “I’m sorry. But we have to move.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him apologize.
And it’s not even his fault. I hope he knows that. I’ll have to tell him.
I know that in this competition, there’s no time for mourning. Both Fenric and Talon lost their teams. If they had taken time to mourn, they wouldn’t have stayed alive long enough to join ours.
It dawns on me, not for the first time, that I’m not fit for these games. That I don’t have the constitution to move on from death so easily.
“Okay,” I manage, because this isn’t just about me.
This is about Lyra.
And Thorian.
And Talon.
I have to move on for them.
Turning toward the edge of the cliff, I keep my eyes focused carefully on the other side. I won’t allow myself to look down. I want to hold Fenric in my memories as who he was in life. Laughing, holding his hand out to mind, those freckles on his face shifting with his smile.
“Fenric,” I say, voice wobbling and barely making it out. “I want you to know that I’m going to help your family when we win this thing. They can come back to my manor, and each of them will have a room. Or a house on the land. We’ll eat dinner together each night and—”
A noise drifts up from the canyon below and I startle, stepping back.
“What is it?” Talon asks, cupping my elbow in his hand.
“I—” I stare at the wooden posts at the end of the bridge, the chain wrapped around them. When I was standing there, I swear I heard it move.
“The wind,” Thorian says, though the rain has calmed to a drizzle and the wind is dying down with it. I blink in confusion, and he takes my other arm, tugging gently at me. “I’m sure he heard you, Nyx. But we really—”
“A little—” there’s a grunt from somewhere below, then the rattling of chains before a weak, “…help?”
“Fenric!” His name gasps from my mouth in a rush, and in an instant, Talon and Thorian are on their stomachs, reaching down toward the berserker, who’s holding tightly to the bridge, having pulled himself up the thing like a ladder what must have been the length of a corn field.
Thorian isn’t satisfied, and instead of grabbing Fenric, he takes hold of the bridge, hauling it up like a rope, like the tons of metal chain don’t weigh a thing.
And a moment later, Fenric is panting, crawling on his knees, in front of me.
I drop down and wrap my arms around him, crying, laughing, in complete disbelief.
He doesn't hesitate, hauling me against him, rolling onto his back and pulling me on top of him, and I go willingly, my hands finding his face, his hair, pressing my palms to his cheeks just to feel that he's real and warm and here.
"Fenric," I breathe, and kiss him.
He kisses me back softly at first, and then his arms tighten around me and the kiss turns urgent, deep and breathless, his hands pulling me closer like he's trying to close every remaining inch of distance between us.
I feel exactly how glad he is to be alive, the evidence of his hard erection pressing against me unmistakably, and the heat of it moves through me in a wave that has nothing to do with relief.
I kiss him until I forget where we are. Until I forget everything except the solid, fever-warm reality of him beneath me.
Then I remember where we are.
I pull back slowly, my face burning, and make the mistake of glancing up. Thorian and Talon are both watching. Thorian's expression is unreadable in a way that means he's actively working to keep it that way. Talon looks deeply entertained.
I clear my throat and sit back.
"I'm glad you're alive," I say, which feels deeply insufficient.
Fenric grins up at me, chest still heaving. "I noticed."
“Alright,” Thorian says, reaching down and picking me up, dragging me away. “He survived the bridge, don’t suffocate him now.”
Fenric winces as Talon reaches down to pick him up. “You crazy son of a bitch,” Talon says, brushing leaves. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking,” Fenric grunts, darting a look at me, one hand held awkwardly to his chest, “that I would like to go one day without seeing that pointy-bearded face.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Talon bursts out laughing, and we all follow. I lean on Fenric, who’s held up by the other two, and for a long moment, we do nothing but laugh and wheeze, hysterical with what we’ve gone through, lifted by the adrenaline of still being alive.
“The balls on you,” Thorian grunts, shaking his head. “Never would have thought.”
“Right, well,” Fenric says, wincing again and looking up at the sky. “Let’s not waste it. We’re finally a step ahead of the others. I’d like to get as far away from them as we possibly can.”
He shifts and winces.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"I’m sore just about everywhere, and my hand… I don't know. I’m not one hundred percent, but I'm alive."
I wish I could heal it. I wish I could take every bit of pain from him and carry it myself. He deserves nothing but goodness, all three of them do, and the force of that feeling hits me somewhere deep and certain.
I look at the three of them, Fenric still catching his breath, Thorian standing watch, Talon's eyes scanning the tree line, and I feel it settle into place with a clarity I haven't had until this moment.
I've fallen for them. All three of them, in different ways and at different speeds, and I don't want to be without any of them.
Not in this competition. Not after it. The thought of losing any one of them, of walking away from any of them when this is over, feels like something I'm not willing to accept.
I don't know what that means yet. I only know it's true.
"Time to go," Fenric says, rubbing his hand.
"Agreed," Thorian says, his eyes moving to the path ahead.
Distantly, there are sounds of the other teams, shouting, scuffling, the gods already rearranging the world for those still behind us.
When I glance up through the canopy, I can just make out the dark shape of the Obsidian Spire against the sky.
It’s closer than it was, but not close enough.
"The next trial is somewhere ahead of us," Thorian says.
And we move.