Chapter Eleven #2
Riven smiled, raising one hand. “That one,” he said, eyes sliding to where Wyn had stood, who was now in front of me, “you weren’t supposed to make it this far.”
The words crawled over my spine like ice.
I clenched my jaw. Of course, it would be this.
I’d seen him do it before—twisting earth like it was clay.
I saw the magic take hold. Veins of light, how raw and fractured it was as it crawled up his forearms, pulsing just beneath the skin.
His fingers twitched, and the ground answered.
He was rock-gifted, born of Tarnak’s domain.
The air went tight around us, pressure rolling in like a wave.
The cliff responded as if familiar with his voice.
Cracks split beneath our boots like lightning etched in stone; slow, deliberate, and lethal.
Shards trembled loose from the ledge’s edge.
I saw the magic crawling through the rock itself, glowing faintly.
A sickly, unnatural green pulsing into jagged veins.
The cliff began to cry out a low, building rumble, escalating into a growl that vibrated through the air.
Then everything shifted.
The stone beneath our feet lurched with a violent crack, like ribs splitting under pressure.
A deafening groan echoed through the cliffs as the ledge buckled and split.
Chunks of shale exploded outward, clattering down the ravine like shattered bone.
I just about threw myself sideways as the earth dropped out beneath us.
I tried to hold on tight to Wyn in an attempt to pull her with me, but her fingers slipped through mine.
“Wyn!” I called, eyes snapping to the spot where she’d been moments ago.
But she was gone.
I turned in time to see her silhouette vanish along with the crumbling edge, her cloak flaring like a dying flame. She fell, tumbled, skidded, and scraped down a steep slope of stone and brambles before disappearing entirely into the mist below.
A scream followed. A single, sharp cry of terror that cut through the chaos like a blade. It wasn’t loud, but it struck something primal in me. Something cold and profound. It wasn’t fear; it was knowing, being aware that she was falling. Knowing I couldn’t see her. Knowing I might never again.
It hit me harder than it should have.
And it terrified me more than the drop itself.
“No!”
I didn’t think. I ran.
Branches clawed at my arms as I tore through the underbrush, boots skidding over rain-slick roots and tangled brambles.
My breath sawed in and out of my chest, each gasp a spike of panic.
The world narrowed to sound and motion, the slapping rush of leaves, the distant roar of water growing louder with every step.
She had fallen. Gods, she had fallen.
The ravine opened up in front of me like a wound in the world. Jagged rocks lined the river’s edge, and down below, the current surged, white-capped and violent, snarling like a thing alive. My boots hit wet stone, and I skidded to a halt in time to see her.
A blur in the water. A pale smear of lavender cloak. Arms flailing.
“Wynessa!”
Her head broke the surface. “Erin!” she screamed, voice raw with terror.
Then she went under.
I tore off my cloak, yanked the buckles of my chest armor so hard they nearly tore loose. The metal hit the rocks behind me with a thud. My sword belt went next. I didn’t care. She was in the river. And I would not let her die.
I crashed down the embankment, slipping on slick moss and jagged stone. My foot caught on a root. I fell, rolled, and hit the edge hard, but I had to keep going. The river loomed, a churning beast.
I dove.
The biting cold blasted me like a wall, numbing fingers and toes instantly.
This was no ordinary water. It was ice, a living, furious entity that devoured me whole.
The current seized me instantly, spinning me, pulling me under.
My shoulder slammed into a submerged boulder, sending a jolt of pain through my body.
The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.
I ignored it, fighting on as I kicked and struggled against the current. Where was she?
My eyes burned. My lungs screamed. I came up for air and there, out of the corner of my eye, was a flash of lavender.
Her cloak.
She surfaced again, choking. Her mouth opened, and she said my name. A gurgled plea. Then the river dragged her back down.
No.
I forced my arms forward, slicing through the water. A shape. A hand.
I caught it.
Her skin. Cold. Slipping.
I locked my grip around her wrist and pulled her to me. Her body hit mine; slack, breathless, but not gone. I wrapped her against me and kicked as hard as I could for the bank.
It took everything I had.
The current tore at us, trying to claim her back, but I held fast.
Until finally, we hit the shallows hard.
I surfaced with a gasp, already reaching for her. She was right beside me, sputtering, struggling to find a footing on the slick stone. Together, we scrambled up the embankment, climbing onto a flat slab just above the waterline.
I collapsed onto my back, soaked and heaving. She dropped beside me, coughing, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts. For a few breaths, neither of us moved; we just lay there, side by side, the world spinning above us.
Then I sat up, chest still tight, and leaned over her. Her lips had a blue tinge. Her eyes fluttered open, dazed. Wet hair clung to her cheeks like riverweed.
I cupped her face. Still gasping for breath, I forced out the words “You’re safe. You’re all right. I’ve got you.”
She blinked at me. “You…you came after me…”
“Of course I did.” My voice was a ragged whisper.
She gave a weak laugh.
“Is now a bad time to tell you I can’t swim?” she puffed out.
I stared at her.
Then I laughed. Broken. Real.
She smiled.
The remainder of the group caught up to us after we made camp beneath the crooked skeleton of an ancient tree that had collapsed into the ravine wall. The roots twisted like the fingers of a dead god, forming a hollow deep enough to block the wind.
Jasira reached us first, hair wild, eyes frantic. She dropped beside Wyn and wrapped her arms around her tightly. “You’re alive,” she breathed. “Saints above, you’re alive.”
“I’m all right,” Wyn whispered. “Erindor found me.”
Alaric was next; his face had gone pale beneath streaks of mud. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he muttered, voice choking. “Don’t you dare disappear on me, Wynnie.”
Wyn reached out; her hand was cold but steady. Alaric grabbed her and kissed her forehead, pulling her close.
“I thought—”
“I know,” she mumbled.
Gideon knelt at the fire, eyes scanning the darkness. “No sign of Riven. He’s gone for now. But that bastard won’t stay gone forever.”
“We lost Corren and Lark.” Alaric’s voice was a monotone drone, a stark contrast to the storm of grief brewing behind his eyes.
The silence that followed was a crushing weight, a silent testament to the grief and shock that filled the camp.
The fire crackled softly, a small comfort against the sudden fury of the storm that finally broke overhead, pattering against the tree roots and soaking the mossy floor.
We wrapped ourselves in cloaks and silence.
Each of us was too grateful, too raw, and too shaken to say anything else.
As the others drifted toward sleep, Wyn shifted beside me and reached into her pocket.
“I picked this…before the attack and the fall,” she whispered.
In her hand, an impossible thing: a small, frost-pink flower, its delicate petals unmarred despite its journey over a raging cliff and through the churning rapids
She placed it in my palm. Her fingers grazed mine, sending sparks of heat through my arm despite the cold.
She gave me a gentle smile that took the breath from my lungs, then turned to sleep, curling beside the fire.
I didn’t speak. I just stared at the bloom in my hand—fragile, improbable, still clinging to beauty after everything it had endured.
I turned it over gently, memorizing the color, the curve of each petal, and the faint scent like snow and wild honey.
Then, carefully, I folded it into a strip of cloth and tucked it into my armor.
Close to my heart, where it wouldn’t break.
Safe.
As I sat there, drenched and motionless, the only sound I could hear was the frantic thrumming of my own blood in my ears, gaze fixed on her. The image of her slipping away, a terrifying ghost, still clawing at my mind.
The subtle curve of her lips, a smile she wore with innocent obliviousness, totally unaware of her impact on everyone around her.
Each time it flashed, a jolt of something akin to a mortal wound pierced me.