And it was all Elyria could do to roll to the side as the floor beneath her feet split open. Just like outside the labyrinth, a rift tore through the ground. Only instead of roots and vines erupting from within, the cleft continued to widen, a deep, endless chasm unraveling beneath them.
A despairing noise fell from Elyria’s lips as she watched her staff tumble into the void. She couldn’t dwell on the loss. As if the labyrinth was hunting those who had disturbed its peace, the rift chased Elyria. Still flattened to the ground, she rolled away, over and over, until her back hit a wall and she could roll no further.
The rift didn’t stop.
Elyria gasped as the floor beneath her crumbled away, as she felt that split second of weightlessness.
And then she fell.
31
NOTHING TO LOSE
ELYRIA
Elyria clawed at the dirt,her feet kicking wildly as she plummeted. Her boot caught in the soft earth making up the sides of the fissure, and she managed to stop herself before she fell in completely.
With effort, she grappled with the steep side until she was able to boost herself back up over the edge, hauling her torso onto solid ground. For a moment, she hung there, bent at the waist, hips and legs dangling into the open chasm below. The tendons in her back strained painfully as she tried to pull more of herself out, but the ground was slick beneath her sweating palms.
Turning her head, she locked eyes with Kit, crouched on the other side of the rift. There was terror in her blue and green eyes as she rose, her head twisting as she looked for a place whereshe could get across. Could get to Elyria.
It didn’t matter. She was too far away.
And Elyria was slipping.
She flared her wings uselessly, that pressure still weighing down on her, preventing her from flying to safety. She called on her wild magic, willed the soil below her to move, to solidify, to boost her back onto solid ground.
But she couldn’t grasp it, not as she continued to slide, her fingers bleeding as she dug her nails into the ground.
This was how she would die, then. The Revenant, swallowed by darkness in the most literal sense. Elyria wanted to laugh at the poetry of it.
She threw her head back, a curse at the celestials for this trial and the existence of the entire infernal Crucible on the tip of her tongue. Something shiny glinted at the edge of her vision and her eyes shot to the source—the golden hilt of Leona’s dagger, embedded in the wall six inches to the right and a foot above her.
Hope sparked in her chest as Elyria reached for it.
Then, with one final rumble of the cavern, that hope sputtered out. A woman’s earsplitting scream filled the space just as Elyria’s bloodied fingers scraped the hilt. She lost the tentative bit of balance she had garnered and slipped further. She relatched her hands to the ledge, her heart plummeting into her stomach.
“Kit!” she shouted, fear coating every inch of her insides. She couldn’t even turn her head to check for her friend.
“I’m okay!” Kit called back, and relief flooded Elyria’s veins so rapidly she nearly burst into tears. But if it wasn’t Kit she heard, then...
Leona screamed again; the sound sharp at first—a panicked shriek that softened as it faded. It was followed by Belien’s agonized howl and Elyria knew Leona had fallen.
She wished she could bring herself to care.
Bootsteps pummeled the ground, the vibrations shaking Elyria’s grip on the ledge. Kit’s moonlight hair flew into Elyria’s line of sight a few seconds later, that look of terror still sketched on her young face as she wrapped her hands around Elyria’s wrists.
“Just hang on, Ellie,” Kit said, her voice cracking. “On the count ofthree, grab hold of me. I’ll pull you up.”
Elyria nodded, pressing her sweaty fingers into the ground with as much force as she could muster.
“One . . . two . . . three!”
Another moment of weightlessness as Elyria let go and grabbed hold of Kit. Grunting, Kit pulled. Elyria pushed against the rift’s side walls, gritting her teeth against the bite of the jagged ledge scraping against her stomach. And then Cyren was there too, wrapping an arm around Elyria’s waist, the three of them working together to haul her out of the pit.
“Thank you,” Elyria managed to gasp, looking between Kit and Cyren after they’d scrambled to a stretch of unbroken ground. “That was a bit close for comfort.”
“No thanks necessary. Though I’m sure I can come up with some creative ways you can show your gratitude if you insist.” Cyren grinned, the humor in his eyes only slightly dimmed by the wince that followed.
