I stop walking.
Ambrose stops as well, turning to face me.
“Blood River?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
He gives me a sheepish smile.
“As in a river filled with blood?” I ask, dread sinking into the words. “Please tell me it’s just a catchy name and not factual.”
“Technically, it’s a river that is mixed with blood,” he answers, the arrows jostling in the quiver attached to his back.
I let out a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical.
He shrugs, then starts walking again, throwing a quick look over his shoulder to see if I’m coming. Instead, he catches me staring at the back of his head like he’s lost his mind.
He smiles and turns back around again.
I wrinkle my nose in annoyance and quickly join him.
“It’s unclear where it originates from, but it’s definitely blood,” he continues as if we’re talking about the weather. “Some theorize it comes from the witch’s sacrificial offerings to the woods they call home, but there’s no proof to that theory.”
Oh good. No proof of that theory. That makes me feel better.
I roll my eyes.
The cawing of a raven in the distance adds an eerie layer to our already portentous surroundings. I quicken my step to stay close, my boots sinking into the damp earth. I’m certainly a desirable target for anything and anyone at the moment. I still haven’t manifested, and it's a constant worry and heaviness that resides in my gut.
I’m dead weight.
The academy doesn’t keep dead weight around. I haven’t brought it up to him yet, or the events that transpired at the blood initiation, but they’ve been heavy on my mind.
Ambrose hasn’t approached it either.
We eventually come to a thinning in the trees that opens up to a flowing river of ruby rapids. It’s roughly eighteen feet in width with large stones strategically placed throughout. There’s way to get from one side to the other. Not unless we swim through the sinister-looking current.
I scratch the top of my head, trying to work out how I land in these ridiculous situations. “Where’s the bridge?” I ask in a cautious tone.
He throws his head back, laughter breaking free. Thick brown waves fall to his shoulders, and his blue eyes flash like crystals. Tan skin, athletic build, perfect smile. Gods help me, he’s the whole package. If he weren’t so damn nice to look at, I might consider pushing him into the river.
“There isn’t one, brat. Come on, it’ll be like when we were kids. There wasn’t any challenge we wouldn’t take head-on,” he says, lip curling in a half smile.
“But we’renotkids,” I remind him.
His eyes rake over me. “I’m very aware of that fact,” he murmurs.
I can feel my cheeks warming under his scrutiny. “Then you’re also aware this isn’t my idea of a good time,” I say, changing the subject. Apparently, getting his attention in a way that I’ve wanted for so long is causing me to squirm.
“We can hold hands if you want. If you fall, I’ve got you,” he instructs, moving closer and grabbing one of my hands. “You’re safe. I won’t fall.”
His hand completely engulfs mine.
I hold my breath as we take the first step, landing on a large stone at the edge of the river. The surface is slippery and unsteady from moisture and algae. I squeeze his hand in a bruising grip. He moves to the next stone, guiding us in precise movements as if he’s done this a hundred times. And let’s behonest, he probably has. I won’t wonder who he came with all those other weekends.
I bite my lips together and focus on the task at hand. It’s the safer option.
We make our way across the rapids, the sound of water smashing over boulders drowning out any possibility of conversation. When we jump and land on the other side, and I feel the soft dirt beneath my feet, I let out a long exhale.
They really need to just build a bridge and be done with it.
