Page 51 of On Broken Bonds

Every person in these Trials is either highly trained, supernatural, or both. Meanwhile, I'm clinging to a cliff face trying not to cry while pretending I belong among them.

Sure, I have magic. But my abilities are limited, and every time I use them, I risk exposing what I truly am.

The thought twists uncomfortably inside me.

I want to believe Thorian wouldn't care what I am. That he wouldn't turn on me for it. But what if I'm wrong? What if I tell him and discover too late that trusting him was a mistake?

It’s an unsettling thought. And not one I can focus on right now.

I drag myself downward another few inches, every muscle in my body burning. My hands ache. My shoulders scream. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the cold wind battering the mountainside.

Somewhere below me, Thorian calls down instructions.

“A foothold to the left.”

“Don't look down.”

“You've got this.”

I cling to the sound of his voice as stubbornly as I cling to the cliff itself. Because the alternative is thinking about Lyra. Thinking about what happens if I fail. What happens if I fall.

My sister is waiting for me. She doesn't know it, but every painful inch I climb is for her. Every blister. Every bruise. Every humiliation.

I didn't come here because I believed I could win. I came because she has no one else. The thought steadies me enough to reach for the next handhold. Then another. Then another.

As though descending a mountain weren't difficult enough, a dense fog begins creeping upward from below. At first, I think it's drifting through the valley, but then I realize the truth.

We're descending into it.

The gray mist swallows the cliff beneath my boots and crawls steadily higher. The ground disappears from sight.

The realization makes my stomach turn. Because if I can't see the bottom anymore, my imagination is more than willing to fill in the blanks.

Even with all the fear clawing at my chest, I know I'd rather die here than walk away.

As I cling to the rough cliff face and force myself downward one careful step at a time, I think of Lyra. Not the Courted Prize. Not the girl carried away from our home.

Just my sister.

I close my eyes against the wind and picture her as clearly as I can.

Hold on, Lyra. The words echo silently through my mind. Just hold on a little longer.

I don't know where she is. I don't know if she's frightened, sick, lonely, or wondering whether I've forgotten her. But I know one thing with absolute certainty. I am coming for her. It doesn't matter how impossible these Trials are. It doesn't matter that every competitor around me is stronger, faster, or better trained. It doesn't matter if I'm terrified.

I'll survive this. For Lyra. I'll climb every cliff, cross every cursed forest, and face every monster these gods throw at me.

No matter what it takes, I'm bringing my sister home.

“Nyx!” Thorian says, his voice rough with desperation. “Keep going!”

I realize he might think this stall is a sign of me giving up, and I nod, sliding my hands and feet down the side of the cliff-face and making my way toward him again. We might not beat the other teams down, but that’s fine.

We’ll make it through.

All it takes is the image of those shifters, or vampires, winning my sister as their prize, and I feel a renewed sense of motivation, a drive to do this thing. No way will I count myself out when so many of the others around me would do so.

I picture Soryn, and her warm gaze when she looked at me with favor.