Page 69 of On Broken Bonds

The longer I look at it, the less those explanations make sense. My pulse begins to pick up. We didn't wander in circles. Thorian had been tracking our route the entire time. The sun had stayed at our backs. We had walked in a straight line.

Hadn't we?

A strange feeling settles over me then, one I can't quite name. It's the same sensation I used to get as a child when waking from a nightmare and realizing something wasn't right. Like the world has shifted slightly while I wasn't paying attention.

"This can't be good," Fenric mutters.

“And there’s more,” Thorian says, nodding down along the barrier between the desert and the swamp.

Following his gaze, I spot a group of competitors gathered along the edge of the sand. They’re far enough away that neither side poses an immediate threat. Surprisingly, one of the competitors is Talon. Even at this distance, I know it's him.

The vampire's eyes find mine almost immediately. Then they shift to Thorian, to Fenric, and back again. His expression suggests he's just as confused as we are. Which, somehow, makes me feel worse.

"Well," I say, trying for optimism, "maybe the third time is the charm?"

Thorian gives me a look. A very unimpressed look. Still, we turn around.

The third crossing of the desert is worse than the first two. The novelty is gone. The heat feels more oppressive. The sand is deeper. My canteen grows lighter with every passing minute.

So when we emerge from the desert and find ourselves standing at the edge of the swamp yet again, nobody is particularly surprised.

I think we're all too exhausted for surprise.

The heat has drained every ounce of enthusiasm from me. My clothes cling uncomfortably to my skin, my throat feels raw, and my nearly empty canteen sloshes mockingly at my side. We've spent hours walking. Hours sweating and rationing water and carefully following a route that should have taken us somewhere else.

And yet we're back here.

Again.

None of us say anything. We simply stare out at the dark water and twisted trees. The same swamp is waiting for us exactly where we left it. The frustration settles heavily in my chest. It feels unfair in a way I hadn't expected. Monsters can be fought. Competitors can be avoided or defeated. Even hunger and thirst make sense.

This doesn't.

The worst part is that I don't know what it means.

Are the gods moving the landscape around us? Are they controlling us like puppets for their amusement?

Beside me, Fenric lets out a long breath. Thorian stares at the swamp with the expression of a man who is rapidly losing patience with the universe itself.

My nearly empty canteen sloshes sadly in my hand.

The dark green water suddenly looks far more appealing than it should.

"Don't even think about it," Thorian mumbles, casting me a look.

I stiffen. “Can you read my mind?”

A slight smile comes to Thorian’s lips. “I can’t read your mind. You were practically drooling, staring at the water.”

I feel a little relieved. If he could read all my thoughts about him, I’d be mortified.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones getting spit out here,” Fenric says, nodding his head down the other side of the swamp.

The vampires are still here, up the shore of the swamp to our right, but now the Hollow Blades and Ashen Hounds have taken their places along the line between the desert and swamp, the knights and shifters huddled in their own groups, each at least a field’s length apart from us and the others. Beyond them, there’s another group that must be the human fighters.

“Fucking gods,” Thorian curses, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

The words immediately draw my attention. Over the last two days, I've learned that Thorian doesn't waste emotion. He doesn't panic. He doesn't complain. If something has him this angry, there's a reason.