Page 75 of On Broken Bonds

“Let's start with the obvious. Nyx can't go into that water.”

The statement is delivered without cruelty. Without judgment. It’s simply fact.

I hate it anyway.

“Why not?” Fenric asks.

“Because she's human.” Thorian keeps his eyes on the swamp. “Whatever curse is in that water tears through human life the fastest. Supernaturals can withstand it longer. The stronger the magic in your blood, the more resistant you are. I'll last longer than either of you. Fenric will last longer than Nyx. But none of us are immune.”

I appreciate him not mentioning my abilities. Especially because there’s no way they’d be useful for this. My powers still require a lot of concentration, which I wouldn’t have while racing across a swamp that’s actively trying to kill me. Still, I’m not totally useless as is, am I?

“I’m sure if I tried to go from platform to platform for the most part–”

Thorian shakes his head before I've even finished speaking. “The platforms are too far apart. There are stretches where you'll have to enter the water. Maybe only for a few seconds, but after what we watched, that's enough.” He glances toward the stranded knights, who have made it to another platform. “Cedric was a trained warrior. A big, powerful warrior. You're not.”

The words sting, though not because they're unfair but because they're true.

I look toward Willem and Beric. Both men remain huddled on a different tiny platform, still trapped between the shore behind them and the water ahead, even though they’re slowly making their way across. Neither looks capable of getting to the other side.

“Then what?” I ask quietly.

Thorian rubs a hand over his jaw. “I could probably make it through the water.”

That gets both mine and Fenric's attention.

“Probably?” Fenric asks.

“I mean, I can. I know I can. I'm a demi-god. Whatever magic is draining them would affect me differently than it would a mere mortal. Technically, I won’t die unless something specific kills me, unlike humans who age, get sick, weaken, and die.” His expression darkens. “I’m not immune, but I’d survive.”

Which is somehow less reassuring than I'd hoped.

“Except,” he continues, “we're not trying to get one person across. We're trying to get all three of us across.”

Fenric nods immediately.

“So that doesn’t help us that much.”

Silence settles between us again as all three of us stare out at the swamp. The answer feels close. Close enough that I can almost see it. Then I notice Thorian studying Fenric. It’s not casual. It’s like he’s evaluating him. It’s the same look he gets whenever he's working through a problem.

Fenric notices too. “I don’t think I like what you’re thinking.”

“You don't even know what I'm going to say.”

“I know enough.”

Thorian rubs his chin. “You're a berserker.”

Fenric groans.

I glance between them.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Thorian turns to me. “When berserkers transform, their bodies become significantly stronger and more durable. Harder to injure. Harder to kill.”

“And more resistant to magic,” Fenric adds reluctantly.

That catches my attention.