Page 4 of On Burning Paths

“So he should be okay?”

Another moment’s hesitation. “He should be.”

I don’t push further.

“And you’ll be here to help him.”

I just hope that’s enough.

Once he's sure I have him, Thorian wades out and straightens, water streaming from his clothes.

"Keep him in as long as his temperature stays high," he says. "When he cools, get him out and get water and food into him, if you can." He looks at me directly. "We're safe here. That's not a guess."

I nod.

Although he just fought two warlocks and their magic, Thorian hardly looks worse for the wear. Even in this dim light, he's impossibly handsome, his dark hair mussed, a tendril falling across his face. He has the kind of features you'd find carved into a bust in one of the grand family homes. A straight Roman nose. A sharp jaw.

I don't want him to leave. Both because I worry for him, and because I worry for us.

"I can—" I reach for my magic, thinking I might draw some rabbits close the way I did before, but I'm depleted from the shield. I clear my throat. "Okay."

He holds my gaze a moment longer, then turns and disappears into the trees.

I hold Fenric's weight against my chest and wait in the water. As time passes, he stops sweating as much. I tip water to his lips until his low sounds of pain quiet, and he comes around enough to take the berries one by one from my hand. My own stomach rumbles, but I ignore it.

Thorian is gone for a while, and I close my eyes. As always, when I have a spare, quiet moment, the first thing I think of is my sister. Is she okay? Is she safe? Does she know where I am, and is she worrying for me?

I can only hope they aren’t giving her live updates. It could be too much for her shadow-touched heart to deal with.

Thinking of Lyra gives me strength. It's enough to remind me that suffering has a purpose. That I chose this. That somewhere at the end of all of it, my sister is waiting, and she has no idea how far I will go to bring her home. She never has. Sighing, I shift so I can lean up against the roots of the tree, with Fenric leaning against me in the water, and I relax.

Thorian is right. Based on what’s already happened, things aren’t going to get easier, so I should try to rest, or at least relax a little in the water and let my mind take a break from worrying. I should try to put the images of what I’ve seen, and the thoughts of my sister, out of my mind and focus on the one thing I know is true.

We have to win. We have to be the first team to reach the Obsidian Spire. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.

2

Nyx

It's dark when I wake, but it takes me a minute to realize that it’s not because it's still night. Our little cave of tree roots is shielded enough from the outside that only splinters of light break through, shining in small, brilliant shards on the dirt. It’s almost… pretty.

Almost.

A small fire crackles near the entrance a few feet from the water’s edge. Smoke wafts out through the gaps in the roots. I don't remember any of us making a fire. In fact, I don’t remember falling asleep at all.

The last thing I remember clearly is kneeling beside Fenric in the shallows of the river, watching his face for any sign that the fever was breaking. It had been slow. Agonizingly slow. His temperature had dropped by degrees, each small improvement followed by a stretch of stillness that made my chest seize until the next one came. I had talked to him softly, not because I thought he could hear me but because the silence was worse.

At some point, Thorian had joined me in the water and quietly told me that Fenric was through the worst of it. That I should sleep.

I hadn't wanted to. But I’d gone into the little cave-like space and curled up. I guess my body made the decision for me after that.

But where’s Fenric? And is he okay?

I sit up slowly, muscles protesting every movement. My shoulders ache. My hands are stiff, the knuckles tender where I gripped Fenric through the worst of the night. My back has opinions about the ground it spent the night on, and none of them are kind. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and take a slow breath.

The berserker. I have to find him.

Sensing motion out of the corner of my eye, I turn. Fenric is sitting up against the wall of the cave, canteen in hand, and the relief that moves through me is so intense it actually stops me mid-breath. He's alive. He's sitting up. The awful, hectic flush of the fever is gone, replaced by a healthier complexion that's recognizably him. His eyes find mine across the small space and he gives me a tired, lopsided smile.