Page 23 of A Sea of Fate and Starfire

I reached for Maren, hauling her to her feet.

Cebrinne climbed to my side, her weight settling deep into the sand. Rather than eject her leg as we had, she stopped dead, throat strict as she listened to her own thoughts. Her shoulders quaked; her fists tightened. Her cheeks paled.

She took another step, and the sand caved in around her knee.

I dropped a kiss into Maren’s hair. “You’re not alone.” Her gaze snapped to mine, rapt focus on my eyes, and I knew I’d guessed right. “You are not something to abandon. You are loved. I love you.”

A step ahead, Cebrinne turned her head just enough to absorb my words. Pain etched in the graceful lines of her face, carved by something other than the heat of the sand.

Maren blinked the wet sheen away from her eyes. She glanced down at her leg, mouth parting as though something had clicked. Then made to stand. I grabbed her hand, helping her up, and she took a tentative step forward.

Her foot sank in again. But only half as far.

Maren whipped her head around to face me. “You’re strong. And loyal. And dependable. The only person in my entire life I could truly depend on.”

The hot throb across my calf shivered away. I climbed beside her, and my feet barely sank through.

Without thinking, we both looked at Cebrinne, who stood knee-deep, shaking from the burn across her skin.

“What’s the mountain telling you, Cebrinne?” I asked. A small heat rolled off Maren, her hand tensing in mine. But from the corner of my eye, she watched Cebrinne in silence. Theia had said we needed to become united. And the furrow in her tight brows informed me that it was with practical concentration, not empathy, that she waited for her mother to answer.

Cebrinne’s gaze shifted between us. I was aware of the intimacy of my question. I’d never met the Naiad before—yet I’d just asked for her deepest insecurities. Cebrinne opened her mouth. And nothing came out. We simply stared at each other as her lips moved soundlessly.

“We can’t tell each other,” Maren guessed aloud. “That’s why you can’t hear the thoughts in my head.”

“We can still work together,” I mused, reaching for Cebrinne’s hand to pull her up the way I had with Maren. Our fingers met. And hers slipped through mine.

Not slipped. The sand caved in around Cebrinne, drawing her deeper. She gasped in surprise, or perhaps pain, writhing hip-deep in the sand. I quickly drew my hand away. Cebrinne’s jaw unhinged, her shoulders locked forward as she braced the flame of the mountain. She cradled her head, trembling hands invaded her hair as she fought her thoughts.

“Whatever you’re hearing, Cebrinne, it’s not true,” I murmured. “Come on. You have to pull yourself out.”

She shook her head, though whether she rejected her own words or mine, I wasn’t sure.

Maren’s grip hardened within mine, fingers curling into a fist. “Fight it,” she commanded.

Cebrinne brushed her hair away from her eyes and flattened her palms against the mountain. She pushed, rocking her feet free. Her hands delved into the sand as she pried herself out, heat waves rising from the grain, sending her face and hair into blurry motion. Still, she managed to wriggle herself out of the depth my touch had sunk her to, crawling from her hole.

Her teeth clenched. Her limbs curved into rigid angles. But she fought to climb.

I squeezed Maren’s hand. “Whatever waits at the top,” I said, watching Cebrinne power through the sand, “or on the way up. I’m here with you.”

Maren stared at the back of her mother’s head, a hard stitch between her brows.

She squeezed back.

12

Kye

We plodded on, fighting the mountain to reach the top with small affirmations. I knew Maren well enough to guess which inner thoughts plagued her, and she knew mine. I’d never taken comfort in my own vulnerability before. Even in the moments when I’d bared my demons to Maren, I hadn’t realized quite how exposed I’d let myself become to her.

I suppose I should have been ashamed that she knew, deep down, which parts of myself I hated. Which parts I ignored. Which parts I abandoned. She had a way of splitting through the turbulence, grounding me with words I never would have allowed myself to indulge.

Neither of us knew how to help Cebrinne.

I’m not sure that Maren was capable of helping her. The mountain may have fed us false truths, but something within the sand blocked our ability to lie. I knew in my bones that the mountain would steal any words I didn’t truly believe from my lips. But Maren purposefully avoided watching Cebrinne, mouth set in a blunt line as she fought the torment of her thoughts.

Step by step, we climbed. My reflections darkened with every step.