Page 145 of A Thief Among Fae

I murmur a quick prayer to Osian, a plea that he doesn’t reap our souls today. Then the first plank bumps against the opposite side. Only during training have I ever moved something so far away, and my magic threatens to slip off it like it’s coated in ice.

I can’t let go. Not yet.

Steadying my breath, I untether the hammer and guide it across. Auri stands with her bow ready as I slam it into the stakes, securing the bridge. “Ready.”

Desmond doesn’t test his first step, which is flattering despite my nerves flaring to the point of nausea. He holds his arms out for balance but clenches a dagger in his hand.

“Don’t die on the other side. It would kill me too, you know,” I call out.

“I’m touched by your concern.” Amusement lightens his tone, but he’s too vigilant in watching the depths to risk looking back at us.

Auri frowns at me. “Perhaps we should keep quiet in case the beast can⁠—”

A thick tendril shoots out of the darkness. It slaps the bridge, rocking it. I extend my magic to hold the planks firm, just like when the wind fought me on the heist in Mythos.

The tendril snakes around Desmond’s ankle, pulling him flat onto his back. It drags his calf over the edge, and a scream lodges in my throat, but he slashes through it. The severed end lands on the planks, ink-black liquid leaking from the wound.

A gust of damp air billows from the pit. The smell of rot makes us all gag. I lose focus for a fraction of a second, and the bridge sways before I quickly regain control.

“Holy Danu,” Finnian swears, his knees shaking. “I’m not ready for this.”

Desmond sprints. My heart squeezes in time with his quick steps as tendrils lash before him. He slashes through them, the bridge swaying with every shift of his balance despite how hard I try to hold it still. My pulse roars through my ears.

He jumps the last planks, landing on the other side in a crouch. The crackle of stone echoes, followed by the click of bones and the grating drag of metal weapons—draugr.

“Please survive,” I whisper. Even though he’s the most capable fighter I’ve ever met, I’m sick to my stomach. I can’t lose him.

Desmond raises his sword, grunting as a draugr clashes blades with him. More draugr close in from behind, and he whirls around to block.

“Finnian, you’re next,” Auri says. “I need to keep my eyes on the beast.”

He gulps, then steps onto the first plank, arms out wide for balance.

A cacophony of sharp clicks echoes up the ravine, and goosebumps crawl down my arms. “Maybe walk faster!” I hiss.

Finnian quickens his steps, but tentacles rise and whip his legs. He yelps, trips on his own feet, and falls.

My magic acts on instinct, gripping his clothes. He lies midair as if suspended by invisible strings. His shoulders rise too fast, too heavy, his panicked breaths not reaching his lungs.

“I’m swinging you toward the bridge!” I call out. Then I slowly move his gambeson and tunic, praying the seams can hold his weight. If they tear, he’s done for—and that’s if the tentacles don’t pull him below first. They writhe around his arms, and his gasps quicken into frantic panting.

Auri shoots one after another, but they latch on to him just as quickly as they recoil.

“Enough of this!” Auri snaps, and she trades her bow for lightning. The strikes blast each tentacle. They fall limp and drop, and I heave Finnian back onto the bridge.

“Run!” I scream.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pushes himself up and sprints, the bridge rippling with every step beneath him. He leaps over the last few planks and draws his sword, facing the awakened draugr.

I can feel my pulse in my throat. “I didn’t know if he was going to make it.”

“We aren’t done yet.” Auri aims as a tendril snakes around a plank. It tightens, cracking the wood. The bow thrums as Auri releases an arrow, piercing the tendril. Then she unleashes lightning from her fingertips, striking it. The tendril drops limp. It slides by its own weight into the darkness.

“Can’t you illuminate it?” I ask, gesturing at the ravine.

Her head tilts as if surprised I have a decent idea. Then she reaches out, and lightning dances from her palm. The jagged forks lick the air and illuminate the plunging cliffs, a distance that will kill if we fall.

For a split second, I see it—a writhing mass of tendrils that stem from a gaping maw.