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KAIO
Gwen’s anguish echoed through my mind. I’m never going home.
I concentrated on the path beneath our feet, trying to block out her sadness.
Before I led us too far down into the canyon below, I stopped long enough to plait my hair into a braid down the center of my back, tying off the ends with a small strip of fabric Gwen had abandoned on the ground after she’d created her makeshift footwear.
“Follow me,” I instructed her, trying to force her to concentrate on something other than her own misery. “Step only where I step and try not to touch anything unless you see me touch it first. And keep your knife out,” I added. “Be prepared to slice at anything that tries to touch you.”
I waited for some show of agreement, and when she bobbed her head up and down, I assumed that was the signal I’d been looking for.
My plan to distract her didn’t work. As she fell into step behind me, waves of misery washed off her, hitting me like a punch in the stomach.
Part of me wanted to stop and comfort her, take her in my arms and reassure her that we would survive—and that, if at all possible, I would return her to her home. But it was more important that I keep her safe now, and that required all my attention at the moment. I didn’t have time to coddle her.
Though to be honest, if we hadn’t been bonded, I would never have known how she was feeling. The few times I glanced behind me, her expression might as well have been carved from stone. She followed my instructions exactly, carefully placing her fabric-wound feet in my footprints as we followed what looked like an animal trail.
If I concentrated, I could still hear what she was thinking. I clamped down on the urge quickly. The last thing I needed was to be distracted by the human beauty I had chosen to be paired with.
About halfway to the mist layer, I pulled out a second blade. Clearly this pack had been loaded with gear specifically for me, as it held a Qualtl’eth blade, the ancient battle weapon I had trained with since I was a child. In the hands of one of our dark magick users, it could shoot fireballs and lightning bolts. Of course, I could use the double-headed blade to deflect the same attacks.
And in the dense foliage we were approaching at the bottom of the canyon, I could use the blade to hack a path through the undergrowth, destroying clakor gluttonvines as I went.
The falavon mist was a problem, though. The further down we went, the thicker the mist grew. It wouldn’t hurt us—not as long as we kept our noses and mouths covered with Gwen’s people’s ingenious facemasks doubled up with the therma-fabric covering from the cloak. But it could and did begin to obscure our vision, until I couldn’t see more than a meltri in front of us.
Our progress slowed to a crawl.
I slashed away at the creeping vines of the carnivorous plants, listening for their mewling cries of pain as the tendrils withdrew, leaving us free to pass. We moved like that for what felt like half a day, my world clamping down to an endless repetition—hack a vine, brush it aside, take a step. Hack another vine, push it out of the way, take a step. Hack another vine, push it away, take a step.
I had no idea how long we truly continued that way, the fog dampening all the sounds I would normally expect in a valley jungle like this. I’d fallen into a stupor, continuing to move forward while growing ever more numb to my surroundings.
How far could this valley continue?
Suddenly, the monotony was washed away by a yelp, cut off mid-sound, and a surge of terror that was not my own—and I realized that I could no longer hear Gwen’s breathing behind me.
The silence was absolute.
I spun around in a complete circle, desperate to find her. “Gwen?” I called out, but the mist dampened the noise of my voice. Her rolling case stood in the middle of the path, the knife she’d been carrying abandoned on the ground next to it.
I stopped and listened intently.
Blisk’s three-headed rialtis, I cursed internally.
Had she stepped off the path? Why would she do that?
I spun around again, this time slowly, listening as I went.
There. That direction. The slightest rustling, like a clakor gluttonvine creeper sliding along the valley floor.
It was suicide to move off the path we were following, however faint.
But if I didn’t find Gwen, I wouldn’t be allowed to win the competition. I might be allowed to live, but Bloodworm would insist on my people fulfilling my debt.
And I couldn’t risk that.
No, I was going to win these games—with Gwen alive and well at my side—or I was going to die trying.
Those were the only two options, the only possible ways I could save my people.
