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CHAPTER 26
Iwatched Draven’sbody plummet downwards, my lips sealed together.
He hit the water with a splash and disappeared beneath the swirling dark waves.
On the bridge, Lyrastra was moving back and forth, her blades speeding to and fro.
I saw her glance across the wooden slats in the direction of the grove and then I understood.
Avriel had advanced.
He was halfway between the midpoint and the cliff. Now he stood, frozen in indecision, his eyes moving between the flock of harpies rushing towards the bridge and Lyrastra’s knives.
She was swifter than the harpy’s beating wings.
Ruthlessly, she sliced through the ropes that held the bridge together.
The ropes frayed and split apart, first on one side then the other.
For a moment, Lyrastra hung on, gripping a wooden board. Then she raised her arm and cut through the last rope holding her.
The bridge split.
Lyrastra fell.
And so did Avriel.
He caught at a wooden slat as his half of the bridge swung dizzyingly downwards, then slammed into the side of the cliff.
For a moment, I held my breath, hoping the force of the impact would take care of him once and for all.
Then I looked away. He was still alive, hanging there.
Lyrastra had fallen down into the waters below. Her head broke the surface. She gasped, then dove down.
Seconds passed.
Minutes.
Around me, the crowd began to murmur.
I imagined what they were saying. Had the Blood Rise just become much simpler? Would Avriel win by default?
On either side of me, Draven’s friends stood silent and still. Rychel’s elbow touched mine. A jolt of connection. I unfurled my fists and forced myself to take her hand in mind.
I had no words of comfort to offer. I had no words of resignation either. I refused to accept it.
Dravencouldn’tbe gone. It was an impossibility.
So we said nothing. Simply watched and waited and if some of us prayed, who could ever say who had done so?
Time stretched. The air was heavy with uncertainty.
The murmurs around us slowly became a roar.
Below, the chasm held its secrets.
With every second, I chanted a silent plea. Not to Zorya. Not to the Three. Not to any god or goddess I knew, but to all of them together. To everything. To Aercanum itself. To the blood in my veins. To the chance of goodness, if it had ever existed. To hope, that fleeting spark that had preserved me thus far.
