Page 62 of On Broken Bonds

He says this to Thorian, but I feel in my bones that he really means me. The thought of him actually hurting Thorian feels impossible. But me? I shiver again, this time not from the cold.

“We’ll do what we can to work with that,” Thorian grunts, poking at the fire again, his gaze flicking to me when it comes completely back to life, the heat returning to the space. Almost like he wants me to return Fenric’s jacket.

I’ve been doing my best not to think about it. The kiss. What was I thinking? Doing that with a man I’m supposed to be teammates with? Beyond being reckless, it’s just silly.

It’s not like Thorian is interested in me, anyway. That was surely a rush of adrenaline from nearly dying, and I was literally a woman who had thrown herself into his lap.

The more I think about the kiss, the more it feels like pushing against a loose tooth, the pain impossible and irresistible at once.

“You’ve done this before,” Fenric says, either not noticing, or not caring about the tension between Thorian and me. “So, what should we expect? Shouldn’t we use your previous experiences to our advantage?”

For a minute, Thorian looks at him like he’d like to get his sword out again, then he sighs and nods, looking into the fire. “Like they said, the forest changes each time, sometimes feeling like completely new places. So it’s not like I have information about the fastest way to get to the Spire.”

A beat passes, and he goes on, looking at each of us, “But I do know this… those beasts yesterday? The dire wolves and bone serpents? Those were the easy ones to fight.”

Fenric shifts. “There are larger beasts?”

“More than just monsters.” Thorian drops the stick and stands, starting to pace, like the memory of what he’s been through here at the Trials is too much for him to stay seated. Now that he’s stoked the fire, I’m plenty warm, but I keep Fenric’s jacket around me. I like that it smells like him, and it feels like a protective layer between me and the rest of the world.

“The forest itself will test us,” he says, pointing up at the sky, which is a blanket of dark, midnight blue, not a single star by which to guide your way. I don’t envy any of the teams trying to make their way through this place without the light of the sun. “It will shift and change, and the early dusk is just one of its many tricks.”

Fenric tenses his jaw. “Did they really mean that the seasons can change?”

Thorian nods. “We could wake up in the morning covered in snow. Or find the cave we went to sleep in gone, and instead we’re sleeping in a field of wheat. It’s disorienting, to say the least.”

“Does it move you further away from the Spire?”

“From my experiences,” Thorian says, finding my gaze, “we are not moving. The world simply changes appearance around us.”

“Great,” Fenric mutters, which makes me laugh. The absurdity of this. All this fighting and risking our lives and sanity.

But the prizes are worth it.

“It’s not just that,” Thorian says, his face settling into a grim, determined stare. “It’s more than physical. There are beings that will test us emotionally and psychologically, as well.”

He trails off without detailing any of those beings to us, and I’m almost grateful for that. Will knowing about them help when we meet them? And what’s the guarantee that we’ll even run into the same ones he has?

Once again, I find myself wondering how gaining minor godhood can be so motivating to him, to go through this kind of thing again and again, never with the promise of getting the reward he so desires.

Before I can stop myself, I say, “After this is done, we’ll have the greatest Pantheora celebration yet.”

Fenric and Thorian look at me, the change in subject so sudden that it takes them a moment to adjust, so I continue talking.

“This year was rather dull,” I say, clearing my throat and taking the fire-prodding stick, drawing it through the dirt as I talk. “But all that really matters is that we’re together. Oh, and whatever yummy things we can manage.”

“Did your parents serve candied carrots?” Fenric asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes!” I say, pointing to him, a laugh bubbling up. It feels serendipitous to know that we share this, however common, tradition. “They called it the food of the gods. We have it every year, even now that they’re gone. But next year, no more wilted greens and—” I shudder theatrically, “dry roasted chicken.”

“Oh, is that so?” Fenric asks, laughing and throwing his head back. “You should be thankful you had meat at all, your highness.”

I flush and start to apologize, remembering that even with all my misfortune, I still come from a wealthy background. As dim as things have been, my childhood was far more gilded than many others, and especially that of a berserker.

“Relax,” Fenric says, leaning back against his stump, stretching his feet out toward the fire. “I’m just teasing you. Perhaps you’ll have to show me how to do it right when I have the money and status for it.”

“I will,” I promise, heart filling with joy. “Both of you can come to our manor. Lyra and I will show you, and everyone in our holdings, the best Pantheora celebration on our side of the city!”

“That sounds fine,” Fenric says, smiling. “I’ll bring my parents, my brother and sister. My brother is obsessed with trying goose.”