Page 63 of On Broken Bonds

“Then we’ll have goose,” I say, unable to stop the smile from spreading over my face. “Hilda’s my housekeeper, but also like a mother or auntie to me. I’m sure she knows how to cook one. She could cook anything. In fact, she’s so good at cooking that the other families near us have been trying to poach her for years.”

Fenric laughs. “What a concept.”

“And her husband, Ivor,” I say, swallowing and thinking about the last time I saw him, I was leaving the house and coming this way, swearing that I would get my sister back by going before the gods. “He’s brave. Very loyal. He's been like a father to me. When this is over, I’ll get our family another carriage so he never has to walk to town again. And he’ll play for us at the Pantheora celebration.”

“It would be a pleasure to meet them. And what about you?” Fenric asks, turning to Thorian, tipping his head in that direction. “Any special traditions you enjoy that we should honor next year?”

For a second, I expect Thorian to say something like, If we even make it to next year, but he doesn’t. I even think that he might laugh at the concept of staying in touch with us after the competition. Instead, his face impassive, he mutters, “I have never celebrated, even if I’ve been at some celebrations, as required when joining the Trials.”

Without meaning to, I gasp. As much as my family hated Valtor and all the other gods, the idea of not celebrating Pantheora is impossible. To fall out of their favor, even with how far out of it we were, was not worth the risk of not doing it.

Besides, with how long I’d done it, year after year, it would have felt empty to forgo the traditions. After so long, it became something belonging to my family, rather than something we did simply for the gods themselves.

“Never?” Fenric clarifies, sounding just as surprised as me.

If a berserker and a girl fallen from favor still celebrate, it’s impossible to consider a demi-god, one who would stand to gain much from being in the gods’ favor, would abstain from taking part.

Thorian shakes his head, and, still standing, grabs the stick once more, rearranging the fire so it begins to die down again.

“We should sleep,” he says, not meeting my eyes. He walks around to the other side of the fire and pulls out a roll from the pack we grabbed earlier. He spreads it out on the ground, then stands and gestures to it for me. “We’ll need all the rest we can get.”

I nod and stand, knowing Thorian is right. Together, the three of us work to clean up and prepare the campsite for the morning. Or for a quick getaway.

Then, we stretch out beside the fire, exhaustion taking over me. Without any stars above us to light the night, I close my eyes and drift off, feeling strangely untethered and unsure of what’s to come.

19

Nyx

The church bells ring softly through the valley.

I stand at the front of the crowd, dressed all in black, my teeth clenched so tightly together that it hurts. Beside me, Lyra's hand trembles in mine. Ahead of us sit two polished wooden coffins. Mother. Father.

The priest drones on about the gods, about fate, about returning to the earth. Around us, people cry quietly. Farmers from our lands. Servants. Neighbors. People who loved my parents. I don't cry. I can't. Lyra is crying enough for both of us. Hilda keeps pressing a handkerchief to her face. Ivor stands with his shoulders bowed, looking older than I've ever seen him. If I fall apart too, who will be left?

So I stand straight. I keep my chin up. I thank people when they offer condolences. I accept embraces. I nod when I'm expected to nod. By the time the funeral ends, my face hurts from holding it together.

"Nyx?" Lyra asks quietly as the crowd begins to disperse.

I squeeze her hand and force a smile. "I'm alright."

It's a lie.

The first of many.

I walk everyone back toward the manor. I wait until Lyra disappears inside. Until Hilda follows after her. Until Ivor pauses in the doorway, glancing back as though he knows something is wrong, before finally going in himself.

Then I turn around and leave.

The woods welcome me in silence.

The moment the manor disappears from sight, the last of my composure shatters. I stumble to a stop beneath a massive oak tree and sink to my knees. The sob tears out of me so violently it hurts. Suddenly I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't imagine how I'm supposed to survive this.

I don't know how to run an estate. I don't know how to raise Lyra. I don't know how to become the person everyone suddenly expects me to be.

The grief comes in waves, each one larger than the last. I wrap my arms around myself and cry until my chest aches and my throat burns.

Then warm arms settle around me. Strong arms. Steady arms. When I look up, it's Thorian.