Page 92 of On Broken Bonds

My magic surges. The air around us shimmers. Then the smoke begins to bend strangely around us. It doesn’t disappear, but it seems to avoid us. It curls away from our little pocket of space.

The air becomes easier to breathe. Cooler. Cleaner.

A faint, translucent ripple surrounds us, like sunlight dancing across water. My heart leaps. It's working. Gods help me. It's actually working.

His head falls back against the tree with a dull thud. The muscles in his neck seem too exhausted to hold it upright any longer. His eyes are half-lidded, struggling to stay open, and each breath comes slower than the one before it. His chest rises heavily beneath his torn shirt, then sinks again, as though even breathing has become a task he has to consciously force himself to perform.

The sight sends a fresh wave of panic through me.

Fenric has always seemed so solid. So impossibly strong. Even after the swamp, even after collapsing half a dozen times, part of me kept expecting him to simply push through it because that's what people like him do.

But looking at him now, he doesn't seem strong.

He seems spent.

Drained.

Like the swamp reached inside him and took something vital with it.

His skin has gone pale beneath the dirt and sweat. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and the hand resting beside him trembles faintly every few seconds. If I didn't see his chest rising and falling, I might think he was dying.

As soon as we're safe, I know I need to get him something to eat. Something to drink. Something.

I squeeze my eyes shut and burrow closer to him, seeking comfort from the simple fact that he's still here. The heat of his body presses against me, startling after the chill that settled into my bones in the swamp. For a moment, I simply listen to him breathe, each slow inhale a reassurance that he's alive.

Still here.

Still fighting.

Not gone.

There's another explosion of fire in the distance. The sound rolls through the forest like thunder, followed by the crash of a falling tree. I flinch instinctively, my thoughts immediately turning to Thorian.

I hope he's okay.

He might be stronger than anyone I've ever met. Faster too. But is that enough against warlocks?

I don't know much about magic. Most people don't. But the way Fenric said the word earlier…warlocks, sent a chill through me. As though they were something especially dangerous.

Beside me, Fenric shifts slightly.

The movement seems to cost him.

"What happened?" he asks quietly.

His voice is rough. Weaker than usual.

I lift my head.

"What do you mean?"

His gaze drifts around our strange little pocket of clear air. The smoke continues to drift through the forest, but it bends around us, sliding away before it can touch us. The shimmer surrounding us is faint enough that I can only see it when I stop looking directly at it.

"This." His voice is barely more than a whisper. "One second we were running. Then you pushed me against a tree. Now the smoke won't come near us."

There’s a pause. "What is it?"

My stomach tightens. Of course he'd ask. Of course he'd want answers. The problem is that I don't have any good ones.