Page 11 of On Burning Paths

Hundreds of lives were lost. And when all was done, and the rage settled, neither of the gods seemed to show remorse. While Aqualis had at least admitted to the act being foolish, Valtor had not. Instead, he’d buried all the children together, trapping their souls in this place.

"Families came from every corner of the realm looking for their children afterward," I continue. "What they found was this. When it was over, Valtor had the bodies buried here, all of them together, and the graves marked. He called it a monument." The word turns bitter in my throat. "He thinks of it as a battle scar. Proof that he fought and won."

"As if the deaths of children are the same as a wound you carry yourself," Fenric says quietly. The playfulness that's carried him through most of the day has gone completely. He's staring out over the field, jaw set, a shadow settling over his expression. When he glances up, his eyes have deepened, the tame color of dried wheat shifting toward the rich green of a polished emerald.

I look back at the graves. The headstones are small. Heartbreakingly small. They’re sized for children because they mark children, stretching out in rows farther than I can see from here.

"I can't imagine their souls are at rest," Nyx says. "Not here. Not like this."

I shake my head. "They aren't. There is no more cursed ground in these lands than what's in front of us."

Silence settles over us as we look out at the field of tiny headstones, each lost in our own thoughts.

I break the quiet, my father’s name burning in my mind. "This is our next task. We have to cross this cursed land."

Fenric says, “That sounds easy.”

“Can you both handle this?” I ask, studying Nyx’s pale face. I reach out and wrap an arm around her waist, hauling her up against me.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, setting her forehead against my chest and taking a deep breath, apparently not bothered by this level of closeness. “I just… even thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach.”

“I’m fine,” Fenric says to my question, standing and brushing his hands down his pants. “I’m pissed about the cruelty of the gods, but I can control myself.”

I sigh. We all have to. No matter how much of a reminder this is of just how awful the gods are, just how awful my father is.

In the distance, there’s a long, haunting wail, like a baby’s cry, and Nyx lets out a noise into my shirt. I hold her against me, rubbing her back, furious with the universe for showing her these cruelties. It’s enough to know that something like this took place. Why should she have to witness the aftermath? Especially when she is nothing but pure and kind?

“It’s okay,” I murmur, though I’m not good at comforting people, and I’m pretty sure that’s a lie. I can’t reassure her that everything is okay, because it likely isn’t. The most likely outcome, based on past experiences, is that nothing will be okay here.

Yet, here I am, trying to make her feel better.

“I can’t imagine a land more cursed than this,” Fenric says, his voice choked. “For the sake of the families, I hope they’re unaware of the souls trapped here. These children, more than any other dead, deserve to be at peace.”

Nyx lets out another sound, and I realize she's crying. It’s not loud, just the quiet kind, the kind someone makes when they're trying not to. I feel it more than hear it, a slight tremor moving through her where she's pressed against my side.

She's so small against me, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder, her whole frame fitting against mine like it was always meant to be there. She's warm, even through the leathers, and she smells like river water and woodsmoke and something underneath that is simply her, and I find myself wanting to pull her closer in a way that has nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with the fact that I don't want to let go.

I have no idea what to say to her. I never do. The right words exist somewhere, I'm certain of it, words that might actually reach her and ease some of what she's carrying. Fenric would know them. Fenric has that gift, the ability to say the truth simply and without making it feel like effort. I've watched him do it with her more than once.

And yet she turned to me.

I don't know what to do with that. I'm not sure I'm ready to examine what it might mean. But she turned toward me in this field of small graves and pressed herself against my side. It feels both like more than I deserve and exactly what I need.

A shift moves through me then, reminding me why I entered this competition in the first place. In a way, winning might mean putting an end to senseless killing like this. An end to a world that allows gods to use children as weapons and calls it a scar worth keeping.

“We’ll need to cross.” I say it resolutely, because I know they don’t want to hear it. Since the formation of the team, I’ve been the obvious leader. And that means making my team members face the horrors that we’ll have to go through.

After so many times in this competition, I still haven’t gotten used to the role.

Nyx pulls back from me, straightening up and swiping the back of her hand across her face with the brisk efficiency of someone who has decided she's done with crying and means it. She takes a breath. Then another.

"I'll admit I'm not feeling up to this," she says, and her voice is steady enough, even if her eyes are still bright. "I'd heard of the Slaughter of Innocence. Everyone has. But hearing about it and standing in the middle of it are two different things." She looks out over the field of small headstones, jaw set. "Holding them here, even in death. It's not a monument. It's a cage."

She says it without trembling, without looking away.

I find that I'm not surprised. This is who she is.

It would be cruel to point out that there is no level of evil the gods aren’t capable of. So I don’t. Instead, Fenric and I remain quiet as Nyx lowers down to one knee, saying she just needs a moment to breathe before we forge ahead.