Page 13 of On Burning Paths

Glancing back, I see Talon is still safe and force myself to look back at Thorian and Fenric. This is what’s important. What I should be focusing on.

"The plan," he says, once we've put some distance between ourselves and the invisible line that marks the graveyard's edge, "depends entirely on what the gods have decided this place is meant to do to us."

Fenric crosses his arms. "So we have no plan?"

"We have several." Thorian's mouth curves slightly at the corner, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "We simply don't know which one applies yet."

We go through them. The cemetery might require something of us, a toll, a task, a sacrifice before it lets us pass. It could feed on fear, forcing us to cross without giving in to panic. There may be physical traps hidden between the graves, requiring us to test every step before committing our weight. Or perhaps the spirits of the children will speak to us, demanding answers before they'll allow us to continue.

Every possibility we name feels wrong as soon as it's suggested, and I think we all know it. The gods don't make things that simple. Whatever waits in that graveyard, it isn't something we'll solve by guessing in advance.

“The other teams," I say. "We don't have to be first."

Thorian and Fenric both look at me.

"If we wait, we can watch. See what happens when someone else crosses. Learn something before we go in ourselves."

There’s a moment of silence.

"She's right," Fenric says.

Thorian nods, slow and deliberate, as though he'd been considering it already and was waiting to see if either of us would arrive there on our own. "We wait. We watch. We let the braver teams earn us the information."

I watch Fenric and Thorian talk through the details, how far back to position ourselves, what to look for, whether we risk being noticed by the other teams while we observe. Thorian speaks in short, certain sentences. He doesn't hedge. He doesn't ask whether Fenric agrees before committing to a course of action, but there's nothing dismissive about it either. It's simply how a man behaves after spending his life making decisions and learning to trust them. And Fenric, for his part, doesn't bristle at any of it. He follows easily, and that ease carries its own quiet confidence, the security of a man who knows his own value well enough not to need to prove it at every turn. He pushes back when he has something worth pushing back on. Otherwise, he's content to let someone else lead.

Somehow, it makes them all the more attractive. As weird as that sounds.

Both of them look terrible, if I'm being honest. Travel-worn and slightly sunburned, wearing clothes that carry the memory of the swamp, their hair and skin bearing the evidence of days in the wild. Yet, both of them are still so handsome it's almost unfair.

I feel a sudden and specific gratitude. For Thorian's steadiness. For Fenric's sharp instincts. For the strange luck that put the three of us together when it could have gone so differently. The other contestants chose their teams by alliance or strategy or convenience. I don't know how we became what we are, exactly, but I know I wouldn't trade it.

And Fenric. With Fenric, I find myself thinking for the first time that we might actually win this.

“Let’s head back to the cemetery and watch the other teams,” Thorian says.

I nod.

He reaches out and touches my arm lightly. “You’re good?”

“Yes.”

I hate how being near the cemetery makes me feel. Like I’m drowning in someone else’s grief and all I want to do is crawl away from it, because it’s too much to bear. Just the idea of going back turns my stomach, but I know it must be done.

“The grief is just… overwhelming.”

“You can sense it?” Thorian asks, looking surprised.

I nod again.

Fenric gives me a funny look, his green eyes full of curiosity. “Humans aren’t usually as sensitive to cursed places as we are.”

Except, I’m not human. Only, he didn’t see the shield of my magic I used to protect us. My secret was still relatively safe. “Strange,” is all I comment.

Thorian glances at me and away. “If it really gets to be too much to bear, take a few steps back until you feel like you can breathe.”

“Okay,” I say, and then I ask, “does it feel as overwhelming to you guys?”

Fenric shrugs. “I feel it, but, no, it’s not overwhelming.”