Page 25 of On Burning Paths

It reminds me of home. Not the place, exactly, but the feeling of it. My brother talking too much at the dinner table, my father pretending to be annoyed when he wasn't. My sister's laugh.

My brother, who was always begging our father to teach him to whittle.

"When you're older," my father would say, shaking his head. "Last thing we need is for you to lop off a thumb."

And my sister, who learned to sew and sat diligently beside our mother as soon as she was old enough to hold a needle. Who surprised me on the last Solmara with a hand-knitted shirt she'd spent months making, gathering materials and learning the craft just to add something to my closet. All I'd had for her was a single citrus fruit procured from a trader, and she'd acted as though it was the finest gift she'd ever received.

Thinking about them brings the familiar ache. A bone-deep ache that has nothing to do with tired muscles or empty stomachs. I hope they're all right. I try not to linger on what it means if they're not.

But sitting here, in this cold cave with these two people who have, in a matter of days, become far more important to me than I ever expected, I find the ache is a little easier to carry.

Sleep plays at the edges of my consciousness, staved off only by the gnawing hunger. A familiar companion, especially since entering the trials. Of everything I considered before presenting myself as a contestant, I hadn't given enough thought to how hard it would be to keep up with my metabolism out here. I knew the Trials would be exhausting, but I couldn't have anticipated just how much each leg of the journey would take from me. And though I can see the Obsidian Spire in the distance as we walk, it never truly feels like we're getting any closer.

I'm just about to drift off when I hear metal scraping on stone, and I open my eyes to see Thorian on his feet, his sword already in his hand.

"What is it?" I ask blearily. Nyx sits up too, blinking at the entrance to the cave.

A moment later, the thing that set Thorian off reveals itself.

“Sorry to barge in,” a sharp, posh voice says, and one of the vampires steps through the wall of rain at the entrance to the cave, holding his palms out in surrender, his eyes trained on Thorian’s sword. “But I⁠—”

He doesn't manage to get another word out, because Thorian is lunging at him, sword driving forward in a straight thrust before sweeping into a wide slash aimed at the vampire's midsection. The vampire dances sideways, fluid and unhurried, like the blade is little more than an inconvenience.

"Woah!" he says, stepping back from another slash with almost lazy ease, his eyebrows flying up to his hairline. "Come now, is that any way to treat a guest?"

"Quick fucker," Thorian spits, driving forward again, feinting left before slashing right. Talon sidesteps it without apparent effort. "Just stay still⁠—"

"Stop!" Nyx leaps between Thorian and the vampire, her arms out. I tense, getting to my feet, and reach for her. Jumping in front of a demi-god's sword isn't even the first risk she's taken today to nearly get herself killed.

"Nyx," Thorian grunts, at the same time that I say, "Back up — careful⁠—"

"I come in peace," the vampire says, his eyes darting to mine, hands still raised, a sly smile itching at his lips. "Don't worry, Romeo, I'm not going to drink her blood."

He says the last bit in a cartoonish drawl, and I frown. Vampires are few and far between where I come from, but that doesn’t mean I’m unaware of what they’re capable of. It’s said that berserker blood runs a little too hot for their liking, but I’ve heard about beautiful women going missing in the street, high ladies and lords falling for a vampire’s charm, only to become a thrall locked in a castle somewhere, no better than cattle to feed from.

“Let’s just try talking first. If we don’t like what he says, you can always stab him later,” Nyx says to Thorian, and while he doesn’t sheathe the sword, he does lower it slightly, which makes the vampire laugh.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware,” the vampire drawls, tucking his thumbs into his waistband when it’s clear Thorian isn’t going to lop his head off, “I lost my last teammate today.”

"No." Thorian is already shaking his head, starting to raise the sword again. "It's not happening⁠—"

"Thorian," Nyx says, reaching out and placing a hand on his forearm. The vampire doesn't miss the gesture, an amused look crossing his face. "You know what he did. He had no reason to protect me and he did it anyway. We should at least hear him out."

"What did he do?" Because all I see in front of me is a competitor we’d probably be stupid to trust. Although, I guess I was that competitor just a little while ago.

Nyx glances at me. "When Valtor forced me into the garden to retrieve that flower, before the trials even began, Talon was there. He protected me. I wouldn't have made it out without him."

"He could have done that to get you to lower your guard," I suggest, and the vampire named Talon laughs.

"Right," he says, gesturing to Thorian flippantly. "Strategically speaking, letting her die would have been the smarter play. One less team to worry about, and with considerably less effort on my part."

"He's not wrong," Nyx says, turning back to Thorian. "He had nothing to gain then, and he helped me anyway. That has to count for something. We should hear what he came to say."

Thorian looks at her for a long moment, jaw tight, then drops his gaze to where her hand still rests on his forearm. He lowers the sword.

"Talk," he says.

“About the weather? About the latest vampire news? Or is there something in particular?” Talon jokes.