Page 38 of On Burning Paths

“Fuck,” Talon wheezes, falling on his back and looking up at the sky. “And here I thought my father was a son of a bitch.”

Thorian says nothing, but picks a few twigs from my hair. When I notice the berserker is quiet, I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to catch his attention. “Are you okay?”

He flashes me a wan smile. “We wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t for Thorian.”

“Well, that’s why we have a team,” Thorian grumbles, shooting Fenric a look as he stands and steps away from us. “You got us through the swamp.”

“And you find us food,” I add, placing my hand on his chest.

Relaxing slightly, he puts his hand over mine. We lay quietly next to each other for a few minutes. Catching our breath. Calming our racing hearts. Telling our bodies to relax, that we survived.

“If the two of you are done having your moment,” Talon says, standing up and stretching, his gaze pointedly at the edge of the cliff, carved through this valley long ago by wind and water, “I think our fearless leader is charting the course head.”

I sigh. The urge to rest is overwhelming, but then I think of my sister. There will be time to rest when she’s safe.

Slowly, we all join Thorian at the edge of the cliff. A little ways down, there’s a long, thin bridge stretching from one side of the canyon to the other. If I wasn’t purposely looking, I wouldn’t have seen it, since it’s more like the drifting remains of a spiderweb than a structure that could support the weight of an adult.

“Gods,” Fenric mutters, running his hand over his face, “the weapons.”

I look harder, eyes straining, and realize what he’s talking about. There are tiny, doll-like pieces of metal littering the floor of the canyon, along with bleached white splinters.

Weapons and the bones of those who tried crossing the bridge before.

“But why would they fall?” Talon questions, eyeing the bridge carefully. “Sure, it’s precarious, but⁠—”

He’s cut off by a great crack through the sky, the air charging with an electrical current I can taste, bright and bitter, on my tongue. Throughout the canyon, lightning begins to strike, cracking against the ground and leaving large black scorch marks.

One strike hits the bridge directly in the center, sending it swaying from side to side roughly, like a boat tossed about in an angry sea.

“Oh,” Talon deadpans. “That’s why.”

“I’m not a betting man,” Thorian sighs, “but I’d wager that’s the next trial.”

Stupid gods.

12

Talon

“Well, we had a good run.”

My three team members pay me no mind, each staring out at the fucking pit of despair we’re looking at. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so annoying. More than anything, I’m tired of these little challenges.

I long for the days when we could just fight to the death and that would be enough entertainment for the gods. Now, we have to perform like fucking ponies.

“The lightning is a nice touch,” I go on, circling the group and tilting my head, as though appraising a painting, rather than looking out at the place where my head is about to smash into the rocks. “Truly means we’ll go out in a blaze of glory, huh?”

“Talon,” Nyx says, rolling her eyes at me, though the corner of her lip does quirk. “Maybe you should spend less time joking and more time helping us figure this out.”

I like that I have her attention.

There's a pull toward Nyx I didn't expect and haven't been able to shake since the moment I met her. I feel drawn to her in a way that's difficult to articulate, as though being near her is a privilege, as though I'm a better version of myself when I'm in her orbit. I like who I am around her. I like how she makes me feel.

At first, I convinced myself it was her blood. It's unlike anything I've ever sensed, something rare and deep and layered, and the mere thought of it does things to my concentration that I'd rather not examine too closely. But that explanation falls apart the moment I spend time with her. Her blood isn't what makes me want to sit beside her and listen as she talks about her sister. It isn't why I look for ways to make her laugh or why I feel absurdly fortunate when she chooses to stand beside me.

It isn't the blood. Or it isn't only the blood. It's her.

Even though I know it’s dangerous to indulge this, I still do.