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She didn’t answer.
He didn’t wait for her response.
Inching forward, Westvane stepped onto the bridge, hoping the structure was strong enough to hold his weight. One sliding step at a time, he worked his way across. When he reached the center, he looked back at Truly and Montrose.
“Slow and steady,” he said, waving Truly onto the bridge. “One at time.”
Truly took a deep breath, then struck out. She copied his movements. Torch hand forward, the other one back, she shuffled across stone, eyes on the ground in front of her.
Six feet from the cliff edge, she wobbled.
“Don’t look down,” Montrose growled.
“Rosy,” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Shut up.”
The gargoyle snorted.
Westvane bit down on a chuckle. A completely inappropriate reaction. He ought to be worried about her falling, not amused by her spirit.
An impossibility.
Her bold approach to life — the courage she showed — was difficult to ignore. Keeping several feet between them to ensure equal distribution of weight, he surveyed her progress, thankful she couldn’t see beyond the pool of light thrown by the torches. If she knew how many spiders watched her — from webs strung in high corners, translucent threads hanging inches from her head — she’d freak out and fall.
Plunge to her death.
Screaming about spiders the whole way down.
A bad outcome. A dead Door Master would put a crick in his plans.
Aware rushing Truly wouldn’t help, Westvane tried to be patient. He wanted out of the cave system. Time might stand still inside the Hollow, but that didn’t mean it was on their side. His former childhood friend wasn’t stupid. Priestly possessed strong magic, and an even stronger mind. The instant Truly’s net forced him to the ground, he’d have reached out to Lyonesse, using Electi mind-meld to raise the alarm. Now, the faithless witch would be roaming, searching, listening for the cosmic ticks that signaled their exit from the forest, giving their position away.
Under normal circumstances, he’d relish the opportunity to put Lyonesse in her place. Not tonight. Not right now. Truly owned all his focus. The second she came into her own, however, he’d unleash her inside Azlandia and bring the queen to her knees.
Reaching the other side of the bridge, he sidestepped and waited for Truly to reach him. As she came within grabbing distance, he reached out. She latched onto his hand. He pulled. Arm outstretched, her feet slid across stone. The rasp of her boot soles echoed. With a grunt of discomfort, he put his back to the wall, drawing her in front of him.
She shuddered. The torch wobbled.
Wrapping his hand beneath hers, he took it from her, then turned and rammed the handle between two stones above his head. She flexed her fingers and shook out her hands. The sound of footfalls came from the other side of the bridge. Without a care in the world, Montrose sauntered the rest of the way across.
Her eyes narrowed on the gargoyle. “You bother me.”
“Don’t be a hater,” Montrose said, smile bright, sharp fangs bared.
Ignoring the byplay, Westvane yanked the torch from the fissure. He handed it back to her. Truly accepted the flame, looking up the trail as he stepped around her. Footfalls heavy, he headed into another gully. Weakness dogged him the whole way. Pain set in harder, cramping his muscles, gnawing at his lower back, making his head hurt and neck ache.
Battling fatigue, Westvane paused at the bottom to catch his breath.
“You’re such a liar.” Following his example, she wedged her torch between two rocks and dipped beneath his outstretched arm. Planted in front of him, she peered up into his face. “We should’ve stayed in the cabin longer. You’re hurting.”
“Staying wasn’t a good idea,” he said. “I need out of the Hollow.”
“Does it still have its hooks in you?” she asked, wiping the sweat from his brow with her shirt sleeve.
“It hasn’t quite let go.”
