I ride on, following the snaking stream down the valley. Every so often, I glance back to ensure the fire is still safely on the other side of my shield, that it does not encroach closer than twenty paces.
It never does.
After a stretch, I grow bold enough to pause for a moment by a bend in the river, where the shallows run calm and clear. Dismounting, I lead Onyx to the edge. He drinks deeply as I crouch to do the same, cupping my gloved hands in the frigid water and slurping desperate gulps. My throat is raw—from my screams, from the smoke. I wash away the taste of fire and blood, drinking until my thirst is sated. Splashing my face, I scrub away all traces of the nosebleed. My white cloak, I fear, will bear the stains forever.
It is an effort to push back to my feet. I sway, off-balance, blinking away stars from my vision. The air itself feels heavierthan normal. Each step is like walking waist-deep in mud. I lean against Onyx, weary down to my bones. Too weary to even climb back up into the saddle.
My Remnant thrums, a constant low-level pulse tapping every shred of strength I still possess. I will not last much longer before it is wholly depleted…unlike the blaze, which shows no signs of petering out. It rages on in the distance, sweeping down the valley with insatiable hunger.
My eyes shift to the river. It is gentler here, the water far less rough than near the summit. No rapids froth its surface. And it is narrow—about a dozen paces across. A distance, under normal circumstances, I could swim in seconds.
These circumstances bear little resemblance to normal.
The cold will be breath stealing, no doubt. But if we can cross, it will not matter when my shield inevitably fails. We will be safe on the other side, protected by the natural barrier of the water.
“What do you think, boy?” I ask Onyx, stroking my fingers through his long, dark mane. “Should we risk it?”
His glossy eyes hold no answers.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” I confide, pressing my forehead to his neck. Breathing hard as my head swims with exhaustion.
He whinnies softly in response.
“Together,” I tell him. “We’ll make it together.”
At least, we’ll try.
In a stroke of good fortune, the crossing is not as bad as I’d imagined. While the river appeared rather deep from the shoreline, I never find myself submerged higher than my waist. My skirts drag, heavy and waterlogged, but I hold fast to Onyx’s bridle as we forge our way across.
It is shockingly cold. Nearly as cold as the Remnant at mychest. But the current is gentle, lapping lightly against my legs. At times, it almost seems to be propelling me forward. Helping me along with aqueous shoves. Even so, making it to the opposite shore saps the last bit of strength I possess. I’m gasping by the time my feet hit the bank.
I release the bridle and fall to my knees, scarcely able to keep from collapsing entirely. My leather gloves plant against the ice-crusted earth as ragged gulps of air move into and out of my lungs. I feel my power hanging by a thread, my hold on the shield growing perilously thin.
Without bothering to rise, I glance over my shoulder at the wall of flame. It’s five paces from the opposite bank and appears to be pushing at the invisible barrier. As if testing my resolve. As if waiting for the moment my strength will sputter out.
I pray, when it does, the river will be enough to keep it back.
Onyx’s tackle jangles as his hooves dance with nerves. His whinny is one of warning. My head swings toward him but freezes halfway when my gaze snags on something planted in the dirt before me. Close enough to touch.
A pair of boots.
How they got there, how I had not heard them approach—for I am tired, but not so tired my senses have failed completely—is an utter mystery to me. My head snaps back, my gaze shooting up a set of muscular male thighs encased in dark navy trousers, over the broad planes of a chest, and into the strangest set of eyes I’ve ever seen.
Fae eyes, unquestionably. The pupils are ever so slightly elongated, the irises a shade of blue so brilliant, the finest sapphires in Anwyvn would look dull by comparison. They are set in a face that makes my breath cease and my fingers curl into the dirt.
As I hold them, they flicker away for the briefest of instants,looking beyond to my wavering shield of air. By the time they come back to mine, they’ve taken on a predatory light. His lips twist as he examines me sprawled there at his feet. His head tilts in wry contemplation.
“Well, well,” the stranger murmurs in a deep, melodious voice that flows like water over river rocks. “Aren’t you interesting.”
That’s when everything goes black.
Chapter
Fifteen
I dream of a great, dark sea.
Of the waves and the water. Of the brine and the bitter cold. A vast expanse of ocean, fathomless as time. And I, a tiny piece of flotsam, tossed by tidal whims. Drowning in slow degrees as my head slips under, never to resurface.