I step forward before thought can intervene.
The ground opens.
A wet crack runs through the basin floor as the mat of roots beneath my boots tears apart. Mud slumps inward. Water surges black through the split. My right leg plunges thigh-deep into sucking cold, and the collapsing edge drags me forward toward a deeper sink hidden under reeds.
Vaedros moves before I can scream.
He catches my coat with one hand and a low branch with the other, body dropping to brace against the slide. Mud shears beneath both of us. His boots carve trenches trying to hold. I claw at reeds that rip free in my fists.
“Stop fighting me,” he says through clenched teeth. “Give me your hand.”
The command detonates against the memory of the vision. His hand pinning my wrists. His hand taking everything.
I freeze.
The basin drags harder. Water fills one boot. Cold bites bone.
“Aeryn!”
Reality and prophecy tear at each other inside me. If I trust him, I die. If I refuse him, I die here in mud like an idiot.
I thrust my hand upward.
His grip closes around my wrist, strong and burning-hot against the freezing mire. He hauls once, muscles locking through shoulders and back, then shifts his stance and drags me across the collapsing edge in brutal increments until we both roll onto firmer ground several feet away.
I lie on wet leaves choking on breath. He kneels beside me covered in mud to the thigh, chest rising hard, one palm still clamped around my wrist as if letting go might return me to the sink.
“What in the name of every dead god was that?”
His voice cuts sharper than I have ever heard it.
I yank free and push upright. “The ground gave way.”
“You led us here.”
“I didn’t tear the earth open. My visions are not always there to tell me absolutely everything.”
“You ignored every sign of saturation.”
“You followed me.”
His laugh holds no amusement. “An excellent defense. Shall I add it to the records when your decisions bury us?”
The basin continues collapsing in slow gulps behind us, swallowing reeds and fog in widening circles.
I stand, swaying slightly. “You wanted trust.”
“I wanted competence.”
The words strike harder than they should. Because some part of me has wanted his approval. Because some part of me has begun measuring myself against his regard. Because some part of me is furious that this matters.
I turn away first.
“Fine. Lead yourself.”
I take three steps uphill before his hand closes around my belt and drags me backward against him with efficient force.
“You’re staying where I can see you.”