Within the first thirty minutes of the climb, Mara wanted to be back in the water.

Eli went ahead, of course, which was good because Mara couldn’t have found the trailhead if her life depended on it. Although, to be fair, without him she’d never have found herself on this side of the river in the first place, so finding the trail wouldn’t have mattered. In any event, they crept about in the shadow of the cliff for ten minutes before reaching the starting point–a ledge barely the width of her foot, obscured behind a large, aggressively thorny shrub.

The path had been cut by some enterprising sadist into the cliff wall, perilously narrow at first but wide enough after the first few zig-zagging turns for an adult with a pack to walk up the middle without much risk of falling. Nonetheless, Mara held close to the wall, one shoulder brushing it for balance in the dark and for reassurance. Ahead of her, Eli’s shadow was misshapen by Nick’s body, once more slung over his shoulders. As they traveled higher, Mara’s mind spun to life, conjuring a host of terrible scenarios.

What if Nick woke and flailed and tore loose from Eli’s grasp, plunging over the side?

What if Eli stumbled and dropped him?

What if the strap of his pack broke and threw him off balance, and Nick slipped off his shoulders and tumbled over the edge?

What if the exhaustion of the swim and all the magical expenditure caught up with him and he fell into a faint, toppling and taking her son with him?

Even when her muscles started screaming and her lungs began to burn with exertion, she kept enough in reserve to leap forward to Nick’s rescue should he need her. She watched Eli closely, wary once for every possible warning sign of every possible nightmare scenario. She planned how she’d leap into action in each situation and sorted them into cases where she’d be able to save them both and ones in which she’d have to sacrifice Eli’s life for her son’s. A macabre exercise that her mind took to the way her body took to the climb–with pained reluctance.

The path grew steeper, and their walk slowed to a trudge. Once, Mara glanced over the edge, but they’d come farther than she expected and the height was more dizzying than even the central hall in the Hive. She glimpsed the Ribbon–a shining trail of stars framed by bands of light gray amidst the black. She saw a beam of light, far upstream—the Order patrol. And then she got dizzy and turned her attention back to the cliff wall at her shoulder. To Eli and Nick, moving steadily up the path ahead of her.

She was damp with sweat by the time they took their first break, exhaustion weighing her down as effectively as her pack. Slumping against the wall, she eagerly accepted Nick when Eli handed him over. She cradled his small, boneless body in her arms and pressed kisses to the crown of his head. Lulled by the security of his presence, she found herself suddenly waking in the four-poster bed, Davy’s body at her back, his familiar scent enveloping her. She shifted in his arms, and he mumbled into her hair and tugged her tighter against him.

She woke to Eli’s hand on her shoulder, his brusque voice so jarringly unlike Davy’s sleepy murmuring. “Time to go.”

She stood and handed Nick back over, and they continued on. The path wasn’t as steep as the mountains they had climbed, but it was a steady ascent, the trail switching back every hundred strides or so. She didn’t dare look down again, and her one attempt at looking up had set the stars to whirling overhead and almost sent her careening off the trail with a nauseating wave of vertigo.

So, she kept her eyes on Eli and Nick, and she judged how far they’d come by the air. The fresh scent of water on stone gave way as they climbed to a dry dustiness. The wind, which had been playing coyly with her hair, tugged at it more insistently, whipping her clothes against her skin and howling mournfully against the cliff face.

They stopped often, as they had those first days in Ashfall, never speaking much. Eli asked a few times after her feet and whether she was still chilled, but stopped after she promised to tell him if she needed any healing. Truth be told, she didn’t plan to tell him even if she did need it. Magical burnout was no joke, and no matter how smug he acted about his limits, he must still have them.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Onward and upward they trudged, until a haze of gray tinged the eastern horizon. They were taking a break when she saw it, the distant horizon a safe enough place to fix her gaze—better than straight down or up, anyway.

“Sunrise is coming,” she noted, alarmed. She didn’t realize how much time had passed.

“We have a couple hours yet before dawn. And we’re getting close.”

“How long, do you think?”

“Half hour, maybe.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing against the cliff face and smoothing her hand down Nick’s back. “And then how long after that to your friend? The one with the horses?”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I’m not sure. She never puts down in exactly the same place, but she always settles near the cliffs during the high summer. It shouldn’t take but a few days to find her.”

Mara thought grimly of what sparse provisions they had left. Even if the hunting in the plains was better than Ashfall, they were running dangerously low. She’d been taking smaller helpings for weeks, and she knew Eli had been skipping meals entirely. They’d be in trouble if they didn’t resupply soon, especially after the energy lost to the river.

“What’s the plan for the rest of the day?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“We’ll find a place to hole up before the sun rises, sleep through the day, and travel at night,” he answered, raising his water flask for a sip without opening his eyes. “Cover is hard to come by in the plains, so we’ll stay low during daylight hours and move at night until we reach the Smokestacks.

She nodded, relieved that this day, at least, was nearing its conclusion. “That makes sense.”

“Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

Off they went again, up the narrow path, with that paleness on the eastern horizon ticking like a clock at their backs. By the time they reached the top, the gray had expanded to a broad arc, suffocating the stars. They wasted no time celebrating, eager to put some distance between them and the river. Now that Mara was no longer freezing to death or breathless with exertion, the reality of how close they’d come to discovery haunted her. The hairs on her neck prickled at the memory of that light flashing against the side of her face.

“Did you know the patrol would ride by while we were crossing the river?” she asked, the question a sudden revelation.

She could make Eli out a little better now that dawn was coming, still an overlapping series of shadows, but now with more distinct edges, more details. She could see the curve of his nose, the whites of his eyes as he glanced at her. “Why do you ask?”

“It just seems like something you’d have anticipated.”

He chewed for a while on his answer, as he was wont to do. Mara, thinking she at least owed him some patience, turned her attention outward while she waited. The plains hid their secrets beneath the veil of darkness, but she could tell that the ground was eerily flat, and that there were no trees. Just low shrubs and tufts of dry grass that brushed against her shins and occasionally tried to trip her.

“I thought it might be a possibility,” Eli finally said. “I take it you’re angry that I didn’t tell you?”

She jogged a little to keep up. “No.”

“No?” His voice was almost high-pitched, such was his obvious surprise.

“No.” She shuffled forward again. The man walked quickly on flat ground. Davy was like that, whenever they walked in the city–his leggy stride gobbling up cobblestones while she half-jogged to keep up. “I can’t be angry with you tonight. You’ve been too heroic in too many different ways. I’ll be angry with you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow as in when the sun comes up, or tomorrow as in tonight, after we’ve rested?”

“Tomorrow as in next week, or maybe never.”

He huffed out a laugh. “So the lesson is that I can lie to you with abandon, so long as I pair my lies with acts of heroism?”

“Yes. That’s the formula.”

“Interesting. But in sincerity, I’m sorry I wasn’t fully honest with you.”

“I’m sorry I was a blubbering, panicky mess for the entire crossing.”

“I didn’t notice any blubbering. Shivering, yes. Panicking, sure. But no blubbering.”

“Are we mutually forgiven, then?” she asked, grinning.

“Hm.” He shifted Nick’s weight again before answering. “I say yes.”

“Then I do too. We’re forgiven.”

“Thank you.” As light as the words were meant to sound, there was a tinge of warmth to them. A whisper of genuine gratitude. And for some reason–she didn’t know why–that made her sad.