It wasn’t Aquarene’s turn, as Zeri had predicted. It was Winderlyn’s.
Beside her, Phil angled his head. “Is it a… a rope of some kind?”
“Might as well be,” Jonah said, frowning. “Might have better luck climbing across it instead of walking.”
Sol felt like she might hurl. At least she had been allowed a dagger this time, as everyone was granted a blade for offerings— even if her blood meant nothing.
The fact there was no more Kerproot involved was at least a small relief. Not a great one, but with her sanity intact, she would at least have the opportunity to think herself out of this.
“The task is simple,” Fin bellowed from behind them.
Sol resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she turned to face the kingsman, Jonah and Phil beside her. The rest of the prospects scattered nearby, Cas included. He had kept his distance, though Sol had as well. She flicked her gaze to Cattya to find her already watching, ruby-red lips pursed in a challenging smile.
Sol didn’t smile back.
“You are all to walk across the bridge. If Winderlyn sees you worthy, he will allow you through.” Fin crossed his arms. “Magic will be allowed,” he added, briefly glancing at Sol. “We don't need anyone too incapacitated to walk this time around.”
Sol’s face heated at the wave of snickers that rose around her, but Phil tapped her hand. “They’re meanies,” he whispered.
Sol smiled at him. “Huge meanies.”
“This trial is timed.” Fin stepped forward, signaling to the cliff. “The eight of you have until sunset to cross.”
Heads collectively turned to the sky. It was midday. Surely plenty of time.
And they were allowed weapons this time—Sol still felt conflicted by that.
“Any other rules?” Cattya looped her arm around Cas's bicep. “Or can we get started?”
The Shadow Guider remained still, bored almost, while he removed himself from her claws.
Fin shrugged. “Drag each other over if you want. The goal is to get across and exit before sundown.” The kingsmen began the retreat to their horses. Before Fin mounted his gray stallion, hesaid, “Winderlyn is quite picky with his subjects. Scribe Jeriyah awaits as spectator on the other side. Good luck to you all.”
They rode away in a boom of hooves and dirt, leaving the eight of them standing in clouds of dust.
Winderlyn, God of Wind and War.
Sol recalled the notes from the night before, thankful they had decided to study after all.
She glanced sidelong at Zeri, where she stood by a lonely cluster of rocks. She looked nervous, small in her worn leather breeches and blouse. Her light brown eyes flickered around with unease until they met Sol’s. A slight blush creeped on her cheeks, and Sol smiled slightly back to her.
She had to keep her safe. Her, Jonah, and Phil—they were her priority. The rest of the prospects mattered as well, they were lives, after all. But they were wobbly and untrustworthy.
Sol might have a soft heart, but she wasn't totally stupid.
“Winderlyn likes offerings straight from the neck,” Phil said. “Not even Emberdon is so brutal.”
“Sick bastard,” Jonah muttered, earning a shove from his younger brother.
Phil chastised, “Don’t bad mouth a god!”
Sol chuckled despite herself as the kingsmen faded into the distance, plumes of dirt drifting into the air.
Cattya wasted no time. There was something rather comforting about the consistency in the woman’s character, ironically.
She stepped up to the precipice and retrieved a long silver dagger that shone in the sunlight. Stone Ledge colors adorned the hilt—brown and steel gray. Without hesitation, she brought it to her neck and in a quick, smooth motion, slicing her skin.
Although Cattya faced the peak of death, Sol could still see the drips of blood seep onto the ground beneath her. It only dripped for moments before the red trail was swept into a mist of gold. Wind roared around them, a breath from the god himself, as Cattya stepped onto the bridge—if it could even be called such.
