Amris was not a man to panic. War had taught him early to suppress many of a human’s basic drives, as it did most soldiers: not much chance of charging a line of pikemen, were that not so. Fear was a series of nightmares for a week, but a distant thought at the moment when steel met flesh, or when a plan encountered complications, as plans did.
In the moment when Darya collapsed on the bridge’s surface, he felt almost as much fear as when he’d lain on a battlefield and seen an ax approaching his head, or when he’d looked through a spyglass and seen an unexpected cavalry troop cresting a hill. The spell that linked them kept that fear, and the grief and guilt that threatened to accompany it, from reaching their full potential, but it took him a moment to remember that connection, and to know that what he’d taken for wishful thinking was right: she was well, only dazed.
Even with the spell, it was unsettling to see her lain out against the stone. Every minute of their acquaintance until then, she’d been so full of vitality, so certain of herself in the face of surprise and catastrophe, that Amris had almost come to think of her body as the same steel and crystal that housed Gerant—or of Darya herself as not quite real, a spirit come to guide him into the new world.
Kneeling beside her, turning her face upward, he knew her as mortal flesh and blood, as real as any of the soldiers he’d fought with and just as capable of death. He had time, while he bathed her face and wrists with water, for that realization to sink into his gut like the dull-but-full-force impact of a practice sword.
Easy, love,said Gerant, calling to mind nights when Amris had come to bed after writing letters to the families of the fallen.You’re doing as well as any man can, particularly any man in your shoes right now. Darya’s fine—and she’s remarkably intelligent, not that I’ll admit that when she wakes up. You couldn’t have convinced her of any plan that was truly unwise.
“Thank you,” said Amris. “I’m…happier to have you here than I probably should be, considering theology.”
I’d be here regardless. We may as well rejoice.
Amris laughed, and looked down at Darya. Her eyelashes lay in long fans against her cheeks—which were too red, but growing less so. He ran the wet cloth across her forehead again, and she made a pleased noise, immediately followed by a groan as she cracked open her eyelids.
“Good thing we didn’t eat much,” she said. “Sorry about that.”
“The apologies should be mine,” said Amris, and he handed her the flask he’d been pouring from. “Drink. Are you… That is, I know you’re well, but—”
Darya laughed rustily. “Spell makes it hard to ask the polite questions, doesn’t it?” She took a long drink of water. “I’m well enough to get off this bridge, if you’ll help me walk at first. Blood was in my head too long, is all, and then reversed.”
“It was good work down there,” said Amris. He got to his feet and helped Darya stand, wrapping his arm around her waist; she made a pleasant weight against his side.
“And yours at this end,” said Darya. “Now let’s see if it bears out.”
* * *
The rope played out long enough for them to reach the other side, and to get a few feet downward from the end of the bridge. “No saving it this time,” said Darya, who couldn’t resist the urge to give it a final pat. “At least it’s going in a good cause.”
“We can all hope our ends serve such purpose.” Amris took up the end of the rope she passed him.Just as long as they don’t all happen here,Gerant put in.
“If I was going to die on this bridge, I’d have done it already,” Darya said.
Would you care to tempt fate any more? At least Amris has some sense of caution.
“The idea was mine, remember?”
And I am corrected. You’re both absurd. I must have some sort of destiny.
“Lucky you,” said Darya, chuckling and trying to hide the small surprised thrill she felt at being grouped with Amris.
The man in question stood right behind her, arms coming past hers, and only a little air separated her back from his chest. A glance upward gave Darya a good view of his jawline, straight and stern and faintly stubbled. A spreading warmth began to make itself known in her body, and she had the urge to lean back against him.
Darya looked quickly toward the ravine. “Ready.”
“One,” said Amris, on a slow breath out that Darya copied. Harmony could only help. “Two.Pull!”
She braced herself against the ground and yanked with all the strength she’d regained in their brief rest. Recent aches reawakened in her arms. New ones were born. Darya gritted her teeth. To either side of her, Amris’s arms clenched, thick with muscle beneath his shirt. He breathed steadily, purposefully, but heavily, and a grunt of effort escaped him.
The stone shifted. Darya felt it: the jolt from below, the rope’s sudden increase in slack. Sweat was starting to run down her face, but she ignored it and dug in harder, turning a little to get power from her hips. Rock groaned against rock.
More movement, and the edges of Darya’s vision were going white. More still, and Amris was sounding like a smith’s bellows, and she likely wouldn’t have been any better, could she have heard herself clearly. One last bit of strength, and momentum suddenly took over.
The rope spun downward, yanking both Darya and Amris forward until Darya thought to open her hands. “Letgo!” she yelled, and with that jolted Amris out of the half trance they’d both been in.
“Get back!” he yelled in return.
The rope was hissing downward, plummeting with the stone. Darya looked up from it and saw the bridge trembling. One support wobbled like a drunk. Mortar fell into the ravine, followed by another stone.
