“It wasn’t your fault. We weren’t even supposed to land there, but we did. We weren’t supposed to stay until night, but we fell asleep. The Naiads weren’t supposed to come ashore, but it was high tide. It was a perfect storm, nobody’s fault. And we’re both still standing.” I run my hand up and down his good arm, and he softens eventually.
Jace relents to being the guinea pig for my healing experiment. I do as he directs me, bracing my hands on his arm and calling forth light from deep within me. I visualize threads weaving together, and as I do, Jace’s arm repairs itself until all that’s left on his chiseled bicep is a tiny pink line.
I look around for our packs, seeking a drink of water. Then I realize they didn’t make it to the island with us. They’re lost at sea with a bunch of hangry flesh-eating Naiads.
“Our supplies are gone,” I announce, crestfallen. “Our weapons.”
“I’m the captain. Do you really think I only travel with one dagger?”
He eyes me cockily, fishing into his boot and spilling a gold-hilted dagger onto the ground. He repeats the action with the other boot, sending another knife clattering to his feet. Then he unfastens his jacket and reaches into his breast pocket, withdrawing a miniature dagger before adding it to the pile.
“That one is my favorite. Plus, we’ve got one longsword.” He pats his hip where his ornately etched silver and onyx blade remains sheathed.
“Just one?” I run my eyes over him, not so discreetly pausing just below his belt. “How sad for you.” I offer up a wicked grin. That earns a deep, hearty laugh from him.
“You’re despicable,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Even with the weapons, we still shouldn’t linger.”
“I agree.” I turn, taking in the unfamiliar land. Even in the moonlight, I can make out the red, striated rock I recognize from the renderings in the history books Zadyn showed me.
The distinct red rock of the Island of Iterre.
31
We hike through the night, weapons clutched in hand, poised for attackers, but the journey is surprisingly peaceful. With each step we take toward the mountain, I can feel the channel between the dragon and me widening. An inexplicable magnet pulls me toward her, causing me to ignore the burning in my thighs, the blisters forming around my heels, and my aching lower back. We push on and on until the pain grows dull and then muted entirely. We reach the base of the mountain as the sun first begins to peek through the clouds, the promise of dawn.
I stare up at the Mountain of Hysphestus, marveling at its size.
“How do we get in?” I pant as we slow.
Jace points upward. “We have to go up to go down.”
“You can’t be serious.” I throw him a look, fitting my hands to my hips. “Why can’t we just shadow walk inside?”
“Because we’ve entered a vacuum for magic. The dragon’s power, even in a resting state, absorbs all the magic withinmiles of the mountain. Anything we do from here on out, we’ll have to rely on our physical faculties.”
“Now I understand why you were such a grump about the basics,” I mumble, idly nudging a rock with my foot.
“Come on.” He motions me toward the mountainside, lowering his hand for me to step into. I grapple for leverage as he hoists me up, and I find purchase.
“So if we fall—” I dare to ask as we scale.
“Don’t.” He doesn’t look at me as he hauls himself higher, gripping a rock above him. “If we can make it to that little ledge, there is a path that doesn’t require?—”
“Clinging to the side of a mountain while our impending deaths wait below?” I supply, arms straining as I drag myself upward.
He huffs a short laugh. We climb slowly and carefully toward the ledge some ten feet up. Jace reaches it first, pulling himself up with enviable ease. Then he reaches down and hoists me onto the sweet flatness beside him. I breathe heavily as I press up to my knees.
Jace helps me to my feet, and I dust myself off as I follow him up the winding mountain path. Rock dust and pebbled ash crunch beneath our boots as we curl around the thick mountain for hours. The path is only about two feet wide, so we keep tight to the mountainside, wary of every sharp twist and jagged turn.
It finally opens up to a wider ledge a third of the way up. I risk peering over the edge to assess the height at which we now stand. Jace’s hand gently wraps around my bicep, pulling me back.
“I don’t like that,” is all he says in explanation. I jog to catch up to him as he turns toward the wall of rock behind us.
“Worried about little old me?” I tease. Jace ignores me, placing a hand on the red rock and pressing his slightly archedear to the surface. I watch in awe as he pulls his palm back and thrusts it forward sharply. The rock crumbles beneath the force of his strike, leaving a hole large enough for us to fit through.
God, that’s hot.
He turns back to find me gawking, open-mouthed.
