“There is,” I murmur reluctantly, though it’s not inked on the chart.
She lifts her head to look where I point. A narrow rope bridge stretches across the ravine, creaking in the humid breeze.
Harper pushes to her feet, folds the map, and studies the hanging bridge. She appears neither frightened nor concerned. “This is the only way to cross?”
Zephyrus speaks from behind. “It is.”
This cannot be our only option. I study the canyon, every wide, meandering curve. A shaded copse shimmers on the opposite side of the gulf, a dark green border where the sweltering red rock ends.
Harper passes me the map. “Might as well get it over with.”
I tuck the parchment into my pocket. “You’re not afraid it will snap?”
She lifts those lovely, curved eyebrows in challenge. Even trekking through Carterhaugh, they are never less than expertly groomed. “Are you?”
Yes, because the bridge looks as if it hasn’t been repaired since its construction, however many centuries ago that was.
My palms begin to sweat beneath my gloves. “If we go the long way around—”
“We don’t have time. We’ve only until the tithe to return. We’re already behind.”
“Maybe we wouldn’t be,” I point out, “if you had bothered to help set up and break down camp the last three nights.” I gathered firewood, erected our shelter, cooked dinner, dug the latrine, despite my slow recuperation from my near-death experience.
Harper hefts her pack higher onto her back. “Spare me your righteousness, Brielle. I’ve done my fair share on this journey. You’re not the only one capable of contributing.”
I don’t bother mentioning that without my aid, she likely would have collapsed after the first few miles.
“Ladies.” Zephyrus steps between us. “Can we save the sparring until we reach the other side?”
Harper pays him no mind. She says to me, “If you’re too afraid to cross, you’ll have to go back alone. I’m going ahead with or without you.”
She’s right. If I cannot cross the bridge, this entire journey will have been for naught. And that is not an option.
As she brushes past me, I catch her sleeve. “Can’t you reconsider?”
She sighs. “Oh, Brielle. When will you learn? People act out of their own selfish needs, and I am no exception. Neither are you.” A hard yank rips her arm from my grasp. “I’ll be sure to put in a good word to Mother Mabel for you—or not.”
With a cruel smirk, Harper plants one foot onto the nearest plank. The bridge sags beneath her weight, creaking like an old door in the wind. I watch it all without taking a breath.
Plank by plank, she shuffles forward. Her hands clamp the rope railings strung waist-high across the gulf. The bridge holds, but Harper is half my body weight. The lines would surely snap if I attempted to cross.
I can’t do it. I can’t put my trust in this shoddy contraption, one sneeze away from collapse. Helplessness—a feeling I know well.
“Close your eyes.” The command flutters near my ear, brimming with unseen power.
I cannot. A few planks of wood bound together with fraying rope is all that would separate me from the drop, those vicious rocks jutting from the bottom of the ravine. A screaming gust wrenches through the canyon.
“Brielle.” Warmth at my back, followed by the wind’s cool caress. “Let me guide you.”
“I’m not crossing the bridge.”
“You are going to cross the bridge,” Zephyrus says. “And I am going to help you.”
“I just said—”
“Then why are you here?”
That stops me. WhyamI here? I thought I knew. But that wasbefore. Before the darkwalkers, my illness, each excruciating second spent in Harper’s presence, our unnecessary battle of wills.
