After the eleventh, Jo screamed again, tilting her head to the heavens as if someone, somewhere, could hear her. “Are we really still going on with this, Luana? All this just for one man? How stubborn can you really be?”
Another sword swung for her.
Jo leapt, catching it on the broad side of the blade, clinging to the outer edge—dull from spending years in the rain and elements. The statue lifted the weapon, as if confused by her presence on the sword point. Jo used the opportunity to sprint up, landing her palm in the shoulder and feeling the same satisfying crunch from within.
She landed, hard. She felt her bones break and the air leave her body and was all the more alive for it. She rose to her knees, then her feet, and resumed her sprint.
At the fifteenth statue, Jo could see land in the distance, and a whole lot of bridge left to cross. Her mind had begun reorienting the purpose of this effort. Perhaps she wouldn’t need to find Eslar after all; perhaps she could take on Pan herself with this much practice—hold the woman down while Takako just stabbed the arrow through her heart.
Jo clenched her hands into fists, ready for the next set of warriors, but they never came.
She lowered her eyes, looking not at the suddenly still sapphire giants, but at the bridge. There, in the distance, was a group of people. Ships—gilded in gold and bearing bright blue sails with the seal of the high elves on them—had been anchored.
“Does your offer to end this still stand?”
“It does,” Jo shouted back.
“Then come, and let us parlay like two civilized parties. We hear you’re looking for Eslar Greentouch.”
Chapter 11
Samson’s Pain
The water splashed in waves against the boat’s hull, sending sprays of mist up from beneath to tickle her face. It cooled instantly as the breeze whipped about the deck, a slight chill running down Jo’s spine. They’d been on the ship to High Luana for a couple of hours now, and had taken to wandering the Elvish vessel with a frenetic sort of energy, the adrenaline still high in all of them. Eventually Jo had settled on the upper deck, willing her heart to slow, but she couldn’t shake the itchy feeling of “hurry up and wait.”
They’d finally managed to get a step forward, after much, much too much time wasted, but Jo couldn’t find any success in it. Not when Snow’s safety was still an unknown, not when Eslar’s involvement was still uncertain, not when she may have just caused a diplomatic rift that could start a war, and most certainly not when Samson looked about a hair's breadth away from throwing himself overboard.
In fact, Samson had grown more and more reserved the longer they were on the ship. It was almost as though, the closer they got to High Luana, the more panicked their craftsman became. To Jo’s magical eyes, it was as if he was shattering from the inside out, spider web cracks inching across his chest, shoulders, back, just waiting for a single strike. Though she still wasn’t sure what was troubling him, Jo couldn’t help feeling guilty for all the stress she’d put him through as a result of her antics.
She wanted to know Snow was all right, she wanted to put an end to Pan, but she also wanted to keep her team—herfamily—safe. Samson might be physically safe, but she was doing very little for his emotional and mental well-being.
“Sam?” Jo risked a soft whisper, and though she’d expected him to recoil in shock, it still hurt. He had clearly not seen her approaching from around the corner of the deck. “Sam, I’m sorry.” She dove in before he could scramble away again—like he had when they’d first boarded—though the look in his eyes said he clearly wanted to. She made to reach for him, but held back at the look of anxiety marring his features, hugging her hand to her chest instead. “I’m sorry I’ve put you through so much.”
He was silent for several long seconds, looking back out at the water. Heaving a deep breath, he let it out with precious few words. “I was trying to reach Eslar.”
“I know you were,” Jo said hastily. “I knew that. But I just . . .” And damnit, there was nothing she could do to stop the sudden tightness in her throat or the blurring of her eyes. “I need to know he’s okay. We’re so close, and we have a plan. But the waiting... And Eslar’s stubbornness—it wasn’t you Sam.”
“You’re worried about him.” Samson saved her from herself by saying what she couldn’t. There was no doubt as to who he meant. It certainly wasn’t Eslar.
Jo lifted a hand to her face, shielding her eyes. She hadn’t realized just how terrified she was for Snow until that moment. She’d been assuming the whole time that Samson was the crumbling one that she could see right through him. Jo had never bothered looking in the mirror. “I have no way of knowing, Sam. And I’m so . . . I’m scared that he’s—That if we don’t hurry, he’ll be—”
It took the feel of arms wrapping around her in a loose embrace for her to realize she’d gone silent beneath the weight of unshed tears. Samson’s arms were strong, if a bit hesitant, and Jo melted into them, willingly taking the offered comfort.
“You’ve gotten your wish, Jo,” Samson whispered into her hair, holding her a bit tighter. She buried her face in his shirt, smelling motor oil and something sweet yet spicy, like hot chocolate spiked with cayenne. “We’re on our way to save him. He’ll be fine.” Samson let go of her for a moment then, holding her out at arm’s length. Though it was a bit awkward (he couldn’t seem to figure out if he wanted to use his knuckles or fingertips), Samson lifted his hand to wipe a streak of tears from her cheek. “Snow is strong. After you destroyed the Society, he saved us all by making this world, didn’t he? He’ll survive long enough for us to savehimtoo. Don’t you worry.”
There was something sad in Samson’s voice; in it, Jo detected a level of defeat that was palpable, like a man walking to the guillotine. And as sickening as it was, Jo felt her magic leaching into that weakness, breaking apart exactly what was making Samson shatter, exactly what Samson had been so afraid of. It was as if she naturally wanted to level the field, make him as vulnerable as she felt.
“Sam,” Jo whispered, “you know my worries . . . now, tell me yours. What happened between you and Eslar?”
Samson jerked back as if burned, pulling completely out of her touch. Jo wanted to follow him, wanted to pull him back in and soothe away the look of betrayal on his face, but she knew these words were important. And a part of her, somewhere deep where the shadows hid, told her Samson needed to talk about it. He’d been needing to put it out in the open for a while and they were running out of time before he was confronted with Eslar’s presence once more.
“You don’t . . .” Jo paused, letting her magic formulate the words she needed to say, but likewise letting her desire for Samson’s trust and comfort guide them. “You don’t have to tell me, if you can’t, but I can see that something happened. And I wanted you to know you can talk to me if you want to and need to before we get to High Luana.” Then, reaching forward with a cautious and steady hand, Jo grabbed Samson’s wrist, sliding down to link their fingers together with a gentle squeeze.
Samson looked from their joined hands back to Jo, conflict clear on his face. He seemed near tears. Keeping this secret was destroying him, Jo realized, the sensation potent and buzzing beneath her own skin. Talking about it may be its own form of breaking down, but part of her knew that if he got it out, it would destroy him less. So she held fast, silently luring him in.
Eventually, Samson seemed to relent. With a breath, he squeezed her hand back tight.
“He doesn’t want anything to do with me now that he doesn’thaveto have anything to do with me,” he said, so soft that Jo could barely hear it. His fingers were already trembling in her grip. “With . . . W-With us. With the Society and . . . and all this. With Pan. I tried, but—” Samson took a shaky breath, looking a little like he was about to pass out. As carefully as she could, Jo led Samson to one of the comfy chairs spread about the deck, kneeling at his side to keep their hands together.
