He tilted his head, considering it.
“Oh, definitely. Quieter. Less… near-death experiences.”
“And yet,” I prompted.
“And yet…” he said, smile softening, “I knew you were going to be trouble the second I saw you. The good kind, though. The kind that gets under your skin and stays there.” My chest warmed at that. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” he added quietly.
Before he could spiral any further, I leaned over and wrapped my arms around him in a quick, firm hug. He startled, then laughed, one arm coming around my back automatically.
“This isn’t because I wouldn’t let you hug me last night, is it?” he teased. I pulled back instantly and smacked his arm.
“Last night never happened.”
He snorted. “Sure, it didn’t.”
“And if you tell anyone,” I added, my eyes narrowing, “I will knock you on your ass again. I know how to get my hands on horse tranquillizers.”
He laughed outright, shaking his head.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
I smiled, then sobered slightly.
“So, you, me, and a very important torch.”
“The Way Weaver’s Torch,” he corrected.
“Right. Let’s go do this thing.”
***
We didn’t speak much as we rode.
Trees thickened around us, their trunks gnarled and wide, roots breaking the surface of the earth like ancient bones pushing free. Moss clung to stone and bark alike, softening edges, swallowing time, and the air grew cooler. Heavier with the scent of damp earth and running water long before I could hear it.
When the forest finally opened, it felt like stepping into another world.
The trees parted, revealing a wide clearing bathed in natural light. At its heart lay a vast pool of water, impossibly clear. Its surface was as smooth as glass except where it was broken by the thunder of a towering waterfall. Water poured down a sheer rock face, crashing into the pool below with a power that vibrated through the ground. Surrounding it were ruins, tall marble columns rising from the earth at odd angles. Some were standing proud, others broken and crumbled, their bases swallowed by ivy and creeping vines. Statues dotted the space between them. Gods whose names I didn’t know, their faces worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain. Expressions frozen somewhere between wrath and mercy.
The army came to a halt without a word, the horses snorting softly, hooves shifting on stone. No one dismounted. No one spoke. Even Aster seemed to sense that this place demanded silence.
Theron rode to the front and dismounted in one fluid motion. He didn’t look back at us as he reached down and removed his boots, placing them neatly beside a fallen column. Then he tugged his tunic off his shoulders and draped it over his horse’s saddle, bare skin catching the light in a way that made my throat go dry.
He was carved.
There was no other word for it. Every line of him looked powerful, and his muscles moved smoothly beneath his skin ashe stepped into the water. It lapped at his calves, then his knees, then his thighs, and I watched, transfixed, as the water traced his body, sliding over stone-hard muscle as if it were drawn to him. The water rose to his waist, then his chest, the sound of the waterfall growing louder as he moved toward it, until finally he stepped directly beneath the cascade. For a moment, his form was visible through the torrent, a dark shape against the white rush of water, and then,he was gone.
I exhaled a breath.
“What is he doing?”I whispered.
Aster shook his head slowly.
“I don’t know.” We waited.
Minutes passed, stretching longer than they should have, the silence thick enough to press against my chest. We had dismounted by this time, and I found myself fidgeting, staring at the water, half expecting it to erupt, half fearing it never would. Somewhere in that waiting, the weight of everything settled over me, the journey, the danger, the unlikely alliances I had never expected to form.
I never imagined, when we first crossed into the Badlands, that the Gorgon King would become anything other than an obstacle. A threat. Someone to endure.
