“I have other names I’d like to call you, but I don’t think that would be very helpful right now,” she said through her teeth. “The training ring is not far from here. Stay and work on the vine—find any weak spots and try to strengthen it.”
“You shouldn’t go alone,” he said, standing up.
“Too bad. You’re bleeding through your bandages, so stay here and I’ll be right back.”
Not waiting for his reply, she grabbed her sword and raced through the forest towards their training ring, praying it was still in one piece andon their side of the fissure. Solveig kept her mind clear and focused as she ran. She made the journey in less than half an hour.
The place was still intact, thankfully. She loaded her quiver with the strongest arrows available and slung both hers and Westley’s bows over her shoulders.
Goddess, the prince. She couldn’t think about any of that—any ofhim. She had to get back.
Solveig raced against time as she scanned the clearing, thanking the stars for her luck, and grabbed some provisions they’d left behind. She was out of breath by the time she returned to Westley, who knelt on the ground working on her very unrealistic plan. She couldn’t afford to overthink it.
“How does it look?” she asked, plopping herself on the ground, trying to catch her breath.
“Like a death trap,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Not helpful.” She tossed a canteen of water at him. He drank the whole thing with a couple gulps. “I’m going to shoot a few test arrows before we attach the rope to one end and pray to every spiritual being every race has ever believed in.”
“This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” Westley muttered.
Solveig ignored him and took a deep breath. One. Two. Three. She stood, nocked an arrow into her bow, and let it fly. It just barely missed the other side of the chasm. They silently watched the arrow as it fell a hundred feet before burning up in the literal river of fire.
“Maybe I should try my bow,” Westley said from behind her. “It’s stronger and can probably make it.”
“So now you’re on board?”
“If you’re determined to die, I can’t let you do it alone.”
“Funny.”
Westley winced as he leaned down to grab an arrow from the quiver. Solveig handed him his bow.
“Can you even use it right now?” she asked.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Just returning the favour.”
Westley inhaled and set his arrow on the string, bringing it into position. He tried and failed to keep a straight face as he drew the bow back. His grimace broke through, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, the blood draining from his face with the exertion. The bow slipped in his grip mid-shot. The arrow fell short of its mark.
“Damn it,” he cursed.
“Maybe I should try,” Solveig said, holding her hand out for his weapon. He looked from the bow to her, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to hurt it.”
Westley slowly placed his bow in her hand. It was heavier than her own, and the extra weight threw her usual stance off balance. She positioned the arrow and waited for Westley to stand behind her like he did when they trained. That seemed like a lifetime ago already.
He pulled her elbow up gently.
“You’ll have to adjust your footing to accommodate the size of the bow. Brace your arm here,” he said as he guided her. She twisted to face him, and their eyes locked for a moment too long before she pulled her gaze away and took three more breaths.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered.
The string was so tight that it took all her strength to pull it even halfway. She was about to give up when Westley’s hand came around hers. Together, they pulled back the string. The shock of their touch charged the arrow, and when they let go, it sailed through the air and embedded itself in the opposite side of the cliff.
“It worked,” Solveig breathed.
“It worked,” Westley repeated with equal disbelief.
