“Does the sky look weird to you?” she asked, squinting upward.
He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
“My father used to repeat a sailor’s saying,” she said. “‘Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning. Red skies at night, sailor’s delight.’ Basically, if the sky looks like a murder scene at dawn, a storm’s coming.”
Vaelor nodded. “I agree. I can scent the storm in the wind. We need to get across that bridge before it hits.”
Mara followed his gaze—and her breath caught.
The Bridge of Souls stretched between Mt. Volt and Mt. Bolt like a frozen serpent, suspended a thousand meters above the glacier floor. Twelve thousand meters long. Narrow. Uneven. Exposed. The wind howled through the gaps, producing a low, eerie moan that vibrated through Vaelor’s bones.
“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s… tall.”
“It is a bridge,” he said dryly. “Bridges are typically elevated.”
She shot him a look. “Yeah, but this one looks like it was designed by someone who hates people.”
“That is likely true.”
Despite the danger, he felt a flicker of warmth at her attempt to lighten the moment. She always did that—met fear with humor, uncertainty with stubborn optimism. It was one of the many things he admired about her.
But the warmth faded when they reached the mountain’s base and realized the bridge wasn’t accessible from the ground. The first section was perched high above them, reachable only by scaling a jagged wall of ice and rock.
Mara groaned. “Of course. Why would anything be easy?”
“If you get on my back,” Vaelor said, “I can climb up to the bridge.”
She raised a brow. “I rock climb for fun, remember? I just need a rope and a rock pick.”
“I do not doubt your skills,” he said gently. “But this will be faster. And the storm is closing in.”
She hesitated, then sighed. “Okay. But let me have the packs.”
He helped her shrug into both packs, tightening the straps. The combined weight immediately pulled her backward.
“I’m not sure this is going to work,” she admitted.
“Let me see if I can get the straps of my pack around you and through my arms.”
It took some maneuvering—and a few muttered curses from Mara—but they managed to secure the packs, so she was pressed firmly against his back, her arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“Are you going to be able to move like this?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “But I will need to go slightly slower so I can ensure a good grip.”
“Slower is fine,” she said. “I’d prefer not to die today.”
He chuckled softly. “I will keep that in mind.”
Vaelor began the climb, finding jutting rocks and ice ridges with practiced ease. Mara clung to him, her breath warm against the back of his neck. The storm wind whipped around them, tugging at her hair, trying to pry her fingers loose.
“Hey, Vaelor?” she called over the wind.
“Yes?”
“If I fall, I want you to know I blame you.”
He huffed a laugh. “Noted.”
