“I’m okay,” he wheezed. “I’m here.”
“Carver! Oh my gods!” She buried her face in his chest, and an awful noise exploded from her, her whole body shaking with sobs.
He exhaled roughly, his eyes burning. He swept a hand up her back and into her hair. She lifted her face, and his lips crashed down on hers. Salt tears and cherry magic.Home.Her mouth trembled under his, and she kissed him back, frantic and hard.
Utterly undone, he drank in the sight of her. “I thought I’d never see you again.” He shook as much as she did—fear, relief, the sudden release of grief. His voice cracking, he rasped, “It broke my heart.”
Sniffling, she gave him a sudden, angry shove back. “You’re a horrible son of a Cyclops!” She thumped a balled-up fist against his chest. “You scared me to death.”
“I’m sorry.” Coughing, he pulled her back in and held her close. Her breath rushed in and out, hot and ragged against his chest. She shook like the last leaf on a bare branch in winter, and he’d never felt more loved.
“How?” she finally choked out.
“Nereids.” He stroked a gentle hand up and down her back, soothing himself as much as her. His other hand stayed wrapped in her hair, the heavy red locks still cold and wet instead of fiery and warm. “They attacked the ichthyocentaur and rescued me. They help people around the island. I’m just lucky they happened to be there.” Luck, or maybe Poseidon. He’d never know and didn’t really care. What mattered waslife.
Her arms around him, she looked up, swallowing. “Well…Good.”
He huffed his agreement. “But most magical creatures aren’t so kind.” He glanced around to locate the horses. “We need to get out of here and across the border before nightfall.”
Worry darkened her eyes, which already lacked their usual shine. “I can almost feel those centaurs breathing down my neck. I have for a while now.” She shivered, her gaze sliding toward the woods.
Carver rubbed her arms, trying to warm her. He didn’t feel warm himself, but they didn’t have time to spare. Reluctantly, he stepped away and took her hand, walking up the beach toward where she’d left his clothing. “I’ll dress while you get the horses.”
Bel nodded but didn’t move from his side. Instead, she watched him dress in a way that both heated his blood and wrenched his insides. He finished buckling his belt over his tunic as she murmured, “I couldn’t save you.” Moisture welled in her eyes. “I–I couldn’t do anything.” Her voice wavered, and she choked back more tears.
Carver reached out and gathered her in his arms again. “Your magic is nearly matchless, but it can’t do everything. Just like my sword arm can’t. Having limitations is part of being human.”
“Then I’d rather be a god,” she said fiercely.
“Never.” Carver shook his head. “There might be obstacles ahead, but you and I have a chance at being happy and at peace. I don’t think a god can ever have that.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “Happy and at peace sounds nice.”
And it was exactly what he wanted for them. They just had to make it through an Olympianomachy first.
Looking up, Carver whistled to get Zeph’s attention. His horse trotted over, and Arete followed only a few steps behind. He nudged Bel toward her mare. “Check your girth before you mount.”
Bel slipped out of his arms. “Checkyours,” she grumbled with some of her usual tartness and spark.
“I always do.” And he watched her make sure hers was secure before backing off.
Once she was safely atop Arete, her reins in her hands, he checked over his tack and mounted Zeph. He usually swung up with ease, but this time, he felt like he was scaling a mountain. Breathing hard, coughing again, he settled heavily into his saddle.
Bel eyed him with a frown. “You must’ve swallowed a lot of water.”
More like inhaled. Simply clearing his throat in reply, he urged Zeph up the beach toward the rough coastal path. Arete kept pace beside him, and they headed south as the sun headed west.
Once they were firmly on their way, his gaze flicked to the Shard of Olympus around Bel’s neck. “Do you think it always glows?”
She tucked the amulet under her tunic, slanting a cautionary look at a dryad that peeked out at them from behind a tree. “It hasn’t stopped yet.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Still cold,” she said, matching his quiet tone, “but the amulet makes it bearable. And like raw power. Raw and charged and ready to burst out along with my magic.”
Nodding, he coughed again, the harsh grating in his sore, irritated throat lasting too long and making too much noise. Grimacing, he tried to quiet the fit as he looked warily around. They were in Hera’s back garden. Mount Olympus glared down at them, and just the feel of it this close made his neck prickle with an icy warning. He wouldn’t let being back on land give him the illusion of safety. Everything about this place screamed danger in every language known to man or god.
He dug his water out of his saddle bag and drank. Finally, his voice scratching, he said, “Raw and charged and ready to burst sounds good, because we might need every last bit of that before this day is over.”
