“Rune—”
He’s doing the same, checking for depressions in the rock, slots in the glass.
The wall crunches again, sending my heart into my throat.
“I don’t see anything!” he shouts on the other side.
“I don’t—” my breath catches, because I do. The entirety of the floor below me is opening. I flip the dagger from the sheath at my side and start ramming it into the glass. “Rune!”
He doesn’t look at me. “See anything?”
“Rune, the floor!” My heart can’t beat any faster than it is, but it tries, stealing the air from my lungs and the ability to think.
The wall on his side crunches again. It’s closer now, moving in random spurts.
He turns to where I’m looking, his eyes going wide as he realises the floor on this side is creeping away.
“What does that symbol mean?” I ask, panic strangling my voice. Where the floor opens, water laps at the walls. It’s going to drop me in. On the far wall, beneath the water’s surface, a symbol glows—wind overlaid by a circle and a diagonal line.
“Rune—” when I look back at him, the expression on his face sends another wash of dread through me.
“Odi,” he says, almost gently, ignoring the wall snapping behind him again like jaws. “It’s a rune. One we use in Nareth; its magic will nullify the sea stone. It means you’re going to have to hold your breath.” I’m already shaking my head but he goes on. “It must be part of the test—”
Words don’t form. This can’t happen. We didn’t make it this far for this to happen. The water is pitch black, endless. It’s death. It’s taunting me with death.
“Look.” He points to the centre, where the floor still moves, its insistence pushing me into the back wall as my feet move against their will.
But I see it. A light glows at the bottom, faint.
“I think this is it, Odi. I think this is what it wants. You have to swim.”
The wall crunches again. It’s almost halfway to him now.
“I can’t—” but the words won’t leave my lips, because there’s no other option. It’s Rune. And if I don’t do this, he dies for nothing.
He presses his forehead to the glass, his bright-blue eyes clear even through my smudged handprints. “I have watched you face the Sotor. I’ve watched you grin while gutting acid-tongued monsters. You’re braver than me. Stronger than me. You held things together while I broke—you—you made Tavilaugh.You can do fucking anything, Odelia.” The wall screeches again. “But you’re going to have to jump. Please.”
Everything in me screams to keep my feet on the ground. The animal, the little girl tossed in to sink or swim. But I won’t let him die for this. I lock my eyes with his—they’re so blue, impossibly blue, shining with confidence I know he doesn’t feel. I shove down the fear one last time, but fail to steady the trembling in my voice. “Count of three?”
He nods. “Count of three, little doe.” He takes a few steps forwards, angling so he’s in front of me. I follow until my toes overlap where the floor retreats.
He offers a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and crosses his arms, tilting a shoulder into the glass like he doesn’t have a carein the world. “One.”
I wonder how many would hear the tightness in his voice. Would recognize the faux optimism for what it is.
“Two.”
I swallow and pin my attention to the wavering glow in the water. One more time. Just one more time.Live or die, I promise myself,you will never have to go under again.
“Three.”
I leap. Headfirst, arms splitting the icy water before it swallows the rest of me. It takes every ounce of willpower to stop from gasping. My eyes burn against the salt, but I won’t lose sight of the glow at the bottom. I won’t be the reason we don’t make it out of here—the reason he doesn’t make it out of here.
It takes me a moment to realise the pressure doesn’t feel like suffocation. And as I settle into a rhythm, the darting shadows make me wary, but not the dark of the sea itself.
For years I’ve flinched from the ocean, certain her touch meant icy death. I’ve watched her take many, felt the crush of her fury. But now the water slips past, and it reminds me of glittering blue and trying not to smile. Of the way he cradled me with his taloned hands. Of gentle offerings and long nights of wondering when he’d finally let himself sleep. It touches my skin—and all I can think of is him.
My lungs start to burn too soon. I really am a shit swimmer, but I push harder—I can still hear the grind of the spiked wall in my head. How long does he have if I fail? One minute? Two? My muscles protest and my lungs beg, but Rune will be crushed any moment. This is the only hope we have.
