Page 7

As dawn broke, the forest was a world of muted colors, shrouded in a cold mist that clung to everything. The air still smelled of rain, fresh and wild. Droplets shimmered on leaves, the ground damp and softened beneath their boots as they finally left the shadow of Infinity’s Edge behind.

Skye took the lead, cutting a path through the forest with long, steady strides.

Kato followed close behind, occasionally swatting at branches and loudly announcing every rock he stumbled over.

At the back, Taly huffed and puffed and cursed under her breath. The palace had an aetheric aura that remained immune to the cycling of the Aion Gate. No one understood why or where it came from, but she sure as hell felt it once they stepped outside its perimeter.

It started as a tight, uncomfortable pressure in her chest, as though a fist had reached inside her.

The farther they ventured away from the palace, the more that fist squeezed .

Aether sickness.

Skye came down with it every time he left the island and returned. After spending a year in the time loop—where the magic was so thick the air practically hummed with it—her body needed time to acclimate to the low-aether environment.

By mid-morning, she’d already guzzled two canteens of faeflower. The slimy texture coated her tongue, the cloying peach flavor somehow making it worse. While it did nothing to dull the burn in her lungs, she did feel less lightheaded as she started on the third.

They made good time. The pace Skye set wasn’t punishing, but it wasn’t kind either.

Heat prickled at the back of her neck despite the cool air. Sweat pooled beneath her collar, the damp fabric clinging to her spine. Her thighs burned. Her pack dragged at her shoulders, straps digging in.

If she asked, he would’ve slowed down.

She didn’t.

The forest grew wilder as they pressed north. After the Schism, the island was abandoned, left for nature to reclaim. Trees coiled around the skeletal remains of buildings, their roots prying apart stone and steel. Old airwalks jutted into nothing, severed mid-span.

There were remnants of statues, the occasional moss-covered staircase visible through the trees, the rest of whatever structure it used to belong to gone.

The city was vanishing, its last traces dissolving beneath moss, roots, and time. And while it had a beauty all its own, it was best not to wander off the paths marked by salvagers and hunters.

So, they followed the river.

The cold off the water was sharp, knifing through damp clothes whenever the wind shifted.

But it was the only path Taly could rely on from memory that didn’t present any major challenges.

Sure, they’d have to skirt around grendel territory, but that was better than wyverns when they were nesting.

And much better than accidentally stumbling through a tear in the Veil.

Taly’s head swam suddenly, and she stopped, pressing her hand flat against the slick, moss-covered trunk of a nearby tree for balance.

The dizzy spell passed—but not fast enough.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kato called from further up the steep, muddy incline they’d been scaling for the last half hour.

“Nothing,” Taly panted, every breath dragging like a serrated blade through her ribs.

“Really? Because you’re looking a little wobbly there. Is this where you do the damsel thing and faint dramatically? Should I be ready to catch you, or should we let Skye have the honor?”

Kato was a miserable bastard. Taly had pieced that together a long time ago from Skye’s stories. And like all misery, he needed others to share in it, spreading it around until it clung to everyone else as much as it stuck to him.

Until now, she’d tolerated it. Kato had been there for Skye when no one else was, and she was grateful.

But that gratitude only stretched so far.

“Please don’t kill him,” Skye said, backtracking down the hill. “I don’t want to carry his gear.”

He slid the last five feet through the mud, catching himself on a tree.

“Just ignore him. If he doesn’t get a reaction, he’ll eventually get bored and move on.”

That was easy for Skye to say. He’d had his whole life to work on his poker face. As for her, she’d never been good at holding her tongue. And right now, with her lungs on fire and her heartbeat pounding uncomfortably in her ears—

“Hey,” Skye said gently. Dew clung to his skin and dampened his hair. His eyes, sharp and searching, tracked the strain in her posture, the flush of her skin. “You good?”

Taly was sweating even as she shivered. “I’m fine,” she said, trying not to sound breathless. “Just a bit of aether sickness.”

Skye’s gaze softened, a mix of understanding and pity. “We can stop. Let you catch your breath.”

“Catch my breath?” Taly gave a huff, part exhaustion, part laughter. “What am I, eighty? Keep moving, unless you want me to leave you behind.”

Skye raised an eyebrow, and she saw that spark of knowing—the unspoken you’re full of shit hidden behind the curve of his lips. “Here. At least, give me this—”

She jerked away when he reached for the strap of her pack. “I said I’m fine.”

She didn’t mean for it to come out so sharp—it was just… habit. The result of so many years of proving she could keep up, of never needing help, especially from him.

He stood there for a moment, hand still outstretched. Then he let out a slow breath and dropped it. “Okay. Fine.” He rolled his shoulders like he was shaking off the irritation.

The day wore on. The miles stretched. A countdown measured in steps, in aching muscles, in the slow grind of fatigue settling deep into her bones.

By late afternoon, the fire in her lungs thickened to molten lead. Her body was a weight she had to drag forward.

With each step, her pack grew a little heavier. The cold, a little harder to shake off.

The aether on the island was just so thin ...

“It’s better inside the city,” Skye said, holding out a hand and helping her up yet another grueling, mud-choked rise. “The aether cores make the air breathable. Out here, your body has to dip into its own supply to compensate. It takes a toll if you’re not used to it.”

Her boot slipped, and Skye hauled her up the rest of the way like she weighed nothing, depositing her on a flat outcropping of rock.

“Taly, please,” he said. “Let me carry something—your pack, your pride, whatever weighs less.”

It was always the same. Fey males saw a little struggle and immediately had to swoop in like it was their life’s calling.

Taly shouldered past him with a glare. “The only circumstance in which I will consent to being carried,” she snapped, breath ragged, “is if a basilisk pops out of the river and chews off both my legs.”

And even then, her pride might not survive the journey.

Skye dragged a hand down his face, wiping at the dampness there. “Fine,” he muttered, clearly not happy, but unwilling to fight her on it. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

She wouldn’t. Even if her head was swimming and the stitch in her side burned like a branding iron.

She’d spent her childhood chasing Skye, pushing through the aches, the bruises, the breathless strain of always being a step behind.

Pain was just a signal, a message her body was sending, and one she’d learned to override.

She would keep up. She always had.

Her boot hit another patch of slick mud. The ground abruptly slid out from underneath her as the forest spun—

Skye caught her around the waist, bodily lifting her. “That’s it. We’re stopping for lunch.”

“No,” she protested, but it was weak as hell. She had no fight left in her as he hauled her the rest of the way up the hill.

Skye looked over at Kato, who was leaning against a tree, clearly glad for the break. “Let’s make camp here.”

Kato smirked, stretching his arms over his head with exaggerated ease. “For the record, Taly, rescuing you is exhausting. If you could spend less time arguing and more time appreciating the rescue, that would be great.”

She was going to kill him. She was going—

“Stop wiggling,” Skye growled, sounding like he wanted to drop her—but instead, he lowered her gently onto the first patch of flat ground.

“This is unnecessary,” she muttered, slumping against a tree. She didn’t try to get up. She already knew her legs wouldn’t hold her.

Skye rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome, Taly. Really, no need to thank me for saving you from yourself.”

He pressed a canteen into her hands. She barely tasted the faeflower as she gulped it down. Her breaths were coming too quickly, each one just a little less satisfying. There was a strange wheezing sound. It took her a moment to realize it was coming from her.

Dropping the bags, Skye knelt in front of her. “Just concentrate on breathing. In and out.” His voice was calm as he began unfastening her cloak, then the buttons of her overcoat, digging through the layers of winter clothing until he found bare skin.

“What are you doing?” she panted.

He pressed his palm flat against her chest, feeling the unsteady rise of each labored breath. “Try to relax.”

There was a push of aether. Taly gasped as her lungs expanded.

Out, out, out —past that hitch and that weight.

Another push. Another breath.

It was like punching through water, drowning, and then finally, finally, breaking to the surface and finding that first gasp of air.

And all the while, Skye’s voice continued in that deep rumbling tenor. That’s it. Good girl. Just breathe.

The air around her sparked violet, and she knew that he was using his magic to pull at the ambient aether, tucking it in close around her to create a cocoon of breathable air.

“You know, I think the universe might actually implode if you admitted you needed help,” Skye murmured.

Mist and sweat drenched Taly’s hair, making it cling to her neck and forehead. He pushed it out of her eyes with gentle fingers, brow furrowing.

Leaning in, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Taly, you’re burning up.”

“Well, I did just spend all morning hiking up a mountain.”