Page 47 of Wicked Prince of Shadows (Wicked Princes #2)

The wind whipped up stronger as the clouds above curved and churned. Lightning flashed above, chased then by a boom of thunder. There was no chance I could stand and walk.

But nothing said I had to. Crawling was always an option as long as I kept moving forward. I edged along, scooting my knees and palm along the slick stone.

Don't look down.

Don't look down.

Steady. Forward.

Don’t look—

I looked down.

The chasm gaped beneath me—endless, ravenous, swirling with shadows that moved like living things. My vision tilted, and my stomach dropped. The void pulled at me, whispering promises of falling, of weightlessness, of the terrible final moment before—

I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my forehead against the cold stone.

My breath came in sharp gasps that burned my lungs.

The wind shrieked around me, trying to pry me loose.

As my eyes shuttered, I saw those hands reaching from below.

Desperate. Clawing. Terrified. The drowning often drowned their rescuers.

Maker, save us from that fate.

"Move," I whispered to myself. "Just move."

I forced my left hand forward, then drew my knees along behind, shifting my weight forward shakily.

The stone scraped against my skin through the torn gown, and my broken hand throbbed with each movement, sending fresh waves of nausea through me.

Blood from my wrist dripped onto the bridge, dark drops that disappeared into nothing.

Another few inches. Then another.

It was a straight path across. Just a few inches at a time.

Just a breath. Then another.

I could do this.

I locked my eyes on him. His stitched jaw clenched hard, his neck corded under the strain.

Wind howled across the chasm, lashing my hair into my face.

Another few inches.

I’m coming for you, Vetle.

Another few more.

Tanith had left him here, but I wouldn’t.

Don’t look down.

Another foot forward. Then another. My left palm was raw now, scraped bloody against the rough stone. The bridge stretched endlessly before me, each inch an eternity.

How much farther?

Sixty feet? Seventy?

Just keep going.

The column loomed ahead, dark stone jutting up from the depths like a broken tooth. Vetle swayed, his head dropping lower. The vines constricted higher and wrapped around his chest.

Damn Aerithyn! My stomach soured as I tried to move faster.

She was going to strangle him!

Something wailed from the darkness below. My gaze snapped down, and I froze.

The darkness was infinite, a void that went on forever. My vision swam, and for a horrible moment I thought I might faint. Terror froze me as I knelt there, suspended over endless darkness by only a sliver of stone.

"Sabine!" Vetle's voice reached me, weak but desperate. "What are you doing? Get back to the portal!”

His voice dragged me back as my attention snapped back to him.

Thick dark blood oozed from his stitches.

Desperation flared in his amber eyes as he watched me in horror.

The wind died down, and I heard stone grinding in the distance.

It sounded as if chunks were falling, but it wasn’t from the bridge, so I put it out of my mind.

I forced myself to smile as I eased myself forward, shaking. “I just wanted some fresh air, and I wanted to see your kingdom.”

“This isn’t funny, Sabine!” He growled at me, his wings tensing and flaring against the vines. “The last thing I want is for you to die.”

“Well, that’s funny.” My breaths came in gasps. One of his eels shot over to me. It dove under my arm and steadied me as I shook. “The last thing I want is for you to die too.”

"I'm not going to let you save me by sacrificing yourself!" His voice cracked, raw with emotion. "That's not how this works, woman! Now turn around and go back. These vines will snare you as soon as you touch the column."

"I know!" I shouted back. The wind caught my words, but I knew he heard me. "We're both stubborn, Vetle. But I'm more stubborn than you are! And Aerithyn is scared. She’s drawing on us to escape."

“Aerithyn is dead. This is a sacrifice to sate Chaori’s rage,” he bellowed back. “She died, and he will raze this world for her. And even if what you say is so, it's still dangerous for you to be here. You've been injured so many times in such a short span. How much magic can you even have left?”

“No. She’s not dead. She’s trapped. And I've got enough magic left.” I inched forward.

Talking was making it easier to focus on him, but my heart still raced, my palm slick with sweat.

Whatever magic I had, whatever life I had, I'd spend it here. “But the Witheringlands isn’t about getting even or inflicting suffering. Chaori is trying to help her! And Aerithyn is trying to reach him!”

Vetle wrenched to the side, struggling harder against the vines.

His jaw tightened as he fought harder. One of the vines pulled taut and snapped.

His eels dove in and pushed out against the ones around his chest. He struggled, fighting to reach me.

“If you can hear us, eidon, then do not keep me from my wife. If you have any decency at all—”

The wind picked up again, whipping my hair across my face and threatening to drag me over the edge as a great wailing screech rose from the chasm.