Page 57 of Fire in Stone

Amber had no ability to warm her body. This river would steal her life within moments.

The horror of the thought sent him into another dive to comb the stream in search of her.

How did he let go of her? Why? When? Was it the blow to his arm that knocked her out of his embrace? Or did it happen earlier? While they were still in the River of Mists?

That idea made him sick to his stomach. If they got separated while in the River of Mists, Amber wouldn’t be in Dakath. Humans didn’t belong to Nerifir. One could only cross here if accompanied by a fae.

Amber couldn’t come to Dakath without him. She’d end up back in her world. Only it’d likely be in a different time and place than the one he took her from.

His heart sank. What if he snatched her from her world only to lose her to a place unknown?

The stream carried him around a bend and to a patch of flat ground, a beach covered with loose rocks and ice.

He climbed out of the water and up the rocks. Ice crunched under his knees. The fine powder of snow melted under his heated palms.

“Amber?” He searched around.

There was nothing but rocks, ice, and churning black water crested with white. Worry stabbed through his chest, again and again. But he held on to a thread of hope, no matter how thin.

“Amber!”

He climbed up the rocky mountainside at the edge of the beach. Pain cut sharply from the deep wound in his thigh. His right arm didn’t obey when he tried to lift it. It must be broken from the blow he got to the elbow back in the water. Grinding his teeth, he did his best to ignore the pain and climbed.

After he got high enough to see more of the riverbank, he turned to look back.

Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it was around noon in Dakath. Stark white snow glistened between the black rocks. Its layer got thicker higher up the mountain. It must be winter in the kingdom, either the very beginning or the very end of it. He recognized the black rocks of his homeland, but not the exact location or the river.

From his position high above the beach, he carefully surveyed every single dip between the rocks, every patch of land along the riverbank, looking for Amber.

“Please, gods, please, let her be alive,” he prayed under his breath.

Just beyond the rocks at the opposite end of the beach, he spotted a small group of people moving up a path from the water. There were three of them, dressed in red. All women.

He squinted, taking in the yellow ropes tied around the waists of their long red robes. Red hoods, trimmed with golden lace, covered their heads. These were the typical outfits of the sisters from the Sanctuary of MotherSalamandra.

Two of them carried a yoke each over her shoulders, with a bucket of water dangling from each end. The third woman held a sword in each hand.

A weapon? That was unusual.

SistersSalamandraswere a peaceful order. They provided shelter to anyone in need and detested aggression. Neither did they need to worry about protection. For as long as he remembered, the Sanctuary had been revered and esteemed. The sight of the red robe was often enough for its wearer to receive the utmost respect.

The tall woman with the swords stopped abruptly. She leaned sideways, as if spotting something behind the rocks that edged the path from the river.

His heart skidded nearly to a full stop when he saw what the woman was staring at—a pair of bare legs, scratched and bruised. Someone was lying behind the rocks.

Amber!

Her legs were draped over a flat rock. The flash of her red hair was visible closer to the path.

One of the women set down her buckets, placing the arched yoke on top of them, then rushed to Amber.

He saw Amber’s legs jerk, then she drew them under her, sitting up.

She was in Dakath. Alive.

He exhaled, praising all the gods he knew. The ache in his chest eased.

“Amber!” he called, but the wind ripped her name from his lips, tossing it in the opposite direction from her. Neither Amber nor the women heard him.

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