Page 114 of The Weaver

Smoke flowed across the pit. It stung her eyes, forcing tears into them, and assailed her throat. She struggled to suppress her coughing; she couldn’t have her shoulders shaking. Slitting her eyes, she hooked her wrist bindings over the bone and dragged them up. The point scraped across the rope.

“Damn your eyes, keep him back!” Ulkari shouted.

Pride flared in Ahmya’s chest at her mate putting up such a fight, but her pride couldn’t help him. Without some sort of distraction, he would be overwhelmed, overpowered.

Killed.

Ahmya’s heart quickened, and dread pooled in her belly.

No. I will not let that happen.

Warmth built at her feet and crawled up her legs. The flames were growing, spreading, seeking her out… Icy fear twisted around her heart. Her breaths sawed in and out, each one with a burning itch that threatened a fit of coughing.

But she kept her arms moving as smoothly as possible. Down and up, snagging the strand each time. Despite the crackling flames drawing closer, thepopsof pockets of sap combusting, and the sharp bite of the bone scraping her skin,Ahmya pressed on, driven by Rekosh’s continued roaring. Little by little, she felt the threads tearing.

No one else is going to make an opportunity for him.

There’s no one else who can help.

Fire leapt up near her foot. She cried out and yanked her leg back from the searing heat, and her arms slipped. The bone splinter ripped through the rope and stabbed into her forearm, forcing another agonized cry from her lips.

You don’t have time, Ahmya. Neither does Rekosh.

Pressing her lips together and swallowing a scream, she pulled up on her arms. She felt every millimeter of the bone splinter as it slid free of her flesh. Along with the pain came the oddly vivid sensation of her own blood, warm and wet, trickling down her arm.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed her arms to either side, wiggling her wrists to strain the frayed rope.

When the bindings finally gave way and fell from her wrists, Ahmya nearly sagged in relief. She ached everywhere, her eyes were watery, her nose was runny, and her lungs were ablaze. Sweat coated her skin, which was being baked by ever-growing heat. Her head was beginning to swim from the smoke.

It would’ve been so easy to lie down, close her eyes, and sleep.

Rekosh needs me. And if he can escape to warn the others…

Swinging her arms to her front, Ahmya grabbed her boots. She tore the silk rope away from them before hastily tugging them on and turning away from Rekosh, who remained obscured by the haze.

Though the kindling had been dry, the wood was not, causing it to ignite slower and produce this thick, billowing smoke. Another bit of good luck for Ahmya.

Well, as long as smoke inhalation didn’t kill her.

Attempting to walk in the pit would only make her feet sink and potentially get her boots caught in the tangled mass ofbranches, so she rolled onto her belly and crawled forward, keeping her face low and turned away from the flames.

Twigs scratched at her skin and snagged her dress, but she didn’t allow herself to slow. Rekosh needed a chance, and she would find some way to give it to him. That was what drove her on. The loudening flames and blistering heat certainly helped motivate her, however.

She reached the far side of the pit, and only there did she get to her feet, steadying herself with her hands on the dirt wall. Her boots sank in the kindling.

The upper edge of the pit was nearly a foot over her head.

Ahmya jumped, raising her arms. Her fingers caught the edge. She braced a boot against the wall to help pull herself up, arms trembling with exertion, until her foot slipped in the dirt and her arms gave out. She dropped back into the pit, feet sinking a little deeper than before.

“No, no, no!” Ahmya tried to climb again, but her battered body simply couldn’t muster the strength to lift itself clear out of the pit, and she couldn’t find good footing on the dirt wall. She coughed, the smoke burning her throat and eyes.

New strategy, Ahmya. Quickly.

She turned in place and immediately threw up an arm to shield her face from the heat and brightness of the flames. This pit had become her hell, from which she wasn’t meant to escape.

But she wasn’t done yet.

Crouching, she grasped handfuls of sticks and heaved them up. More coughs ravaged her throat, embers and disturbed ash swirled in the smoke, and flames leapt as she scoured the detritus for something she could use—for anything.

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