Page 75 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
The vines slowed, hesitating in mid-air, the tips curling and uncurling. Then they shot forward again.
Terrified, I dodged them and leaped over another coiling out of the void. All I could do was launch myself straight ahead.
With a solid crack, I landed on the bridge. My knees slammed into it, pain ricocheting up into my thighs and hips. I bit back a cry and pressed my left palm flat to the cold surface, my right hand clutched against my chest. Dust slid off the edges and vanished into the endless dark below.
I didn’t dare move. My breath came fast and shallow, the edges of my vision tightening as I forced myself to hold fast. I hinged a glance back, half expecting to see the vines grasping for me or even coiling around my leg.
They writhed in confusion now, their tips sweeping through the air inches from my legs as if scenting for me but only reaching toward the edge. They didn’t seem to recognize me anymore.
Instead, they fixated on the chasm’s rim and the column where Vetle still struggled to remain standing. His left knee trembled as if it was about to buckle. One of the eels shot down around his ankle and then around his knee. Another grasped its friend by the back fin and tugged upward.
My stomach twisted as my mouth went cotton dry. Blood and ash coated my tongue, and bile crept up the back of my throat. Every instinct screamed at me to crawl back, to get off this cursed ribbon of stone before it crumbled. But Vetle’s strangled roar tore through the wind, and something inside me broke.
Though he was ready to lay down his own life, he thought he was alone right now. Alone and ready to die. But he wasn’t alone.
And I wouldn’t abandon him now. If I’d had enough of a voice left against the wind tearing at my face, I’d have screamed his name.
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.
