Page 34 of The Assassin's Bride

“You must be ready to kill anyone,” he'd told her one night, with the moon high overhead and warm firelight playing tricks on her eyes. “Even me.”

“But I don't want to kill you,” she'd insisted. “I don't need to.”

To that, he'd had no reply.

“Be focused.” His voice came now as little more than a whisper, snapping her attention back to the here and now. Ahead, a long bridge swayed above the gap between two mountains. Fog lay beneath it, so thick she couldn't see the bottom.

“It's made of rope,” she murmured. “Just like an adventure story.”

“I hope you're prepared for an adventure story,” he said as he readied his favorite knife. Thus far, Thea had seen nothing to indicate danger. The bridge was long, but clear, and no one else waited to move across.

She strained to see below. “Will they come from the fog?”

“I don't know. Just know that if we weren't days behind, I would rather traverse that pit than cross this bridge, but it's the fastest way across.”

She exhaled through her nose and adjusted the bags slung over her shoulders. Her back still ached, but not as badly. When everything was over, she suspected she'd come through with new muscle in interesting places. “All right. Let's go.”

“Be wary,” Gil cautioned. “And be swift.” He guided her onto the bridge with fingertips against her lower back.

That touch shot through her like a streak of lightning, setting her heart to thundering. He'd guided her that way before, but at the tip of a knife. It should have instilled fear, not set her awhirl with butterflies in her chest. How long ago had that been? Two weeks? Three? She hardly remembered.

The bridge swayed, not from her step, but from the wind that flowed across the mountain range. Her hair whipped against her face, the artificially darkened strands startling her. There had been no mirrors anywhere they'd stayed; she had yet to see herself in more than the gleaming surface of one of Gil's blades, and those reflections left much to be desired.

He crowded close behind her, urging her onward. “Do not hesitate.”

She hadn't meant to. She freed a hand from the sewing basket and gripped the rope on one side. It was thicker than she'd imagined from her adventure novels. Her hand couldn't encircle it, and that something so heavy could sway so hard made her stomach lurch worse than the motion itself.

The farther they progressed, the worse it moved. The ropes were strong and the boards underfoot stable, but the motion made her stagger. Gil leaned close and pulled the basket from her hand. “Go.”

How far was it? She fixed her eyes on the far end of the bridge and tried to ignore the way the middle bucked and heaved with each gust. The wind stirred the fog below and she dared not look down, lest she catch sight of the ground between patches of mist.

Something moved at the other end. A vile oath escaped behind her, the words too heavy for the wind to carry them away.

“I heard that,” she said.

Instead of the sort of sarcastic quip she'd come to expect from him, Gil responded by gripping her arm and hurrying her along faster. She stumbled and her stomach dropped so hard, she thought she might fall with it. He didn't let her. Instead, he pushed her to run, though the way the bridge swayed and lurched made the hair on arms and every strand on her head all stand on end.

The second time she stumbled, she turned her head to beg he let her go, but her eyes fell on a shadow behind them and fear tangled her legs. She couldn't get up, yet couldn't make herself sit down.

“I know,” Gil breathed as he hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her back to her feet. He lifted her as easily as the sewing basket and she braced a hand against his chest as he righted her. She'd expected the muscle, given his strength, but to feel it beneath her palm was something else entirely. It sent an unexpected wave of comfort through her body, leaving a warm tingle like the touch of magic in her hand.

He didn't give her a chance to wonder. Nor was it an ideal time for it, because the shadow behind them resolved into a bundled figure, and the shape at the other end of the bridge split into three.

Gil still urged her forward. Had he been alone, she didn't doubt he would sprint the whole way. The swaying kept her from meeting his demands and he restrained himself to stay at her side. His arm remained around her, but his hand no more than brushed her side. It felt different; she glanced down. He had a knife. There was one in his other hand, too. When had he drawn them? She hadn't felt him pull away.

“They mean to trap us near the other side. They'll demand our money and supplies and threaten to throw us off the bridge if we refuse.” Gil's footing was sure, stable. No matter how his cloak snapped in the wind, he remained unruffled. Thea abandoned the idea of holding the rope sides of the bridge and clung to him, instead. His brows drew together in clear consternation. “I won't be able to fight if you do that.”

“And I won't be able to stay on this Light-forsaken bridge if I let go.”

The sound he made was nothing short of aggrieved, but he pressed onward.

The bandits closed in from both sides.

To Thea's relief, only two had joined them on the bridge. Their added weight kept it from swaying so hard and together, she and Gil moved faster.

“You'll go no further,” the bandit ahead of them shouted.

“Farther,” Gil replied.

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