Page 110 of Starside

The bridge is where we sleep, the stone so narrow we’re forced to lie side by side, our blades between us. Raker’s body almost makes it all the way across.

I drew more of the map for him, but he hasn’t told me where we’re headed. I open my mouth to ask, and he turns, giving me his back.

Right.

I stay on my spine, tired and starving. All that practice drained my energy.

How long can we go without food? Without water? I know how long I’ve gone without both on Stormside, but here? Carrying a sword like this? Traveling many miles every day? I try to do the math, to make the predictions, but my mind feels like ash in the wind.

This thirst, this hunger … it could kill me. I know that. It feels like it might. Like I could go to bed here, on this bridge, and never wake up.

Maybe that’s why I open my mouth. Why I speak to a cruel warrior who clearly wants nothing to do with me. “Are you afraid of anything, Raker?”

I feel him stiffen beside me. But he doesn’t answer.

That’s fine. I’ll answer my own question. “I’m afraid of the dark,” I say, and I don’t know why. He already thinks so low of me. Why add more to that list of weaknesses? Still, I don’t stop.

“I used to hate the night. For many reasons.” Like that guttering, ending, soul-shredding darkness when the fire that took everything from me finally extinguished. “Here, though … right now … looking up at these stars.” I stare at them in wonder. They shine so much brighter. Diamonds tossed across the galaxy like skipping stones. “I think I could learn to love the night.”

He doesn’t say a word. But he doesn’t tell me to shut up either.

“I’m afraid of water … and fire. You know the first one, I guess. Because … because I can’t swim. Almost drowning helped that fear, a little. Because that death was almost quiet. Almost quick.” The second certainly is not. My mind pulses with memories, and I move on.

“I’m afraid of dying in a stupid way, like tripping into my sword, or eating a bad berry, or dehydrating on an old bridge, next to the most miserable knight in existence.” I turn my head toward him. “Are you afraid of anything?” I ask again.

“I’m afraid you won’t stop talking, Aris,” he says.

It doesn’t hold as much bite as it could. I almost keep going, just to irritate him. I open my mouth.

I only manage to say something half sensical before being dragged into sleep.

In the middle of the night, I’m awoken by sharp stabs over every inch of my skin. I gasp and nearly choke—

Rain.

No. We aren’t that lucky. But I swallow, and yes. Clean water. It washes away the grime on my face; it sinks through my fabrics, cleansing them of the blood and mud. The cold grips my bones, but I don’t mind. I don’t mind anything at all, because finally.

I rise to my knees, tip my head back, and drink. I run my hands through the messy braids, washing it of all the grime. Then I scramble to fill my canteen. My hands tremble around it, fearing the rain will stop, but it keeps coming. I wait until water is spilling down the sides. I drink the entire thing and then refill it, before I look up and see Raker doing the same with a new canteen. His back is to me. His hood is plastered to his head. If he turned, would I see his face, or his mask? I wait to see if the fabric slips … but it doesn’t.

And neither does mine. It clings to my body. I lift my collar, trying to wash my neck the best I can, without exposing my throat. Not that Raker is looking. No, he’s very pointedly still facing the opposite direction.

This is a gift. If I was most mortals on Stormside, I would be thanking the gods. I don’t know who to thank, but I slowly rise to my feet and drink some more, feeling the cold water run through my dehydrated veins, until my shoulders finally melt, some of my tension releasing. We’re still hungry, and moving too slowly across Starside, but at least we aren’t thirsty anymore. This is a win.

I make to move, but suddenly my feet feel heavier. I look down. The riverbank is overflowing. The bridge is quickly becoming submerged.

I take a step forward—and slip. Only a hand locked around my wrist keeps me upright. Swirling black ink wraps down each finger, and I try to read the writing, the symbols, but I can’t.

Slowly, I look up, wondering what I’ll find, allowing myself hope that I might finally see him, but all I see is his mask.

And those gray eyes.

I blink, and I’m thrust back to that day, in a storm just like this one. Eyes hard and merciless as steel, staring me down. Hand gripped tightly around my wrist. Dragging me through dirt and mud as I thrashed and screamed.

I jerk back, and he drops my arm.

He turns wordlessly and stalks off the bridge. He doesn’t stop. I know what he’s thinking. If demons are so afraid of water, they won’t surface in the rain. It’s better for us to cover more ground.

Dirt slips beneath my boots as I follow Raker through the downpour, the scars on my lower back tightening—an ever-present reminder of why I can’t trust him.