Soren
Soren stood ten feet from the edge of the muddy bank. He hadn't moved since he dismounted his horse.
His hands were locked at his sides, but his entire frame was shaking. The mist from the rapids had already dampened his hair, making the dark strands cling to his forehead.
"Soren," Eira said, stepping toward him.
He didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on a single swirl in the water.
He stared at the exact spot where he had fallen a year ago. It was the mouth of a grave.
Suddenly, Soren's breathing hitched.
He lunged backward, stumbling over a tree root, his hands flying to his throat as if he were being strangled.
"I can't-" he choked out. "The air... It's water. It's all water."
He collapsed to his knees, his head dropping between his shoulders.
Eira dropped beside him, her heart hammering. She knew the signs of a lung-lock. Her father had treated travellers who returned from the border with the same wide, empty stare.
She didn't try to pull him away. She grabbed his hands and forced them against her own chest, right over her heart.
"Look at me, Soren! Not the river. Look at me."
In that moment, seeing him so completely undone, something shifted inside her.
She felt a sharp pang in her chest. It was the terrifying realization that she wanted to keep him.
She liked the way his mind worked, the way he fixed broken things… the way he loved broken things and the way he looked at her like she was the only steady thing in a shifting world.
She liked him.
And she liked him in the way that made her father's death feel like a trauma they shared, rather than a wall between them.
"Breathe with me," she commanded. "One. Two. Just the air, Soren. Just the air."
Slowly, the frantic light in his eyes began to settle. The violet glow of his lantern smoothed out into a low, pulsing hum. He slumped forward, resting his forehead against her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he rasped.
"It's ok," she whispered, stroking the back of his neck. "Just don't speak."
The moment was intimate, a quiet pocket of peace in the middle of a storm.
But it was shattered by a sound that didn't sound natural.
The snap of a dry branch near the river.
Soren's head snapped up.
He pushed Eira behind him, his hand flying to the heavy knife at his belt that Noa had given him.
Out of the thicket stepped a man in a slate-grey cloak. He carried a long-distance spyglass at his hip. His face was thin, and his eyes narrowed with the murderous intent of a bounty hunter.
"I've trailed a lot of criminals," the man said, his voice low and smooth. "Most run for the mountains. Not many are stupid enough to return to the scene of the crime."
"Who are you?" Soren demanded.
"Just a man looking for some money," the scout replied. He pulled a small, glass sphere from his pouch. It was a flare. If he cracked it, every Warden within ten miles would see it in the sky. "The Council wants the boy who murdered Master Elian. But they didn't mention he had his daughter trailing behind him like a dog."
"Leave her out of this," Soren hissed.
"I don't think I will."
The scout moved before Soren could react.
He lunged sideways, his boots skidding on the wet ground. He aimed for Eira, who was still crouched closest to the crumbling edge of the bank.
Everything turned into a blur of motion.
Soren yelled, throwing himself at the scout, but the man was faster.
He dodged Soren's heavy tackle and delivered a brutal kick to Eira's ribs.
The force of it sent her reeling backward.
Her heels hit the slick mud at the edge.
"Eira!" Soren screamed.
Time slowed down.
He watched her fall.
Eira tumbled back toward the churning green water, her fingers clawing at the air until they slammed into a jagged rock.
For a moment, she hung on the edge.
Then the ground gave way.
Eira vanished.
The sound she made was swallowed by the water, leaving only her gray cloak fluttering before the green water drowned her.
The air in Soren's lungs turned to ice.
Every cell in his brain screamed to run, to run from the sound of death below, but his feet moved toward the ledge.
He threw himself into the abyss.
Cold, absolute water surged into his ears and nose. Darkness swirled around in blood and bubbles.
Push up. Find her.
He broke the surface, gasping, his vision blurred by the murky stream.
The current was yanking at his boots, dragging him toward the large rocks at the lower rapids.
"Eira!"
The word died in his mouth.
He saw it.
A flash of lemon-yellow light bobbed in the dark water. Her lantern was still attached to her belt.
She was struggling, her head slipping beneath the surface as the screaming stream pulled her down.
Soren kicked with everything he had.
The water fought against him, dragging him toward the memories of Elian's reaching hand, but he forced his limbs to move.
He swam through the very thing that had destroyed him, cutting through the green water until he reached her.
His hand clamped onto the collar of her cloak.
Eira thrashed, her eyes wide and glassy with terror.
He hauled her against his chest, locking his arm around her waist.
He saw an old timber sticking out from the mud, just two meters from him. He reached out, his fingers scraping against the slimy, freezing wood.
He missed.
They spun, the current throwing them back underwater. He reached back again, his muscles straining, and his hand locked onto the piece of wood.
The jerk nearly dislocated his shoulder. He groaned, but he didn't let go. He pulled Eira closer, pinning her between his body and the timber.
She was shaking so hard he could feel her heart hammering against his ribs. She coughed, spitting out river water, her fingers clutching the front of his tunic.
For a long minute, they simply hung there, suspended in the middle of the water.
Soren looked down at Eira. Her lemon-yellow light was dim, flickering as water leaked into the casing.
He looked at the water rushing past them, the same water that had taken everything.
He shifted his grip, finding a footspread in the submerged rocks. Slowly, agonizingly, he began to haul them up toward the shallower bank.
Every step was a battle. He felt as if he weighed a thousand pounds, the wet cloak sagging over his body.
When his boots finally hit the solid clay of the shore, he didn't stop. He dragged her ten feet away from the water's edge before collapsing.
Eira rolled onto her side, coughing and gasping for air. Soren crawled over to her, his hands trembling as he brushed the wet hair from her face.
"I have you," he rasped, "I have you."
She looked up at him, her chest heaving.
She reached up, her cold hand brushing his face.
Soren leaned into her touch, his eyes closing.
The roar of the water was still there, but it sounded distant now.
So distant.
The violet light of his lantern, soaked and battered, began to glow with a strange, steady pulse.
But it all shattered in an instant.
A sharp, high-pitched hiss cut through the roar of the falls.
On the grass above them, the scout stood with his arm outstretched. In his hand, the small glass sphere had shattered, releasing a blinding, violent streak of light that shot into the sky.
The man grinned before disappearing back into the dense trees. He had done his job.
"The flare," Eira choked out, her voice trembling as she watched the purple smoke drift over the trees. "Soren, they'll be here in minutes."
Soren scrambled to his feet, pulling Eira up with him.
His boot slid across the wet ground, his ankle protesting against the strain.
"We have to go," Soren said, his eyes scanning the ridgeline. "The horses-"
"No," Eira said, grabbing his tunic. She pointed toward the mountains they had planned to escape through.
A second violet flare rose from the mountain pass. Then a third from the trail.
"They're already there," Soren whispered, his blood turning to ice. "The pass is blocked."
Eira looked back toward the dark horizon where Oakhaven sat. "They've sent their men to the borders."
"We can't go back," Soren said
"It's the only place they won't be looking," Eira countered. "Milla's cellar. If we go back now, we can hide until the festival begins. In the chaos of the crowds and tourists, we can slip out the western gate. It's the only way."
Soren looked at the river, then at the girl who had just nearly died in the same water that took her father.
He felt a fierce, burning need to keep her safe.
It was a feeling that had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with the heart he had thought was charred for good.
"Ok," he murmured, pulling her up.
He didn't notice the way his lantern pulsed.