Ikelos (The Ephemeral: Book 2)

Chapter 37

Shivering in my snow-crusted boots, I stared up at the skinny trail hugging the mountain. It looked like an Olympian god had run their nail across the hillside and etched a narrow, hazardous ledge into the rock. 

The slope didn't compare to the sheer cliffside I'd encountered last night, but one tumble down the mountainside would mean certain death—as was the case for most obstacles we'd encountered.  And with the wind sapping heat from my bones and motivation from my soul, I had to wonder if Siren had actually lost the path and decided to carve her own route, or if our ancestors had been foolish enough to claim this perilous, insufferable traverse.

"This is why no one takes the Northern Pass," Mason hissed in my ear.

I elbowed him into silence.

"We should clear the peak before nightfall," Siren announced to the crew, her dark hair riding the ferocious wind and dancing with its currents.  She looked like a Viking in her blood-red cloak and armor—a demigod born of Ares—and I wished I could simply stand there and emanate such formidability. "We agreed to rendezvous with the others before the new moon, and we're already behind schedule."

"I'm sure the captain would wait another day if it came to that," Beckett reasoned, sparing a glance at her exhausted comrades.  "We can send a rider to Havenbrooke as soon as we're able."

"That Mother Hen's an anxious wreck about the kids," she dismissed.  "If I can help it, I won't subject him to more panic than necessary."  Pulling her crimson hood over her head, she turned to face the summit.  "He's intolerable enough already."

And with that, she trudged onward, pregnancy and aching muscles cast aside in her mission to save a nation. 

Victor marched on beside her, grinning ear to ear because his wife had finally surrendered her pack for him to carry—an act of faith, a sign of progress.  And Jo, lover of arduous activities, was happy to follow suit.

But the rest of us didn't share their enthusiasm. The buccaneers, as daring as they were, did not come equipped or acclimated for alpinism, and none of them looked particularly eager for this icy escapade in the clouds.  Mason was freezing to death in his leathers, and I just wanted to go back to sleep. 

And then there was Will, standing in the rear of the group, looking about ready to fling himself off the mountain. 

Mason and I waited for the prince to resume hiking before falling in line behind him, our boots pressing into deep, trusted footprints.    "Do you want to talk about it?" I probed quietly, but like my previous attempts, I received no response.

I'd had a lot of explaining to do when we returned to camp last night. Half the crew had stared at us in bewilderment, and the other half had seized their weapons. But once I'd explained the miraculous exorcism, suspicious eyes had turned wondrous, and a firing squad of questions murdered the last of my energy reserve.

While Torian observed my silver split-ends, Mason and Siren took turns interrogating Will about his personal history and life in Ells. Arguably, the demon would have had access to such details, but I guess the questions brought some comfort to them anyway.  

When they finally reached the consensus that Will had returned to us, Siren yanked him to her breast and kissed the crown of his head, surprising everyone with her outward affection.  Will didn't exude much of an emotional reaction, obviously, but he'd hugged her back, and that picture of them together—a teary foster mother and her son—was enough to temper my guilt for the night.

Twelve hours later, my fears had been given time to resuscitate, and now, as I studied the rigid spine of my companion, I worried where my actions had left him.