Chapter Twenty-Four · The Bridge of Fire

Lyra rode across a long stretch of broken ground before the mountains closed in around her. Smooth gray cliffs rose on all sides, sealing the path tight.

She reined in at the edge.

The Dead Crown opened before her, a vast, sunken basin of fire ringed with jagged black peaks like a shattered crown.

At the center, a pillar of basalt rose from the sea of flame. At its peak, the Emberhearts burned a deep, pulsing red.

A narrow rope bridge stretched from the cliff to the pillar.

Lyra didn’t step forward.

She sat on a warm rock and studied it.

Lava surged in bursts, shooting up in columns before settling back. Between the roars came brief pockets of silence.

She counted.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Enough to read the rhythm of the mountain.

Another surge died down.

Now. Move.

She stepped onto the bridge. Heat burned through the soles of her boots.

The planks creaked. The ropes pulled taut, trembling.

Below, the sea of fire churned and bubbled.

Lyra swallowed.

A fall here would end her.

She held still for a moment, feeling the bridge beneath her.

It swayed lightly, almost as if it were breathing.

When the motion eased, she stepped.

Slow.

She kept her center low, placing each foot straight along the planks.

One hand reached for the rope. It seared her palm. She pulled back.

The bridge tilted left. She shifted her hips right.

Then it tipped right, and she adjusted left, keeping her body centered.

After a few steps, she stopped again, waiting for the sway to settle before moving on.

Near the middle, heat surged upward, pressing tight against her chest.

Sweat ran down her spine.

One more step. The bridge lurched sideways.

Lyra froze.

Wrong. She’d stepped out of rhythm.

A low rumble rolled up from the mountain’s core.

The lava below burst, spitting sheets of fire.

Lyra tightened her grip on the ropes and waited.

The bridge settled back into a steady sway.

She lowered herself, knees first, then hands.

Close to the planks, the motion eased.

Heat burned through the wood beneath her.

Fire-wind lashed over her head. The smell was sharp, choking.

“Tch.”

She pushed herself up and tried to move faster.

The bridge snapped hard to one side. Her spine wrenched with it.

Her footing slipped, arms flying wide.

The little cake tucked beneath her belt came loose.

It turned once in the air, then vanished into the sea of fire below.

A red bubble closed over it.

Lyra exhaled, steadying herself.

“Shame,” she muttered. Orin had gone to the trouble.

She dropped low again and crawled on.

At last, the basalt pillar rose in front of her.

Lyra climbed off the bridge and set her feet on the cracked black stone.

One of the Emberhearts was embedded in the rock, its red light flickering like a flame trapped in crystal.

She reached out, then stopped.

It wasn’t hot. It was cold.

When her fingertips touched it, the chill drove through her skin like deep winter water.

Lyra frowned, worked it free, and tucked it securely beneath her belt.

Behind her, the mountain shuddered. A column of lava shot up in the distance.

The hiss of it sent a shiver down her spine.

Lyra turned back to the bridge.

“All right. Calm down.”

She stepped onto it again, catching the rhythm of its sway.

Far beyond the rim, her horse still waited.

“Don’t look down.”

She clenched her teeth and crawled straight across.

Heat wrapped around her shoulders, thick and suffocating.

The moment her feet hit solid rock, she pushed up and ran a few steps clear of the edge.

“Hah.”

She swung into the saddle and pressed a hand to the cold weight at her side.

“Still here.”

Lyra let out a breath.

“That was close.”

Lyra turned her horse to leave the cliff, then saw two young men at the entrance.

The one in front wore a dark cloak, a hint of fitted armor beneath it. The other followed half a step behind, likely a servant, his eyes scanning constantly.

They stopped when they saw her, then approached.

“I’m Caelor. This is Nathan.” The young man placed a hand over his chest. “A pleasure.”

He pointed toward the center.

“You came for the Emberheart?”

Lyra nodded.

He glanced at the bridge.

“Is it difficult?”

Lyra flicked her gaze toward the crater rim. A column of lava had just subsided.

“It has a rhythm,” she said. “Wait for the lava to settle.”

Nathan spoke quietly.

“My lord, we should observe first.”

“It’s fine. She made it, didn’t she?”

Caelor stepped onto the bridge.

The planks creaked.

Nathan let out a short breath and followed.

Not long after, a low rumble rose from the mountain.

Not good.

“Wait,” Lyra called.

They were already near the middle.

Lyra frowned.

The bridge began to sway. Heat surged up from below.

“My lord…”

“It’s just a bridge, Nathan. I’ve climbed higher walls than this.”

They took a few steps forward.

Lyra’s grip tightened on the reins. She didn’t move. Her eyes stayed locked on them.

The ground beneath her horse shifted.

Another surge was coming.

“Turn back!” she shouted.

Both men looked over their shoulders.

The bridge swayed, lightly at first.

Nathan turned, stepping quickly toward the cliff.

Caelor followed, thrown off balance.

Out of rhythm.

The bridge shook harder. Both slipped, catching the ropes just in time.

“Get low!” Lyra shouted.

They dropped and scrambled forward.

“Almost there.” Nathan’s hand reached the last planks.

Lyra looked to the rim. Lava burst upward, a column of fire shooting into the sky.

A wave of heat swept across the bridge. The ropes caught fire.

Crack.

A dry, snapping sound. The smell of burning hit sharp and thick.

The bridge gave way.

The middle dropped straight into the sea of fire.

Nathan rolled onto solid rock.

Caelor went with the bridge.

His hand caught one of the planks as it swung.

He hung there, suspended over the drop, his shadow flickering in the fire below.

Nathan leaned over from above.

“My lord!”

Caelor gritted his teeth.

His grip slipped.

An inch.

Then another.

Lyra leaned forward, tracking him.

She had the Emberheart.

She could leave now. Walk away.

But...

His grip slipped again. Pain flared across his face.

Almost gone.

“He’s going to die.”

No more thinking.

Lyra wheeled her horse.

She leaned back, hauled the reins, and drove the white horse straight down the slope.

Hooves skidded on heat-slick rock. Sparks snapped under them.

The horse screamed, fighting the drop.

Gravel tore loose beneath them.

A hoof slipped.

The horse lurched sideways.

Lyra leaned with it, forcing it straight.

“Don’t let go!”

They slammed onto a jut of rock. The impact jarred through bone.

Lyra hit the ground running.

Her hand caught his wrist.

“Hold on!”

Caelor strained.

Lyra’s jaw tightened.

Her arm strained. Heat bit into her skin.

She pulled with everything she had and hauled him up.

They tumbled onto the rock.

A column of lava burst nearby.

Lyra scrambled back into the saddle, gasping.

“Up!”

Caelor climbed on behind her.

Lyra kicked the horse back up the slope.

Not enough momentum.

The horse stumbled.

They were thrown.

She hit the ground. Heat and fumes rushed into her lungs. She choked and collapsed.

The rock burned like coals. Her clothes scorched.

Caelor’s armor took the worst of the heat. He pushed up, dropped to his knees beside her, and pulled her into his arms.

He looked at her hands, blistered and raw.

Something twisted in his chest.

“Nathan. Signal!”

Nathan scrambled above, fumbling.

He pulled a flare from his pouch and struck it.

A red streak shot into the sky.

It burst like a burning star.

The mountain kept rumbling.

Lyra lay still, eyes closed.

Caelor held her tighter.

“You’re insane,” he murmured.

Not long after, the sound of hooves thundered in the distance.

A unit of riders appeared along the ridge.

Soldiers rushed down the slope. Some carried a stretcher. Others took the horses.

Worry flickered across Caelor’s face.

“She saved me.”

The commander bowed his head.

“Get them back to the Citadel.”

Ropes were thrown down.

They lowered the stretcher.

Caelor held Lyra until it reached them, then eased her onto it.

They hauled her up first, Nathan steadying the ropes from above.

Caelor followed.

Others led Lyra’s white horse up the slope.

The riders turned back.

Behind them, the Dead Crown continued to spit fire into the sky.

As if the mountain cared nothing for those who had escaped it.