“Even if we locate the path, the journey to Comman Dur will be arduous. If you’re not fit for the trip, we should turn back sooner than later.”

“Like I said, I’m fine,” she growled, a spike of anger helping to chase away a bit of the cold that had burrowed deep inside her. “Now do what you’ve been paid to do.” In truth, she was worried. She’d never felt so weak, like every step forward was a battle she was inevitably destined to lose.

His frown deepened. “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I. Trust me, if there was any other way, I would take it. But this is what I need to do. What I must do.”

Maybe it was the fervency in her voice, or maybe the words themselves, but whatever the case, something about her statement convinced him, because he turned away, soldiering forward through the forest’s thick tangle. Except now he was more cognizant of her position behind him, using his powerful furred arms to sweep branches and vines out of her path, careful not to let them snap back until she was well clear of their reach.

Then again, Bryony barely noticed his small acts of chivalry, for the deeper into the wood they traveled, the worse she felt. Black flames began to appear on the edges of her vision, hungry, burning, but every time she whipped her head around to capture them with her eyes, they vanished, only to sprout up again a few moments later. The cold still clinging to her bones was countered by a growing feverish heat in her head, beads of cold sweat forming on her brow and meandering down her face. Her steps, usually strong and certain, became staggering lunges, and if she weren’t in such a bad way, she would’ve been surprised each time her knees held her weight.

Her strength did, finally, give out the moment they reached the trail, Dagr’s exclamation of relief tempered by her sudden collapse. “We should go back,” he said, hoisting her onto his broad back and roping her arms around his massive neck, her legs around his thick hips.

“If you do, I’ll kill you. I’m an assassin, you know?” Her words were slurred, her threat barely more convincing than the mewl of a kitten just before it curled up for a nap in one’s lap.

And yet Dagr said, “Fine. Have it your way,” and continued forward.

Bryony couldn’t hold her eyes open any longer, though she tried, her eyelashes drooping into long, slow blinks until even that became impossible. On the edge of sleep, every bounce and jarring step made her want to scream.

Sleep took her anyway. Even there she couldn’t escape the flames.

She was jarred awake to shadow-smothered darkness, flinching back from the heat of the flames that felt so real she swore her skin was on fire.