I kiss my fingertips and then press them against the still-open window to Griffin. As I drop my hand, I wipe the scene from the stone. I won’t leave any part of him here when I go.
My lightning strike still marks a slashing door in front of me over the valley. The blaze intensifies, as if beckoning me, and my heart pulls me straight toward it. I take a step toward the edge of the ledge. I don’t have any idea how this works, and I can’t see anything beyond the bright tear in the air, but I know Thalyria is on the other side. I hope if I concentrate hard enough on Griffin, I’ll go to him first.
Soon, though, because I’m not done here yet.
I turn to Prometheus. This is going to be tough.
“Fly,” he whispers when our gazes connect. His eyes are bright and alive with something for the first time since the fog lifted and revealed the tortured Titan. It’s happiness. Hope. Not for himself, but for me.
I smile, my own joy reaching out to meet his. “Not without you, my friend.”
Two flaps of my wings take me across the space that’s separated us all this time. I hover before him, the steady beat of my feathers fanning us both. Prometheus flinches away from me, pressing himself against the cliff. I understand—a winged creature coming at him usually spells pain and organ loss.
“Look at me.” I keep my voice soft but firm.
Slowly, he turns his head, his eyes uncertain now.
“Do you know the world of Thalyria?”
He shakes his head, making me wonder where he roamed before he ended up in Tartarus. His story certainly spread. As did his gift of fire.
“Thalyria is my world. I want to take you there. Will you come with me?”
His eyes dart to one of the thick chains holding him tightly against the rock wall and then back to me again. I read the question there. His four limbs are shackled to the cliff.
“I’m going to melt the chains off you. It might hurt.”
His stare is blank for a moment, but then he gives a quick nod, little more than a jerk of his bearded chin.
I glance at the air behind me, assuring myself that my vertical door home continues well down toward the valley floor. Once the Titan is loose, we won’t be going up—or even out very far. Wings or no wings, with his weight, we’ll drop.
Lowering myself, I say, “I’m going to start with this foot.” I touch his bare ankle, finding the skin under his bindings so callused and tough that I wonder if he’ll even feel the burn through the thousands of years of thick, hard skin he’s built up. “Ready?”
I don’t wait for his answer but call power to my fingertips and try to control the surge of lightning as I grip the shackle with both hands and pull. The metal glows red-hot and grows malleable. I rip it apart, freeing Prometheus’s foot. His skin does blister from the heat, and I’m sorry for it, but he doesn’t say a word. As for me, I feel no pain or burn.
Gently, I guide his big foot onto the peg-like anchor fixing the chain to the cliff. “Put your weight here,” I tell him.
Beating my wings to hover steadily, I free his other foot. Slowly, Prometheus bends his knee enough to balance his weight atop the chain’s anchor without my help. I hear his bones creak as he moves, and then he groans. He’s standing for the first time in millennia. The angle on his arms shifts, and he groans louder still, probably as much in pain as relief. Like me, he doesn’t appear to have changed from his original state in any way besides forming the calluses under his bindings. His body is strong and hard, beautifully sculpted and muscled—and likely as heavy as an ox. His mind, though… I have a feeling it’s not nearly as intact.
A gentle push on the air brings me to eye level with his right wrist. I melt the shackle off, leaving more burns in exchange for his freedom. I press the now-dangling chain into Prometheus’s trembling hand. “Hold this for balance. Don’t let go.”
I look him hard in the eyes, trying to get him to focus on me and maybe stop shaking. He’s going to rattle us both off the cliff.
“I need your help,” I say. “It’s very important. Prometheus?”
He blinks, glances away from me to look at his giant hand gripping the chain, and then brings a steadier gaze back to my face.
“I don’t think I can hold you up.” Actually, I know I can’t, but there’s a difference between outright lying and not being abysmal. “You need to send us into that light. You see it, don’t you?”
His eyes jerk to a spot beyond my shoulder and then shift down. He nods, another quick dip of his chin.
“After I free this hand, you grab me, and you push us off the cliff. You push us right into that light.” The muscles in his legs are enough to make three times the leap I ever could. I just hope they’re not too stiff to work. “I’ll do my best to fly and guide us, but we’re going to fall. You understand that, right?”
“Fly,” he whispers, and my heart clenches so hard it stops.
I nod. “Yes. Fly.” Gods, I hope so, anyway. “Flip us so that I’m on top.”
He nods again, understanding that he needs to twist us in the air, or we’ll end up performing an experiment in upside-down wing use that’s sure to end poorly.
“What…about…on the…other side?” Prometheus asks haltingly.
Emotion rips through my chest and steals my breath. It’s the first time he’s said anything but fly, and to me, his rusty voice is sweeter than a song.
“I’m going to think really hard about arriving down low,” I answer. “And hope for the best.” Because really, what else can I do?
His eyes search mine, and for the first time, I notice their color—a rich hazel that seems to mix every palette of the earth and sky. Back to a whisper, he says, “Thank you.”
I smile, even though this huge, generous, damaged male tears me up inside. “Don’t thank me yet. We still might fall to our deaths.”
He frowns, and his hand twitches like he wants to release his grip on the chain and reach for me. He doesn’t. “Don’t say that, firebird. I would let go of you first.”
And then I would fly. Oh Gods damn it, I’m going to cry. Prometheus—ever selfless, willing to sacrifice his eternity for the comfort of man.
I swallow, my throat thick. Well, his punishment is over. Today, I make sure his life begins again.
“Don’t you dare let go,” I say fiercely, my voice unsteady and low. “We’ll make it out. Together.”
He doesn’t deny or confirm. He doesn’t even give me that bumpy jerk of his chin.
“Ready?” I ask, taking hold of the final chain and letting my hands begin to heat. I don’t wait for an answer any more than I did the first time. I melt the metal until I can pry it apart, and Prometheus grabs the loose chain, steadying himself.
We’re not touching yet, but I see and feel him gathering himself before me, getting lower and winding up tight so that he can spring off his footholds in one sudden burst.
I take a deep breath. Here goes everything. “Go!” I shout.