Page 1 of On Brutal Thrones

1

Nyx

A thunderous roar ricochets through the cave.

I flinch as Thorian throws himself against the wall of crystals again. His shoulder hits with enough force to shake the ground beneath my boots, and pink and blue shards explode outward, tangled roots tearing loose with them. I throw an arm over my face as they rain down around us, glittering in the light of our one remaining torch.

Then the dust settles.

And the wall is still there.

Worse, the walls on either side of us are still moving.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the crystal-lined passage is narrowing. Pink and blue formations cover nearly every surface, glowing faintly beneath the tangled roots that snake through the cave. They're beautiful in a deadly sort of way, especially now that we know what they do. The longer we're surrounded by them, the weaker Thorian and Talon become.

We haven't been trapped long, but it's already showing. Talon leans against the cave wall a few feet behind me, his face paler than usual, while Thorian's chest rises and falls from an effort that shouldn't have winded him. Fenric and I are the only ones the crystals don't seem to affect, which would be far more useful if either of us had Thorian's strength.

And if the walls keep closing, strength might not matter anyway.

Thorian steps back from the barrier, rolls his aching shoulder, and fixes his gaze on the crystals.

“Again,” he growls.

“Thorian…”

He ignores Fenric and backs up as far as the cave allows, which isn't far anymore. Eight steps. Maybe ten. His chest rises and falls too quickly as he stares at the wall.

He charges.

The impact cracks through the cave like thunder. More crystals shatter. More dirt rains from the ceiling, pattering against my hair and shoulders. A root snaps free and lands beside my boot.

But behind all of it is more stone. Solid. Cold. Impenetrable.

My stomach twists.

“Stop.” Fenric's voice is sharper this time. “You're wasting your strength.”

Thorian turns on him. “And sitting in the dirt has accomplished what, exactly?”

Fenric's jaw tightens.

Neither of them says what we're all thinking. Thorian shouldn't be tired. Talon shouldn’t be struggling. The crystals are making them almost human in strength. And they’re just getting weaker as time passes.

It’s not good.

I've watched Thorian fight several men at a time without seeming winded. I've watched Talon fight with all the strength and agility of a vampire time and time again. But now Thorian braces one hand against the wall, his shoulders rising and falling as he drags air into his lungs. He’s tired. His huge body is practically sagging with his effort.

Across the cave, Talon doesn't look much better. His blond hair, always so perfectly styled, is matted to his head, and there are dark circles beneath his blue eyes. He leans against the cave wall, not saying much, but exhaustion drapes over him like a cloak.

And Fenric? His dark copper curls cling damply to his forehead. Several pink and blue crystals lie scattered around him. Hours ago, he'd attacked the problem like he attacks everything else: methodically. He drew diagrams in the dirt. Collected roots and crystals. Tested theories. Talked us through every possibility as though there had to be an answer but he simply hadn't found it yet.

His latest attempt lies abandoned beside him, several crystals bound together with roots in a makeshift chain.

I shift the torch to my other hand and immediately regret the movement. My shoulder brushes cold stone.

I jerk away. The wall wasn't that close before.

A faint grinding sound comes from somewhere behind me. Stone against stone. Slow. Steady.