Page 12 of On Brutal Thrones

We follow him, and before long, faint daylight begins to filter through the cracks in the stone. Gradually, rock gives way to earth, then crumbling dirt, until we reach a massive boulder blocking the passage. Thorian braces his shoulder against it and shoves, grunting with the effort, and we finally emerge into the light.

It’s just before sunset, and the sky stretches endlessly above us, painted in deep orange and streaks of gold, so vast after hours and hours of stone pressing in around me that the sight of it nearly brings me to my knees.

I tip my face toward it and drag in a breath. Cool evening air floods my lungs, carrying the scents of earth and grass and growing things, and I breathe again. Deeper this time. Then again, until my chest aches with it. There’s no stale air. No stone dust coating my tongue. No walls creeping closer, no crystals glittering around me, no ceiling hanging so low I can almost feel its weight.

Just air. Sky. Space.

We made it out.

I close my eyes and let the breeze wash over me, breathing until the trembling in my body has nothing to do with exhaustion anymore. I don’t care where we are. I don’t care what the gods have waiting for us next. There is nothing above my head but an endless sky, and I have never seen anything so beautiful.

“That’s a sight,” Talon says, and we all turn around, following his gaze.

“The spire,” Fenric breathes, moving beside me and slipping an arm around my waist. I lean into him as the four of us gaze up at the Obsidian Spire.

Our objective. The landmark by which we’ve set our paths for the entire duration of the Trials. If I’m being honest, I never really expected to be this close. I just desperately wanted to survive to save my sister. To claim her as my prize at the end of this twisted game.

“When we walk away from this spot,” Thorian says, his voice deathly serious, “it will be the furthest I’ve ever come with a team.”

It’s a delicate thing, the hope balanced between us. We’ve come this far, gone through so much together. Could it actually be possible that we might survive?

That we might win?

“And, of course,” Talon mutters, indicating his head to the left, and I tear my gaze away from the spire just in time to see the warlocks pulling themselves from a crevice in the ground across the field from us. Their robes are dirty and torn, and Magnus is holding a hand over his face, body bent slightly as he walks away from the hole in the ground, but they’re alive.

Magnus, Halwin, and Antone. The three remaining members of the Vultures.

One of them turns and sees us, and Fenric tenses behind me, but the warlock just turns, fleeing into the forest with the others.

“We’re the only ones left,” Fenric says, clearing his throat, his hands tensing on me. “Us and the warlocks.”

“And Vale,” Thorian clarifies, “though she can’t win on her own.”

“And she won’t be joining another team,” Talon says. “The warlocks won’t take her, and we certainly won’t. She knows that. I imagine she’s more interested in getting out of here alive than trying to win the Trials.”

He’s right. At this point, that’s the best she can hope for. That’s better than most get, and if she’s truly committed, she could always try again.

Like Thorian has.

“Well, shit,” Talon laughs. “I’m already spending the coin we’ll win in my head. On a nice bath, I think, one that can fit the four of us⁠—”

Overhead, lightning cracks across the otherwise clear sky. A muscle in Thorian’s jaw ticks, and Talon’s expression tightens as we all look toward the distant flash. I suspect the same thought has occurred to each of us.

Valtor isn’t happy.

Maybe it’s because we survived the tunnels. Maybe it’s because we’ve made it this far at all. Or maybe Talon’s confidence that we’re going to win, beating out the Vultures, Valtor’s chosen team of warlocks, has finally gotten under the god’s skin.

Whatever it is, we’ll have to be careful.

“Come on,” Thorian says, voice tight, his face back to the closed-off, careful expression I’ve come to know him for. “We need to find somewhere to spend the night.”

3

Nyx

We don’t have to walk for long before the forest thins around us, eventually falling away to reveal a wide clearing. Thorian has been leading us alongside a river, though its size seems to change with every bend. At times, it narrows to little more than a creek, while in other places it stretches so wide I can barely make out the opposite bank. Here, it curves lazily away from us, cutting across the far side of the clearing before disappearing once more among the trees.

In the distance, the Obsidian Spire looms over everything. The sun rests almost directly behind it, casting its long shadow across the valley like the hand of a massive sundial. The sight sends an uneasy feeling through me. Our time in the Trials is running out, though whether I should celebrate or fear its end, I’m not sure.