Page 146 of On Brutal Thrones

“Lyra.”

Soryn looks at me.

“My sister.” My voice breaks. “Where is she?”

For one horrible second, no one answers.

My stomach drops.

“Is she okay?”

Soryn's expression softens. “Your sister is safe, Nyx.”

I stop breathing. “She's alive?”

“Very much so. She’s better than alive actually. She’s been cured from being shadow touched and is now perfectly healthy. It wouldn’t have worked to have a sickly prize, after all. She is waiting with the rest of your prizes.”

My knees buckle, and Fenric catches me. A sob tears out of my throat, followed by another, and suddenly I can't stop them. Lyra is alive. Safe.

I press both hands over my face and laugh through the tears. “She's safe.”

“She's safe,” Fenric says against my hair.

Talon's arms come around us. Thorian follows, one hand sliding around the back of my neck. For a few precious seconds, there are no gods. No Trials. No dead bodies or monsters or blood or screams. There is only the three men I love holding me while the one person I came here to save waits for me.

I did it.

No.

We did it.

Soryn looks toward the assembled gods. “I believe I owe our champions my thanks.” Her gaze returns to us. “You made me a very happy goddess today.”

Talon snorts. “Happy to nearly die so you can win a bet.”

Soryn laughs. “Oh, it was tremendous fun.”

“For you,” Talon mumbles.

“Obviously.”

Even Fenric laughs.

Soryn's expression grows more serious. “But you also gave us one of the finest Trials we've witnessed in generations. You survived everything placed before you. You defeated every opponent. And when it mattered most, you chose one another again and again.”

She looks over her shoulder at the other gods. “So, when our champions speak today, I expect everyone to remember precisely how much entertainment they've provided us.”

Several gods laugh.

“And,” Soryn adds, “how graceful I’ve been when I’ve lost in years past.”

That earns even more amusement.

“Now.” Soryn turns back to us. “You’ve earned what you came for.”

The amusement fades from the summit.

Power gathers in the air, subtle at first, then strong enough that I feel it in my bones. The black surface of the Spire gleams behind the gods, thin veins of gold sliding through the obsidian like light beneath skin.