Page 31 of On Brutal Thrones

He gives me a look that tells me exactly what he thinks of that answer.

“I will be fine,” I amend.

“You’ll be fine when I kick the crap out of Valtor, that’s for sure.”

Despite everything, a weak smile pulls at my mouth.

Fenric shifts his spear into his other hand and reaches over and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. The warmth of his palm helps, but it doesn’t stop my attention from dropping to the ground again.

I can’t seem to help it.

The earth looks perfectly ordinary beneath our feet. Packed dirt. Rocks. Twisting roots. Little patches of moss and weeds growing along the trail. There’s nothing about it that should frighten me, but I no longer trust it. A few minutes ago, I was standing in a field of flowers with a ring newly slipped onto my finger. Then the ground cracked open beneath me and there was suddenly nothing there at all.

Every time I remember it, my stomach turns.

The sound comes back first. That violent crack beneath my feet. Then the awful sensation of falling, dirt rushing past my body while the bright morning sky disappeared above me. It happened so quickly that my mind barely had time to understand I was falling before Thorian caught me.

My boot sinks slightly into a patch of softer earth.

I gasp and jerk backward.

Fenric tightens his grip on my hand while Talon spins around ahead of us.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” Heat creeps into my cheeks. “The ground moved.”

All three men look down.

“It didn’t move,” Thorian says.

“I know.”

Talon’s expression softens. “Ah.”

I hate that tiny sound because it means he understands immediately.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” I say. “I know this is just dirt and that was Valtor, but every time the ground shifts beneath me, I keep thinking it’s going to happen again.”

“It isn’t ridiculous,” Fenric says.

Thorian has stopped walking now. He looks back along the trail we’ve already crossed, then ahead, studying the ground with the intensity he normally reserves for enemies.

“This terrain is stable.”

I look at him. “You know that?”

“Yes.”

There’s no hesitation in his answer, which helps more than it probably should.

Thorian steps closer and presses the heel of his boot hard into the earth. “Packed soil. Roots underneath. No cracks. No hollow sound.”

Talon lifts an eyebrow. “Are you secretly an expert in dirt?”

“No.”

“Very convincing performance.”