Page 34 of On Brutal Thrones

“Fenric, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Fenric frowns. “Why not?”

“Because this is better.”

I turn it beneath my thumb again. “I can tell someone made it. I can feel where you wove the pieces together.”

Talon leans closer to inspect it. “So what you’re saying is that Fenric’s poor craftsmanship actually improved the finished product.”

Fenric gives him a flat look. “Fuck off.”

I laugh, and this time even Thorian smiles.

The sound eases the tension inside me.

Less than an hour ago, I thought I was going to die. Before that, I’d experienced what might have been the happiest moment of my life. Somehow, both things now exist inside me at once. Terror and happiness. The memory of falling and the weight of this ring against my finger.

Maybe that’s what these Trials have become.

Nothing good comes without the gods immediately trying to ruin it.

I bring my hand closer to my face and breathe in. Beneath the damp scent of the forest, there’s still the faintest trace of fresh birch.

Then Talon stops walking.

“Do you smell something?”

There’s enough tension in his voice that my hand immediately falls away from my face. Thorian turns. Fenric releases my fingers and raises his head. Both men take a deep breath at almost exactly the same time.

Despite myself, I laugh.

Fenric looks at me. “What?”

“You both did that at exactly the same time.”

“Did what?”

“That.” I imitate their exaggerated inhale.

Thorian’s eyebrow rises, Fenric grins, but Talon doesn’t react at all. My smile fades as I study Talon’s back.

Something’s wrong.

He’s moved so that he’s now standing a little ahead of us, his entire posture different. His chin is raised, his nostrils flaring slightly as he tests the air again. His eyes move over the scrubby trees and the path stretching ahead, but there’s no amusement in his expression.

“No,” Thorian says after another breath. “Nothing unusual.”

“Same,” Fenric says. “Moss. Dirt. Trees.”

Talon looks at me. I inhale too, more carefully this time. Damp earth. Leaves. The faint mineral scent of the river. Birch still lingers on my fingers. But I smell nothing else.

“I don’t smell anything.”

Talon’s jaw tightens.

That tiny movement wipes away the last of my amusement.

“What do you smell?”