Page 4 of On Brutal Thrones

“I doubt this is how the gods designed this challenge,” Thorian says, sighing and sitting down, then dropping his head into his hands. “It’s my fault you all are trapped here. My father is surely meddling, working against us, all because he can’t stand the thought of me winning.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I swallow, wishing I hadn’t already finished the last of my canteen. As though he can see what I’m thinking, Talon wordlessly holds his out to me.

“No, that’s okay⁠—”

“Take it,” he says. An order.

Reluctantly, I accept it and bring it to my lips, relief coursing through me when the water soothes my dry throat. When I lower the canteen, all three of them are staring at me. There’s concern in their faces, layered with an emotion I can’t quite name. Fenric gives me a small, encouraging smile. Talon reaches out and squeezes my hand before taking the canteen back, while Thorian holds my gaze with the quiet steadiness I’ve come to rely on.

Even here, at death’s doorstep and trapped in an impossible situation, they’re worried about me. These men have become so much more to me than companions in the Trials. Somewhere along the way, through every fight and every moment we’ve kept each other alive, I’ve come to love them. And after last night, after everything we’ve shared, I know they care just as deeply for me.

Thorian stares at the wall he’s already tried to break through more times than I can count, his expression hardening. “What I wouldn’t give for a demi-god of nature right now. Someone who could convince these roots to tear this place apart instead of holding it together.”

Fenric gives a tired laugh from where he sits against the wall. “Or a fae. They’d have us out of here before Talon could complain about the dark again.”

“Unfortunately, the gods took care of them a long time ago,” Talon says. “Being able to manipulate the natural world apparently made them a threat the gods couldn’t allow.”

I go completely still.

Fae.

My gaze drifts to the roots twisted around the crystals, then to the stone beneath my boots. I’ve spent hours watching Fenric test theories and Thorian batter himself against the walls, waiting for one of them to find the answer because they’re stronger than I am. More powerful. More experienced.

But perhaps strength isn’t what this place requires.

My magic itches beneath my skin.

I’ve felt the roots since we came down here. Not consciously, not until this moment, but now that I reach for that awareness, they’re everywhere. Tiny threads of life wind through the earth, alive despite the crystals surrounding them. And unlike Thorian and Fenric, I don’t feel weaker here. My magic is still there, warm and restless beneath my skin.

“I might be able to get us out.”

Three heads turn toward me.

Fenric pushes himself straighter against the wall. “What?”

My heart pounds so violently that I can feel it in my throat. My mother’s voice rises in my mind with perfect clarity. Never use your magic. Never show anyone what you are. Never give them a reason to look too closely.

She taught me those rules before I was old enough to understand why they mattered. I followed them as best I could, but she never understood how impossible it was to ignore a piece of myself. Whenever I had the chance, I searched my father’s study for anything about magic, devouring books on channeling it through symbols and learning how to call it without them. Always alone. Always careful.

And never, ever telling anyone what I was.

“Nyx?” Talon prompts, and some of his usual humor has disappeared.

I look at the three of them. At Fenric, pale beneath the flush spreading across his cheeks. At Thorian, exhausted in a way I’ve never seen him before. At Talon, watching me with concern written plainly across his face.

If I stay silent, we might die here.

Standing, I take a deep breath. “I’m fae.”

Silence crashes through the cave.

For several heartbeats, nobody moves. Talon’s lips part. Whatever response he was preparing, it apparently abandoned him. Fenric slowly lowers the crystals he’d been holding, while Thorian simply stares at me.

“You’re what?” Talon finally asks.

“Fae.”

“I heard the word.” He looks at Fenric, then Thorian, as though one of them might explain how it’s possible. “I’m questioning the part where you’re standing here alive.”