Page 47 of On Brutal Thrones

6

Nyx

My feet carry me faster than I’m convinced they can.

Behind me, Fenric roars. The sound tears through the field, followed by Talon’s snarl and Thorian shouting something I can’t make out. Every instinct tells me to turn around.

I don’t.

Thorian told me to run, and for once, I understand why. Talon wants my blood. Fenric has gone berserk. As long as I’m standing there bleeding, I’m giving Talon a reason to attack, and Fenric another person to rip to pieces.

So I run.

Blood splashes around my calves. Sweat burns my eyes. My wounded arm throbs in time with my heartbeat, and blood continues to slip down my skin.

But the trees are getting closer.

I focus on them. Not Talon. Not Fenric. Not what might be happening behind me. Just on the trees.

I can reach them.

A bat shrieks overhead, and I duck instinctively, but I don’t stop. Another swoops past, close enough that the rush of its wings stirs my hair.

“Not today,” I gasp.

A few days ago, I might have screamed. I might have frozen and waited for one of the men to save me. Not anymore. I just tighten my grip on the sword and keep running.

The blood finally grows shallower beneath my boots. My next step hits mud, then grass, and suddenly I’m stumbling onto solid ground. The relief is so sharp I nearly laugh.

I made it.

Then the sunlight disappears, and I look up. The bats have moved to follow me. They gather above in a swirl of darkness.

“Of course.”

One dives.

I swing Thorian’s sword.

The blade whistles through empty air, its weight dragging my shoulder around with it. I nearly lose my footing before managing to catch myself.

Another bat comes from the opposite direction. I duck as claws snap through the air where my head was a heartbeat earlier. The sword isn’t going to work. That realization doesn’t frighten me as much as it should. Because I have another weapon now.

I turn and run beneath the trees.

Cool air washes over me as I plunge into the forest. The smell changes almost instantly, blood and rot giving way to damp earth, moss, and crushed leaves. Shade closes around me, and after the brutal sunlight reflecting off the red field, the sudden darkness makes me blink.

The bats follow.

Their wings beat behind me as I race deeper between the trees, and branches whip across my face and catch at my clothes. I can hear them gaining.

I stop. Not because I’m helpless, but because I have an idea.

I shove Thorian’s sword point-first into the earth and lift both hands. The forest is alive around me. I can feel it now. Roots beneath my feet. Vines crawling along the trunks. Branches stretching overhead, every one of them carrying that same quiet pulse I felt in the cave and beneath the mud dog.

I reach for it. Help me. Magic surges through my hands. Above me, branches groan, and I stare upward as they begin to move.

Thick limbs bend toward one another, leaves trembling as smaller branches twist together. Vines climb between them, filling the gaps. More branches join them until the patch of blue sky above me disappears behind a dense ceiling of wood and leaves.