Page 49 of On Brutal Thrones

I stop and listen. Nothing. No bats. No roaring. No men.

My stomach twists. I haven’t gone nearly far enough for the fight to be this quiet.

I turn toward the way I came, but the trees look different from this side. I search for the branches I bent together, for any glimpse of the red field beyond them. All I see are trunks and ferns.

No. I was right there.

I tighten my grip on Thorian’s sword. I need to find them, but rushing blindly through the trees won’t help. Talon and Fenric aren’t the only dangers left in these Trials.

Another faint rustle comes from beyond the trees.

I back toward the hollow beneath the roots. Whatever is out there, I’d rather see it before it sees me.

I slide Thorian’s sword beneath the bushes beside the tree, close enough that I can reach it if I need to, then crawl beneath the roots. Damp earth presses against my knees as I fold myself into the narrow space. The smell of soil and moss surrounds me, so different from the metallic stench of the blood field that I breathe it in greedily.

My dagger stays in my hand.

For a while, I do nothing but listen.

My heart slowly stops trying to pound its way out of my chest. The trembling in my hands eases. Cool earth presses against my overheated skin, and exhaustion settles over me with startling weight. Every muscle aches. My wounded arm throbs now that the rush of running has passed, and when I look down, I find the blood has slowed to a sluggish trail along my skin.

I should do something about that.

I should probably do a lot of things.

Instead, my head tips against one of the thick roots behind me, and my eyes drift closed. Just for a second.

Birdsong floats through the forest. A small creature scurries through the leaves nearby. Branches creak softly overhead, and for the first time since we stepped onto that horrible field, the world almost feels peaceful.

Then I hear footsteps.

My eyes snap open.

Every trace of exhaustion disappears. I tighten my grip on the dagger and stare through the opening between the roots. At first, I hear nothing else, and I wonder if I imagined it. Then another step crunches through the leaves.

Slow. Heavy.

Another follows.

Someone is coming.

I make myself smaller beneath the roots. Please be Thorian. The thought comes immediately, followed by another. Please let them all be okay.

A figure moves between the trees. A figure with blond hair.

My heart leaps. Talon.

Relief hits me so hard that I nearly crawl out before I stop myself. He's walking slowly, dragging one leg slightly behind him. Blood has soaked his clothes and dried across his skin, leaving him almost as filthy as I am. Even his blond hair is matted with it.

But he's alive.

“Nyx,” he calls softly.

My throat tightens. He sounds like Talon. Not the snarling creature who chased me across the blood field. Not the vampire who looked at my bleeding arm and forgot who I was.

My Talon.

“Nyx,” he calls again, his voice gentle and exhausted. “You can come out now. It’s okay.”