Page 61 of On Brutal Thrones

Every time my thoughts circle back to what happened, I look at her. She’s still here.

Eventually, movement at the edge of the field draws all our attention. A small brown mouse scurries from beneath a bush and noses at the ground.

“Oh, not again,” Nyx whispers.

The mouse moves forward.

One of the towering plants bends almost imperceptibly toward it.

“Run, buddy,” I murmur.

The mouse disappears into the grass, and a heartbeat later, the flower slams down. Nyx flinches beside me. When the plant rises again, there’s nothing left of the mouse except a dark red smear disappearing beneath the surrounding foliage.

“Well,” I say quietly. “That seems unnecessarily violent.”

It isn’t the last demonstration we get.

By the time I start to feel more like my old self, we’ve watched the flowers smash and consume several mice, a creature I identify as a pig until Fenric informs me, with irritating confidence, that it has the wrong number of toes, and finally a full-sized deer.

The deer is the worst.

One flower strikes its hindquarters and sends it crashing to the ground. Before it can regain its footing, another slams into its side. Then another. The deer tries to scramble away, legs kicking desperately, but vines catch around one ankle and drag it back.

Its cries follow us even after the flowers close around it. I hear the frantic thrashing, the wet crunch of something breaking, and another terrible cry before I turn away.

We’ve killed animals for food. I understand that survival sometimes means taking another creature’s life. But we make it quick. We don’t leave a living being screaming while we tear it apart piece by piece.

The flowers don’t seem to care whether the deer is dead before they start eating.

I look away, but I can’t stop hearing it.

Apparently, there are limits to what even a vampire wants to watch.

Each time the plants kill, clouds of pale yellow pollen burst from their centers and drift above the field. Most of it stays well away from us, but the breeze eventually carries enough in our direction that Nyx sneezes three times in quick succession.

“Bless you,” Fenric says.

She glares at the flowers. “I hate this place.”

“I’m beginning to suspect it doesn’t like us much either.”

Her mouth twitches, and seeing even that tiny hint of amusement loosens a knot inside me I hadn’t realized was still there.

Once we’ve rested, eaten, and filled every canteen, Fenric suggests gathering as much information as we can before attempting anything. For once, nobody argues with him.

We follow the edge of the field, staying well beyond the reach we’ve seen from the flowers. The air smells different here, green and damp from the stream, but the farther we walk, the sweeter it becomes. Pollen hangs over the field in a faint golden haze, catching the sunlight whenever the breeze stirs it.

Up close, I can finally get a better view of the vines. They creep along the ground between the enormous stalks. Low bushes cluster around their bases, their waxy leaves almost hidden beneath the taller growth. Nothing moves without making something else move with it. A vine twitches. Leaves turn. Flower heads slowly follow animals passing along the perimeter.

The entire field seems aware.

I don’t like that at all.

After several minutes, the angle changes enough that we can finally see farther between the towering stalks. Sunlight flashes off something near the center.

“Are those… weapons?” Nyx asks, rising onto her toes to see between Fenric and me.

I move aside to give her a clear view. The simple fact that she still wants to stand this close to me sends another wave of gratitude through me. But even from where I stand, I can see several weapons lying together in a patch of open ground near the center of the field, their metal gleaming in the sunlight.