Page 63 of On Brutal Thrones

“Perfect,” Thorian mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “So how the hell are we making it through there?”

His gaze meets mine. He doesn’t need to say the rest. We both look at Nyx.

After everything that happened in the blood field, the thought of taking her into that living nightmare makes every protective instinct I possess rise at once. Except I know I can’t keep her away from this. We all have to make it to the other side.

The question isn’t really how we keep Nyx out of danger. There’s no keeping any of us out of danger anymore.

It’s how the four of us make it through alive.

9

Nyx

For several minutes after the Vultures disappear into the trees, none of us says anything.

The field settles almost immediately after their escape. The enormous flowers slowly straighten, vines retreat beneath the grass, and the smaller plants fold back into themselves until everything looks deceptively peaceful again.

It’s disturbing how quickly it happens.

A few moments ago, the field was trying to tear the warlocks apart. Now the towering stalks sway lazily beneath the sunlight as though none of it happened.

“So,” Talon says beside me. “I assume walking around it isn’t an option.”

“No.” Thorian’s answer comes immediately.

Fenric looks toward the distant edge of the field. “We don’t actually know that.”

Thorian gives him a flat look. “We do.”

Fenric sighs. “Right. Gods.”

I almost smile.

We’ve all learned enough by now to know how this works. If we try walking around the challenge, the gods will simply make certain we don’t succeed. The field could stretch for miles. The forest could bend us back toward it. Another obstacle could appear. It doesn’t really matter how they do it.

We’re meant to cross.

The only question is whether we’re also meant to retrieve the weapons glittering near the center.

Talon studies them from where we stand. “We could forget the weapons and do what the Vultures did. Get through as quickly as possible.”

“They nearly died doing that,” Fenric points out.

“Yes, but they didn’t.”

“An inspiring standard.”

Talon glances at him. “Alive is a standard I’m okay with.”

“But we don’t have their magic to keep us alive,” I say.

Thorian ignores both of them, his attention fixed on the field. “Those weapons were placed there for a purpose we’ve yet to discover.”

If the gods put weapons in the center of a field designed to kill us, there’s probably a reason. Maybe we’ll need them later. Maybe they’re the only weapons capable of killing whatever waits beyond this challenge. Or maybe they’re bait meant to tempt us into acting stupidly.

With the gods, all three possibilities seem equally likely.

“So we go for them?” I ask.