Page 72 of On Brutal Thrones

He throws himself aside a heartbeat before the liquid sprays past him.

Magic flashes ahead.

“Talon, to your right!”

His sword comes up just in time.

My vision swims, and I blink hard. The trees are so close now. Maybe thirty feet. Twenty-five. We can make it.

“We need to go!” I shout. “Stop fighting them and get to the trees!”

Thorian understands first.

“Move!” he bellows. “Don’t chase them. Stay together!”

Fenric immediately backs toward me, spear held between himself and the nearest Vulture. Talon starts doing the same. Good. Good. We can do this.

Then Magnus appears directly in front of me, and I stop so abruptly my boots skid through the dirt. He’s only a few feet away.

“I’m really fucking tired of you,” he spits.

His hand rises.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My blood turns cold, so I try again. But, there’s no sound.

Magnus smiles.

He muffled me.

Behind him, the trees are right there. I can see shadow beneath their branches. Safety is so close I could probably reach it in seconds.

If he weren’t standing between me and it.

I step backward. Or try to, but my legs don’t move.

Panic hits hard and fast. I look down, but there’s nothing around my ankles. No vines. No roots. It’s magic.

He’s holding me in place too.

Magnus raises his other hand, and orange light gathers in his palm. Fire. Real fear punches through me. I can’t scream. I can’t run. The guys are fighting somewhere behind me, and I can’t even warn them.

The fire in Magnus’s hand grows brighter. His grin widens. For one horrible second, I freeze. Then I feel a root move beneath my boot. The plants. I can still feel them.

Magnus stopped my voice. He stopped my body. He didn’t stop my magic.

I reach. Not for the rune. Not for the path. For them.

The field crashes into my awareness. Roots. Vines. Flowers. Leaves. Hundreds of living things surrounding me, still agitated from the magic tearing through them.

And beneath that agitation, I sense something else. Recognition. They know me. Maybe not as a friend. Maybe not even as anything they understand. But they know I’m not the one hurting them.

Magnus is.

The fire leaves his hand. I throw everything I have into the connection. Help me. The field moves. A flower slams down between us. Magnus jerks backward, and the fireball crashes into its thick stalk instead of my face.

The plant doesn’t burn.

Magnus’s eyes widen.