Page 77 of On Brutal Thrones

Fenric grins. “Very impressive.”

“Shut up.”

They laugh, and the sound eases the tension inside me. I look at them again. They’re tired, bruised, and covered in little injuries. Fenric is still moving more slowly than usual, a bruise on his cheek, and scratches and bruises on his arm and neck. Thorian has fresh scrapes along his arms. Talon has circles under his eyes and scratches and bruises scattered across his body.

They’re injured, but they’re here. Alive. Because we kept each other alive. And today, for once, some of that was because of me.

The thought feels strange. Good, but strange. I’ve spent so much of the Trials surrounded by men stronger than I am, more experienced than I am, better fighters than I’ll ever be. Even when they never treated me as weak, I’ve felt like the person they were protecting.

Today was different.

They trusted me. They stepped into that field because I told them I thought I could get us through. And somehow, I did.

My fingers drift to the ring on my hand. I still can’t stop touching it. The proposal feels like it happened days ago instead of this morning. Before the pit. Before the blood. Before the flowers. Before I watched all three of them nearly die again.

My chest tightens.

Thorian must notice because his hand slides from my hair to my temple. “You’re thinking too much.”

“I’m tired.”

“And worrying.”

His palm is warm against my face, and I lean into it.

Talon’s gaze shifts past Fenric, and I follow it. The Obsidian Spire rises beyond him, black and crooked against the deepening sky like some enormous warped ladder reaching toward the heavens. My exhausted brain insists I could lift my hand and touch it.

I know I can’t.

Probably.

Still, it’s closer than it has ever been. Close enough that I can make out the uneven lines running along its surface. Close enough that victory no longer feels like an impossible word.

For a while, none of us says anything. I think we’re all looking at the same thing. Thinking the same thing.

After everything, we might actually make it.

“What will it be like,” I ask softly, “if we win?”

The question hangs in the air. I already know part of the answer. Lyra. Getting my sister back. The thought should fill me only with happiness, but fear twists through it too. There are only two teams left now. Us and the Vultures. If Magnus wins, Lyra becomes their prize.

My stomach turns.

Magnus has tried to kill me more than once. I don’t want to imagine what he might do to my sister simply because hurting her would hurt me. Lyra wouldn’t survive him. Not for long.

The thought steels my resolve. We have to win. There isn’t another option.

But beyond Lyra, there’s everything else. My family. The manor. A gilded decade where our lands thrive again and the people depending on us aren’t scraping by.

A future.

Maybe even the future we talked about last night.

Thorian eventually resumes stroking my hair. “I don’t know what I’ll be like if we won,” he says. There’s the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. “I’ve never done it before.”

I smile. His fingers are so gentle that I could fall asleep right here. He’s warm. The fire is warm. Talon’s hand is still resting on my leg.

With them around me, my body seems to understand before my mind does that I’m safe.