Page 78 of On Brutal Thrones

“It’ll be good,” Fenric says.

He sounds so certain that I open my eyes and look at him.

“Yeah?” I ask, wondering if he truly thinks that.

“Here.” He rises and steps toward the edge of camp. A moment later, he disappears into the trees.

Thorian immediately looks after him.

“He’s fine,” Talon says.

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m sure he’s not going far,” Talon argues.

“Any distance is too much in the Trials.”

I laugh softly. Thorian is protective of Fenric. It’s pretty cute.

Fenric returns moments later with something pale between his fingers.

“Night-blooming moonlocke,” he says. He kneels beside me and gently tucks the little white flower into my hair. His fingertips linger against my temple for just a second, his skin almost startlingly warm after Talon’s cool touch. “It’s supposed to bring good luck. I saw it earlier.”

My throat tightens unexpectedly. “Thank you.”

Fenric smiles. “You’re welcome.”

I reach up and touch the flower carefully. Its scent is soft and sweet. Then I remember the field. The flowers. The mice. A laugh escapes me.

“It’s a little morbid, isn’t it?”

Fenric looks confused.

“Flowers and mice.”

That gets all three of them laughing.

Thorian shakes his head. “You should start learning to leave some of these memories here.”

I angle my head enough to look up at him. “Is that what you did after each Trial?”

His expression shifts.

“No.”

I wait.

He looks toward the Spire. “I always knew I’d come back.”

That answer lands harder than I expect.

“But maybe this time,” he says, quieter, “I won’t have to.”

My fingers close around his wrist. I don’t say anything. I don’t need to.

For a while, the only sounds are the fire crackling and the rabbits sizzling over the flames. Then I reach down and touch the hilt of my golden dagger.

“What do you think these weapons do?”