Page 8 of On Brutal Thrones

“What about the other competitors?” I ask. “Do you think they’re still trapped in their caves?”

Thorian glances back at me. “I don’t think that was part of the Trials.”

My stomach tightens. “You think your father did it?”

“I do.” His grip shifts on the torch. “I think he wanted to make sure we never reached the Spire.”

Everyone seems tense. The idea that that might not have even been the next trial is unsettling. The idea that a trial might still be coming is an even worse thought.

“I never want to see another cave as long as I'm still breathing,” Talon adds.

“So vampires do breathe,” Fenric mutters. His voice rumbles through the chest beneath my cheek, and a laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

Talon looks offended. “Of course we breathe.”

“Interesting.”

“What's interesting?”

“Just confirming a theory.”

“What theory?”

“That vampires breathe.”

Talon mutters a curse under his breath. “Fucking propaganda.”

I laugh again, and this time it pulls unpleasantly at my aching body. Fenric adjusts his hold on me, careful not to jostle me more than necessary.

“Don't encourage him,” Talon says.

“I didn't say anything,” I manage, but I’m holding back more laughter.

“You laughed. That's worse.”

I settle my head back against Fenric's chest, letting his comforting heat seep into me. It's almost enough to make me forget how cold the cave is. Almost. His curls dangle above me when he looks down at me, checking on me again.

“I'm okay,” I assure him.

“You passed out.”

“I'm mostly okay.”

“Better.”

The easy exchange sends warmth through me that has nothing to do with Fenric's body heat. Before the Trials, I couldn't have imagined this. Being carried through a cave by Fenric while Talon complained a few feet away and Thorian led us toward whatever danger waited next.

A future image slips into my mind before I can stop it. Not this cave or the Trials, but a wonderfully ordinary life. Fenric sitting impatiently while I trim those unruly curls. Talon insisting I couldn't possibly be trusted near his hair with scissors. Thorian pretending he has no opinion on the matter while having several.

I smile at the thought.

“What's so funny?” Thorian asks.

He glances back at me, and his attention immediately sharpens. His eyes sweep over my face, searching for any sign that something's wrong.

“Nothing.” My smile lingers. “I was thinking about cutting your hair.”

Thorian slows until he's walking beside us. “My hair?”