Page 81 of On Brutal Thrones

“Goody,” Talon finishes flatly.

“Hey,” Fenric says, shooting him a horrified look before tipping his face toward the sky. “We are very grateful.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Talon stands and gives the chest a little kick with the toe of his boot, more to irritate Fenric than out of genuine anger.

“You’re going to get us smited.”

Talon glances at me and winks. “Pretty sure it’s smote.”

A laugh slips out of me despite myself.

“Grab the chest,” Thorian says. He’s still watching the trees. “We should get back to camp.”

Talon raises an eyebrow. “But what if they’re not from Soryn?”

That stops all of us.

He and Fenric have just lifted the chest between them when Fenric’s expression falls.

“Oh, shit.” He looks at Thorian, then me. “They could be fakes. Valtor sends them falling out of the sky, knowing we’ll assume they came from Soryn. Then we use them tomorrow and discover they turn into snakes the first time we use them.”

“Or explode,” Talon offers.

Fenric looks horrified. “Why would you add that possibility?”

“I like to be thorough.”

My amusement fades as I look at the chest again. A few minutes ago, it felt like proof that Soryn was watching over us. Now I’m not sure what to think.

“We’ll take them back,” Thorian decides. “Fenric can inspect them tonight. Tomorrow, we decide which weapons we trust.”

No one argues.

The forest suddenly feels darker than it did before the chest fell, every rustle in the undergrowth drawing my attention. We’ve survived too much to become careless now. It would be a cruel joke to make it this close to the Spire only to die because we trusted a gift that fell from the sky.

Fenric and Talon carry the chest while Thorian stays beside me, and we make our way back to camp. At Thorian’s instruction, they wedge it deep beneath a cluster of bushes, lock it again, and cover it until I can barely tell it’s there.

By the time we return to the fire, the flames have burned low and the rabbits are a little too dark on one side.

“My rabbits,” Fenric groans.

Talon looks at them. “I think the gods have taken enough from us.”

Fenric gives him a dirty look as we settle back into our places, almost as if we’re returning to some familiar dance. My head finds Thorian’s lap again, my legs stretch across Talon, and Fenric resumes tending to dinner while muttering about ruined meat.

As the air cools, the night deepens around us, making the stars overhead shine even brighter. I stare at them while Thorian’s fingers return to my hair and Talon’s hand settles warmly around my ankle.

Maybe the chest means nothing. Maybe it wasn’t from Soryn at all. But I can’t shake the feeling that she’s up there somewhere, watching us.

Rooting for us.

Tomorrow, it’ll be us against Valtor’s team, and I know he’ll do everything in his power to stop us from reaching that Spire first. The thought sends a chill through me despite the warmth of the fire.

For once, though, maybe we have a divine on our side too.

I hope to the gods we do.