Page 82 of On Brutal Thrones

11

Nyx

I wake to something clamping over my mouth.

Panic hits before thought does. My body jerks, a scream already building in my throat, but then my senses catch up. Rough skin against my lips. The familiar scent of oak moss. A quiet inhale close enough that I feel the movement of his chest against my back.

Thorian.

My eyes open.

It’s still the dead of night. Stars glow through the canopy overhead, and the remains of our fire cast only a faint red light across camp. If Thorian is waking me before dawn, it can’t be for anything good.

My entire body aches. I’m wedged between Fenric and Thorian, surrounded by their warmth, but I’m still shivering slightly. Yesterday’s magic left a hollow feeling inside me that sleep hasn’t touched. It reminds me of coming right to the edge of starvation, when every part of my body feels empty and weak and desperate for more.

All I want is to close my eyes again.

Instead, I force myself awake.

Thorian’s face slowly comes into focus above me, barely illuminated by the stars. He lifts a finger to his lips, waiting until I nod. Then he removes his hand from my mouth and points toward the forest before motioning for me to get up.

My heart begins to pound.

He senses magic before the rest of us. Whatever is out there, he knows about it before I can hear or see a thing.

I push myself upright, fighting a wave of dizziness as I get to my feet. My legs wobble beneath me, muscles protesting after everything I put them through yesterday, but I manage to draw my dagger and turn toward the trees.

Thorian wakes Talon next, then Fenric, covering their mouths before they can make a sound and giving them the same warning.

Around us, the forest seems perfectly normal. Crickets chirp somewhere in the darkness. Leaves whisper as a breeze moves through the branches. I strain to hear beyond those sounds, holding my breath, but there’s nothing.

That almost frightens me more.

Fenric and Talon look as bad as I feel. Fenric pushes himself upright with a grimace, still recovering from going berserk yesterday. Talon blinks rapidly and fumbles with his sword, needing three attempts before he gets it free.

None of us recovered enough overnight.

None of us has much left to give. We’ve survived the trials so far by pushing ourselves past our limits, but even Thorian can’t keep going forever.

If there’s another beast waiting in those trees, this might be the worst possible time to face it.

Images of enormous flowers flash through my mind, and I shudder. At least those were rooted to the ground.

Thorian grips my shoulder and turns me toward him. He makes a circular motion with one finger, then points toward the forest.

I stare at him.

He does it again.

I shake my head.

His mouth tightens. He tries another series of gestures that mean absolutely nothing to me. From the blank expressions on Talon and Fenric’s faces, they aren’t doing any better.

Thorian closes his eyes for a second, visibly exasperated. Then he draws a breath and opens his mouth.

A fireball tears through camp.

The explosion of sound is so violent I flinch before I even understand what I’m seeing. The fireball strikes a tall pine behind us with a deafening crack, and flames race up the trunk almost instantly.