Page 87 of On Brutal Thrones

We still have no way of knowing who sent them. They could be from Valtor. They could drain our strength the second we use them, or carry some curse designed to finish us off when we’re within sight of victory.

But they’re weapons.

And right now, they’re hope.

I reach for the dagger. The hilt settles into my palm, solid and familiar, and some of the panic inside me eases.

Think about your sister.

“The first time I saw you,” Thorian says, his voice steady, “you were standing before the gods, asking them to return your sister to you. You could have been killed for defying them so openly, but you did it anyway. Because you love your family. Because you’re strong.”

His certainty makes my throat tighten all over again.

“You got us through the Trial of Souls,” Fenric says softly. His gaze goes distant, and I know he’s thinking of those children. “You’re the toughest person I’ve ever met, Nyx. It’s easy to act like nothing scares you when you’re big, when you know how to fight. You’ve never had those advantages, and you keep going anyway. You’re formidable.”

“And the crystal trap underground. The flowers.” Talon gestures toward the forest behind us. “You got all of us through those. You protected us.” His blue eyes hold mine. “We owe so much to you, Nyx.”

Heat rises into my cheeks.

My first instinct, trained into me over years of being a proper lady, is to deny every word. To laugh softly, hide behind a fan, and insist they’re giving me far too much credit.

But I’m not that woman anymore.

I’m here… covered in dirt and soot, exhausted beyond anything I thought I could endure, holding a dagger that may or may not have fallen from the heavens.

And I’m still here.

I’m going to be the first lady to win the Trials. I’m going to get my new family through this, get my sister back, and bring them all home.

“Okay.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks and push myself to my feet, sliding the dagger into my sheath. I meet Thorian’s gaze, then Fenric’s and Talon’s. “Enough moping.”

They laugh, and just like that, some of the terrible heaviness breaks.

Fenric reaches me, pulling me into his arms. Talon joins us, then Thorian, until I’m surrounded by them, warm and cool and solid, the four of us still together despite everything the Trials have done to tear us apart.

For a moment, I let myself hold on.

Then we separate, and Talon and Fenric retrieve their weapons from the chest.

“All right.” Thorian looks toward the Obsidian Spire, its dark shape silhouetted against the growing light of dawn. “I think we all know which direction to go.”

I follow his gaze. We’re so close.

Together, we leave the scorched remains of our camp behind and walk toward the Spire.

12

Thorian

This close to the Spire, the air practically hums with its energy. I feel it against my skin, a faint vibration that seems to travel up through the soles of my boots. Even the air tastes different, sharp and almost metallic.

It’s so close I can fucking taste it.

I’ve never made it this far in the Trials before. The thought should feel triumphant. Instead, it feels strange.

When I first formed a team with Nyx, I was desperate. There was no brilliant strategy behind it. In every Trial before this one, I’d sought out the strongest competitors I could find. Powerful magic wielders. Skilled warriors. People I thought could get me to the end.

They never did.