Page 89 of On Brutal Thrones

Or perhaps Valtor had a hand in both.

If another sword appeared right now, one I knew hadn’t come from him, I’d trade this one without hesitation. My father loves interfering with the Trials, and a weapon would be the perfect way to do it.

If this came from him, it’s cursed. Not in any obvious way. Valtor would never make it that easy.

The blade won’t snap while I test it against a tree. It’ll break when I’m on my back with an enemy’s sword bearing down on mine. Or when I raise it to parry a killing blow and discover, one heartbeat too late, that my father has taken away the only thing between steel and my throat.

My hand drifts back to the hilt.

I hate doubting a weapon. A sword should be an extension of the body. Something I trust without thought. This one makes the muscles between my shoulders tighten every time I remember it’s there.

“You’re doing it too,” Nyx says.

I glance at her. “Doing what?”

“Checking your sword.”

Talon looks between us. “How reassuring.”

“It’s fine,” I say.

Nyx’s mouth curves. “That sounded convincing.”

I almost smile.

This morning, I’d awoken really early with an uneasy feeling and immediately gone to the chest. I opened it and stared at the weapons, searching for any trace of my father. If Valtor had sent them, surely I should have sensed him. Some remnant of his magic. Some connection between us.

There was nothing.

Then I realized what I was actually sensing.

Tracking magic.

I’d had only moments to wake the others before the Vultures arrived. From what I know of locating spells, they need time to lock onto a target. The longer someone stays in one place, the easier it is for the magic to narrow in on them. Movement makes that harder, especially if the target changes direction or covers ground quickly.

That was why I’d gotten everyone up and moving the second I felt the spell searching for us. I’d hoped we could put enough distance between ourselves and the camp to throw it off completely.

We hadn’t been fast enough.

My fingers brush the sword again.

There’s still the possibility that the weapons really did come from Soryn. The stars last night could have been a sign, her way of telling us the chest was hers.

But that raises another question. Why these?

The golden weapons must have been forged by the God of Blacksmithing. He may be a lesser god, but weapons are his domain. Soryn has no connection to forging that I know of.

So why replace golden divine weapons with ordinary steel?

“You know something?” Nyx asks.

“What?” all three of us answer at once.

Fenric grins at me and silently mouths, Jinx.

I roll my eyes.

“Lyra always wanted a brother,” Nyx says. She moves a few steps ahead, then turns and walks backward so she can see us. “When we were little, she used to cry to our mother about it. She desperately wanted a little brother. I have no idea why.” Her smile widens. “So she’s going to be thrilled when I bring home three of them at once.”