Page 90 of On Brutal Thrones

“You really think so?” Fenric asks. “My sister hates having brothers.”

“Your sister grew up with brothers. Lyra has spent her entire life imagining how wonderful they are.”

Talon winces. “Poor woman.”

Nyx laughs. “I suspect you three won’t torment her quite as much as normal brothers would.”

“Oh, no,” Fenric says. “I’m absolutely tormenting her. That’s what brothers do. We’ll see how badly she wants one after the wedding.”

Nyx’s entire face brightens at the word. Her gaze drops to the ring on her finger, and she turns it gently with her thumb, smiling to herself.

Warmth blooms in my chest. It’ll be nice to meet Lyra… if she’s still alive. The thought comes so quickly that it feels cruel.

I’d clarify that Lyra is likely being cared for physically, but that the uncertainty, separation from Nyx, and pressure of being the courted prize could still be dangerous for someone who’s shadow-touched.

Nyx told us Lyra is shadow-touched. Ordinary life was difficult enough for her at home. The gods may treat the courted prize well, but that doesn’t mean these weeks have been easy on her. Being kept apart from her sister, surrounded by strangers, and waiting to learn who will claim her could take a toll on anyone. For Lyra, that kind of stress could make her even sicker. And I have no idea whether she knows what Nyx has endured trying to reach her.

Surely she’s alright still though, right? I push the thought aside.

I won’t let myself mourn a woman I haven’t even met, and I refuse to imagine Nyx reaching the end only to discover there’s no one left to save.

That’s another thing that’s changed. Once, I entered these Trials for revenge. Now I’m walking toward the Spire for Nyx’s sister. For Fenric’s family. For Talon.

For us.

Nyx is still talking, describing the wedding she imagines at the manor. She tells us again about her parents and the traditions they rejected, particularly the ancient customs built around a husband taking ownership of his wife.

“I don’t want any of that,” she says. “When we do this, I want it to be equal.”

“Of course,” I say.

Except it isn’t equal.

Not to me.

I would lay down my life for her without hesitation. I would kneel before her and worship her like a goddess if she asked it of me. I know Fenric and Talon feel the same.

And none of us would ever ask the same sacrifice from her.

But I keep that thought to myself.

Instead, I let them talk while I watch the forest. Nyx’s laughter mixes with the soft crunch of our footsteps and the whisper of wind high in the canopy. For a few precious minutes, it almost feels like we’re simply walking through the woods together.

Then white mist curls around my boots, and every muscle in my body tightens as Nyx’s laughter dies. The mist spreads between the trees, winding around our ankles in pale ribbons. The forest seems to quiet with it, even the birds falling silent.

Of course. We’re almost at the end. The gods were never going to let us simply walk there.

“Be on your guard.” I draw my sword, unease crawling over my skin. “The gods love their fucking mist. This has to be another trial.”

No sooner are the words out of my mouth than Talon groans.

“Of course it is.”

Fenric tightens his grip on his weapon. “Maybe the gods just really like mist.”

“They don’t,” I say.

A thin mist curls between the trees.