Page 135 of On Brutal Thrones

“Nyx!” Thorian roars. “You need to get up!”

I smile. He’s using that voice, the same commanding tone I tried to imitate earlier. I think that’s funny, although I can’t remember why.

“Go on without me,” I whisper.

It seems like a perfectly reasonable suggestion.

“Nyx!” Talon cups his hands around his mouth. “Get on the plant!”

The instruction cuts through the fog. Plant. I know that word. There’s one nearby.

I roll onto my stomach, and every part of me protests. My arms barely hold my weight as I begin to crawl. Sharp pebbles dig into my palms and knees, scraping skin, while dust clings to the sweat on my face. The red light follows me, swirling beneath my body as though reluctant to let me go.

“Come on, Nyx!” Fenric shouts.

I drag one knee forward, then the other. The bush is only a few feet away, but it might as well be at the top of the Spire.

My elbow buckles, and I hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

“Get up!” Thorian calls.

I just keep crawling until my fingers finally close around the dry branches of the shrub, and I pull myself onto it. Then, the red light disappears.

Cool clarity rushes through me so abruptly that I gasp and roll onto my back. My vision sharpens. The pounding of my heart becomes loud in my ears, and the fog smothering my thoughts vanishes.

Oh, gods. I was just going to lie there. I was going to let the mountain drain me dry, and it felt so good that I would have let it.

Cold fear slides through me as I sit up.

“Nyx?” Fenric calls.

“I’m okay!”

All three men visibly relax. Fenric immediately starts pacing along the edge of the outcropping. Every time he gets too close, either Thorian or Talon reaches out, as though they expect him to throw himself back onto the red slope after me.

They probably aren’t wrong.

Beyond them, the Vultures are gone, but farther above, black against the churning clouds, is the Obsidian Spire. They’re getting ahead. The realization hits me like a slap.

Surviving isn’t enough anymore. There are only two teams left. If Magnus and the other warlocks reach the end first, they get Lyra.

I stare past the men toward the mountain above us, panic stirring again. We’ve spent so long trying to reach this place that I never really imagined what it would feel like when the distance finally disappeared.

We’re close. Horrifyingly, impossibly close. Close enough that every minute matters now. I can’t be the reason we lose.

“Nyx, stay there!” Thorian calls. He turns toward Fenric. “We’re going to come down and…”

“No.”

There’s a better way, I think, as a plan begins to form.

Thorian stops, and I hold up a hand. Even from here, I can see the three of them exchange looks.

Talon points at me. “I recognize that expression.”

Fenric groans. “So do I.”

Thorian simply stares at me.