Page 144 of On Brutal Thrones

He turns uphill. And runs. Not climbs. Runs.

His boots hit the black rock with impossible strength. Fire pours behind him, burning across the mountainside in our wake without consuming anything it touches.

I look over his shoulder. Fenric and Talon are following. Barely.

Talon looks completely stunned. Fenric looks like he's trying to decide whether to laugh or pray.

But Thorian doesn't slow. The Spire grows larger. Closer. Ten feet. Five. Then there is no more mountain above us.

Thorian carries me over the final ridge.

The summit opens around us, and the Obsidian Spire towers overhead. He sets me carefully on my feet.

For a second, I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't understand what I'm seeing.

We're here.

Fenric stumbles over the ridge several seconds later, bent nearly double as he drags air into his lungs. Talon arrives right behind him and braces both hands on his knees.

“Holy shit,” Fenric pants.

Talon doesn't answer immediately. He's staring at the Spire. Then at Thorian. Then at the fire still curling harmlessly around my body. Finally, he straightens.

“We won?”

I look at the Spire. At the thing we've chased through every nightmare the gods could create. Then I look at Thorian. Fire dances across his skin. His eyes are still on me.

And for the first time since the Trials began, there is nowhere left to climb.

We made it.

20

Nyx

“My boy.”

Every muscle in my body tightens. Talon, Fenric, and I turn toward the voice, but Thorian turns more slowly. Tension is visible in his body.

Valtor stands beside the Obsidian Spire with one hand resting against its black surface. His long hair moves in the lingering wind, and there isn't a mark on him. Of course there isn't. The rest of us are covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. My hands are scraped raw, my muscles are trembling, and every breath still carries the bitter taste of smoke.

Valtor looks untouched… and pleased.

Slowly, Thorian turns, and the fire still curling over his skin flares brighter. “Father.”

Nothing in the word is warm, but it's respectful.

I'm ridiculously proud of him for managing even that.

Valtor's smile widens. “There you are.”

Thorian's jaw tightens.

“I wondered what it would take.” Valtor's gaze travels over the flames dancing along his son's arms. For the first time since I've known him, he isn't looking at Thorian with disappointment or disdain. There's something far more unsettling in his expression.

Pride.

“The first of my children to manifest my fire.” Valtor steps closer. “And what a manifestation!”