Page 156 of Of Nine So Bold

“Oh… shit,” I whispered.

Lars glanced at me. “What?”

I couldn’t find the words. The aqueducts were blocked, yes. Chances were, they had been for years. And while that had been a problem at first, now it was a damn good thing.

Because even I couldn’t breathe underwater.

Ozias gave a quiet rumble of misgiving, and my eyes snapped to him. “You picking something up, Oz?” I asked under my breath, praying he had a better answer thanwe need to run like hell, which was all that was going through my head right now.

Except that wouldn’t help Gwyneira or Niko or Roan or…

Gods-fucking-dammit.

“You conspiring back there, dwarves?” one of Norbert’s buddies snapped.

Norbert scoffed. “Probably. Shut up, runts. Nobody needs your opinions on how to dorealgiant work.”

“Need I remind you,” Casimir called before I could tell that bastard to go to hell, “that you are addressing the royal advisors of the king of Zenirya? Unless you wish me to inform your duke that you decided to start a war because you thought yourself wiser than him, you will cease speaking immediately.”

The two asshole giants glared, while that cowardly bastard Brock didn’t say a damned word.

And Ignatius studied us like we were all a math problem he was trying to solve.

Fuck them all. I turned my attention back to my friends. “Oz, what are you feeling?”

A low grunt of discontent left Ozias. “A hundred more yards to the problem.”

Problem. Right. That was one way of putting it.

Holy-fucking-shit-we’re-deadwas another.

“You have an exceptionally strong gift, do you not?” Ignatius asked Ozias thoughtfully.

Not answering, Ozias started walking again. My friends and the larger giants did too, leaving Ignatius to follow.

“You good?” Lars asked me softly.

I huffed out an incredulous breath. Good? Fuck no. I wanted Ozias to tell me I was wrong. To say he had a plan.

Fuckingsomething.

But of course he hadn’t said more. On a good day, the guy rationed words like my parents used to ration our food.

Greedy brats. Dwarves don’t need to eat three times a day. Give it to Brock. He’s the onlyrealgiant here.

My teeth ground at the memory of ducking their hands when they swung to hit us. Sometimes that’d even worked.

Other times, Lars or I had to hide yet another broken bone.

Because our wounds only proved one more way in which we weren’t good enough, and no one in my parents’ circle would’ve helped or been sympathetic to how our family treated us. After all, nobility didn’t suffer such petty, common injuries.

“Breathe,” my twin brother murmured.

“You breathe.”

I didn’t need to look at him to feel his exasperated expression. And fine, yes, my response was childish.

But surely he could understand why?

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