Page 93 of Heart of Night
If Herinor is right and Shaelak made me something resembling a Crow—the first female Crow since the curse—that sort of magic might apply to me as well as to the rest of the Crows in this room. The shield is thin enough where Royad’s blood is leaking through. If only I could break it a few inches wide and sneak the water kissing my fingertips into the enemy part of the chamber, I could tear Katrijanov’s knife from his hands.
I don’t wait for Myron to continue his debating. Instead, I pray to Shaelak that he gifts me quick mastery of those powers he bestowed upon me and shove my magic against the weakest point in Ephegos’s shield.
The wall of energy thrums at my invisible touch, pushing back and sizzling, the glimmer intensifying, but Ephegos doesn’t seem to notice what I’m trying to do, and I call that a win. The longer my efforts remain undetected, the better the chance I have of taking down at least one of them before they openly attack.
A sideways glance from Myron informs me he noticed, though, and he twirls his fingers, sending a wave of power at Ephegos regardless of the chances of simply blasting through. “Never.”
It’s a distraction, though. While his brute power flares in front of the traitor’s face, a thinner, more subtle thread of his magic twines with mine, guiding and stroking it until it reaches the spot in front of the table where the wards are thinning. Like a delicate blade, his power peels back layer after layer of the shield while simultaneously keeping Ephegos engaged in a conversation I’ve stopped paying attention to. What use is it listening to someone whose sole goal is to undermine you until he can trap you again?
The string of water tickles my palm, straining to be released, but I don’t allow it past my shadow. It’s too soon, and I don’t want to risk Royad.
Soon, I tell it, stroking it into submission.
The glimmer fades right beneath the torture table, forming an opening for my magic, and I almost stumble at the strain of keeping control while simultaneously pushing a magic I am only beginning to familiarize myself with. I don’t wait for Myron to pull back his power but lunge. A streak of water rushes in a straight line like fire blazing along a trail of oil to the hole we’ve peeled into the shield. Myron strikes at the same time, but he chooses to attack with his sword, shoving his straight against the barrier right where Ephegos’s heart is waiting to be silenced. It buys me a moment for the water to reach Katrijanov before my attack is noticed, but not enough to make it to the general’s hands.
Ephegos blocks Myron’s blow with an earsplitting crack, and I almost stumble as Myron shakes with the strain of pushing against the traitor’s force. Katrijanov’s eyes are on the wet trail on the ground, and he shifts his knife even closer to Royad’s throat in a warning, a trickle of blood running from the tan, grime-covered skin right beneath the male’s stubbled jaw. One wrong breath?—
Focus. I need to focus, or we will all soon be strapped to a table and sliced open.
The image of that potential outcome infuses me with more courage than I thought I was capable of, and I go for Katrijanov’s calves instead, wrapping my water around the back of his knees and tugging hard enough to bring an exclamation of surprise from his throat as he sways—sways but doesn’t fall. The blade slides down Royad’s throat, cutting along the front.
Shit. Shit-shit-shit.
Blood gurgles from the Crow’s throat, and I could swear, his lids flutter once from the pain. He has moments like this. If I don’t get to him in time, his life is over.
With all I have, I tear at the general’s legs, but this time, he’s prepared.
“Herinor,” he shouts for the warrior, and Guardians be damned, he follows the order, coming up to the general’s side, still avoiding my eyes as he stares down at the male bleeding out on the table.
He doesn’t lift a finger to fight me, though. All he does is place a firm hand under the general’s shoulder to stabilize him. What I notice a mere moment later is Herinor’s other hand drifting to Royad’s arm closest to his side of the table and placing the back of his sword-clutching fist against it.
Before I can see if he’s trying to heal his fellow Crow or simply comfort him during this hour of death, power explodes on Ephegos’s side of the chamber, and debris rains from the ceiling where Myron’s power blasted through the magical barrier.
“Grab him and run,” Myron orders—not me, I realize as I clutch the edge of the wall in hopes of catching my balance.
My water is still working to bring down the general, but at least, his blade is out of reach from Royad’s throat. If Herinor would let go, he’d fall easily, but the Crow is standing there with war in his eyes as he makes his choice about whether to risk his life by allowing my efforts to come to fruition or to follow Myron’s order. Letting Katrijanov drop could be interpreted as aiding me, and that…
I don’t look as he hesitantly slides his hand away from the general then presses his mouth into a thin line of resolve, darting to cut the binds at Royad’s wrists and ankles before lifting him into his arms and bolting to our side of the room.
“If you set one foot out that door, I’ll make sure you don’t live to enjoy the freedom you seek so desperately,” Ephegos shouts his warning, but Herinor’s steps don’t falter as he brushes past me in the blasted doorway, taking Royad hopefully far, far away from here and healing him.
“Coward!” Ephegos’s voice echoes through the room, but I quietly think that Herinor is braver than any of us to risk his life for us and that—if his bargain doesn’t take him down on his way out—I need to thank him if we ever make it out of here.
Before I can finish the thought, Katrijanov struggles free from my grasp, reaching not for the blade he dropped but for the small syringe on the sideboard behind him. “What are you waiting for,” he yells at the three guards by the door who look like they are about to piss their neat uniform pants any moment. “Grab the king’s fiancée.”
Forty-Five
Ayna
They spring into motion like they’ve been slapped in the face. It’s not their brutal swords I’m afraid of, though, but the serum in Katrijanov’s syringe. If this is the magic nullifying drug, I can’t let him come anywhere near me, or I won’t stand a chance if he injects me, and I can tell by the glint in his eyes as he approaches me that he intends to do exactly that.
Beside me, Myron is fighting, his power whipping through the room, keeping Ephegos busy. Sparks glimmer in the air where magic hits magic, raining down like falling stars. I’d marvel at the sight were there not four armed men approaching me with murder in their eyes.
Without a second thought, I tug on my water, sending the string like a lasso around the first guard’s neck and tugging hard enough to bring him down. The second man stumbles over in an almost comical manner that binds my attention a moment too long. The third guard is almost upon me, and his blade is much longer than the knife I wield, giving him more reach and an unmistakable advantage. I’m a heartbeat too slow, reeling in my power to slap him off trajectory, and his blade hits mine with too much force for me to be able to block it. Steel slides against steel as he pushes back, and the sword reaches my shoulder, piercing with ease through the linen shirt covering my skin.
Pain explodes where he shoves deeper into my flesh, and I bite back a scream. I can’t draw Myron’s attention, or I’ll get him killed. Ephegos seems to have better control over his powers than Myron, even if he isn’t as strong as my Crow.
I struggle against the man’s force, drawing upon my Crow senses and the strength buried deep within me if Shaelak gave me all of a Crow’s power.