by K. M. Shea
Her relief was so encompassing, she didn’t feel her price bubbling in her gut until the sour taste clawed at the back of her throat.
I can’t throw up on Evariste or in Snow White’s throne room. I can’t!
Angelique ripped herself from Evariste’s arms and lunged to a large decorative vase that she retched into, her body jerking with the strength of it.
Miserably, she collapsed on the ground, feeling hot and sweaty as the unfeeling chill of her magic retreated.
“But it doesn’t matter,” Angelique babbled. “I did it.”
“You did,” Evariste agreed. His voice was a hundred times more musical than Angelique remembered. She’d be satisfied if he just talked from now until forever. She’d missed the sound so much!
A dry sob caught in her throat as he knelt at her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, supporting her even as her stomach spasmed and she retched again.
She clutched the vase with one hand, but her other reached out and latched onto the throat latch of Evariste’s cloak—as if he’d disappear if she couldn’t hold onto him.
Even when she retched again, she didn’t let go. Evariste seemed to be of a similar mind; his warm hold on her tightened.
“Why are you so ill?” he asked.
Even when concerned, his voice sounds magical.
Angelique sagged against the ground, letting her forehead rest on the cool stone floor. “What do you mean?”
“Were you injured or cursed before the fight? Why are you sick?” He peeled her off the floor, maneuvering her so she leaned into him.
Even in her addled state, Angelique didn’t miss the way he looked around the throne room like a blind man whose vision had been resorted, or the way he traced her hand and rubbed at the soft cloth of her oversized tunic.
He’s stronger than I ever realized—to be this calm after everything he’s been through.
“It’s my price,” Angelique croaked.
“The price of your magic?”
Angelique nodded, then had to dive to make it to her vase on time. Once she finished that round of retching, she could feel her empty stomach start to settle. The sour, rancid taste in her mouth was still so overpowering she could smell it when she breathed, and the back of her throat felt raw. But she was fairly certain the worst of it was over.
“Using your core magic makes you this ill?” Evariste’s arms convulsively tightened around her for a moment.
Angelique twisted in his grasp—it wasn’t enough to feel him, she needed to see him to know he was real. “This time wasn’t so bad,” she said. “When I first hit my price, it took me down for a while. Now I just get sick for a few hours.”
“Is there anything that helps?” he asked.
“Not really. Alastryn gave me some elf remedies that help a little. But this is fine.” She laughed a little. “I just can’t believe I finally found you!”
“I must admit I’m also having a…difficult time believing this is real and not some new, twisted game created by the mirror.”
“I’m real,” Angelique assured him. “We’re real.” She leaned into his shoulder again in a bizarre mixture of careless elation and leftover nausea. “And after we lock that mirror up, I’m going to pry off its backing and disassemble it piece by piece.”
“I volunteer to help,” Evariste said, his voice remarkably free of malice.
Angelique started to smile, until the reality of the situation started to dawn on her. “What about you? Do you need a healing spell—” She’d started to bolt upright, but the fast movement was too much for her stomach (which gurgled ominously).
She grabbed her vase just in time, but she had nothing left in her, so it was mostly dry hackings.
When she finished, Evariste tugged her back so she again leaned against him. “As I’m not at all physically injured, I’m much more concerned about you.”
“Angel?” Snow White picked her way across the damaged room, concern filling her expressive eyes. “Are you terribly injured? Should I call for help?”
“No,” Angelique nudged the vase. She’d have to pay Snow White back for it. “It will pass. Eventually.”
Snow White chewed on her lip. “Is there anything I can do to help? Could magic heal you?”
Angelique wiped her mouth off on her tunic’s sleeve—there were positives to not wearing fancy dresses all the time! “Nope. If it could, Evariste could do something.”
“Ahhh, yes.” Evariste let go of Angelique’s hair—she hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding it back for her. “If I could spare Angel, I would; except I’m afraid in this case, I am doubly unable to help. My magic is sealed.”
All of the happy thoughts that had been cluttering up the back of Angelique’s mind were silenced at this very, very bad revelation. “What?”
For the first time since dragging him out, Angelique could see the shadows in Evariste’s smile. “I served as a power source for the mirror, but to keep me from escaping, I was sealed before I was placed inside it,” he said.
Angelique choked on air. “But it will be easy to break off, right?” she wheezed. “We’ll just take you to the Conclave, and someone there will remove whatever it is that is keeping you sealed.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Evariste said.
Angelique’s nausea rapidly fled under the all-encompassing dread this realization—which not even her price could hold a candle to—brought.
Evariste can’t use his magic. That means he can’t build gates. Or help Emerys with the elves. Or…anything magical at all.
She hadn’t saved Evariste for his magic, but the idealist part of herself she usually tried to strangle into submission had built up the impression that everything would be solved if Evariste was freed.
But the Chosen are still running their network they’ve had centuries to put into place; Evariste can’t use magic, and now that Evariste is back, the Council is probably going to try and charge me with all the accusations they couldn’t while he was gone.
It was always going to be like that, though. Evariste is impossibly talented, but just as it would be unfair for the alliance to expect me to fix everything, I can’t expect Evariste to solve all our problems. And what I really wanted was to get him back.
Still, realizing Evariste was blocked from his magic was strangely difficult for Angelique to process as he’d always been in the role of her teacher—her superior. What did that make him now?
Here. He’s here. That’s all that matters. Even if he can’t use his magic, he’ll stand with me, and I don’t care what the Council or Conclave says.
Snow White fidgeted and looked like she wanted to press the topic, but somewhere behind her, the Seven Warriors stirred.
Marzell pointed to one of the broken windows. “Guards up!”
Four gray-clothed figures scrambled in through the window.
Chapter 30
Angelique immediately reached for her magic.
Those aren’t Mullberg soldiers. They’re not wearing uniforms, and they sparkle with magic!
The tallest black mage—they had to be from one of the two nearby Chosen hideouts—hurled a glob of bubbling fire magic at Snow White, Angelique, and Evariste.
Angelique beckoned, and chunks of the obsidian armor from the destroyed constructs zoomed across the room, forming a wall and blocking the fire.
“Snow White!” Fritz shouted.
Angelique scowled as the molten fire spattered against the armor—the sick feeling in her gut twisting.
I haven’t had enough time to recover, which means if I’m not careful, I could get sick in the middle of the fight, and then they’ll take Evariste again!
Using as little of her magic as possible—she’d have to write a long thank you letter to Puss for all his training—Angelique lifted the onyx swords back into the air. “How did they get here so quickly? I just freed you!”
Evariste swiped a sword that had been tossed aside in the chaos of the fight. “I don’t think
they’re here for me.”
What? Why else could they—wait.
Angelique felt the blood drain from her face as she lowered the armor-wall just enough to look over it.
The four mages were gathered around the mirror. Two of them were struggling to peel it off the ground until an older man who resembled a toothpick snatched it up with ease—though he held it as far away from himself as possible.
Angelique rattled off ever curse word she’d learned. “They’re taking the mirror!”
Evariste’s concern seemed to manifest in an overly calm façade. “Has Stil been hanging around you during my absence? He’s the only one I can think of who would know such creative language.” His expression and tone were mild as he adjusted his hold on the sword.
Angelique spun her magic into the most basic warding spell she had—which turned brutal with the unnecessary amount of power she poured into it.
She slapped her hand on the ground so the spell covered both Evariste and Snow White. “Stay down—both of you!” She launched herself over the armor wall—ignoring the unsettling roll in her stomach—and gestured at the onyx swords, snapping her magic.
The swords redistributed, then stabbed at the black mages as the skinny man hauled the mirror toward the window.
One of the mages tapped his own magic and ripped the layer of obsidian stone off the floor, creating a protective shell. The onyx swords slammed into the shell—making some of it crumple—but they were unable to reach the mages.
The mage with the fire magic formed another bubbling ball. Just as he raised his hand to throw the fire at Angelique, a crossbow bolt struck his bicep.
He collapsed to the ground, shouting in pain.
“Now!” Marzell yelled.
The Seven Warriors attacked, throwing daggers and shooting more bolts at them. The mage—who must have had a core magic for stone work or something similar—hurriedly peeled up more of the expensive flooring, reinforcing his shell.
The fourth Chosen mage hopped through the broken window. The stick-like mage that carried the mirror tried to slide it through behind them, but the mirror’s frame caught on the sides of the window.
It was too wide.
If the situation wasn’t so dire, Angelique would have laughed out loud.
Instead, she loosened another swirl of her core magic, adjusted the position of the onyx swords, and struck again. She swiped the swords in a wide arc—attempting to take out the stone shell so the Seven Warriors could get a shot at the Chosen mages again while giving her at least a chance at breaking the mirror. Or at least damaging it.
But although the onyx weapons dragged across the face of the mirror with a screech that made everyone wince—except for the Chosen mage who was outside and screaming as the group uselessly tried to pull the mirror through the window—they didn’t leave so much as a scratch on its surface.
One of the swords shattered on impact with the mirror. The reverb jarred Angelique straight to her core and made her ears ring.
“Lord Vitkovci!” Snow White shouted with an admirable amount of volume, audible even above the racket of the fight.
Angelique glanced back, but Snow White had thankfully remained inside the ward as she shouted for the Mullberg lord. Evariste was safely there, too, but he had a curious expression on his face as he stared at Angelique.
Later.
Angelique flicked at her magic, again ramming the swords into the stone shell (which buckled) and trying to drive them through the mirror (which did nothing).
The mages must have realized Angelique would soon get them because the stone mage started throwing pumpkin-sized rocks at Angelique, providing cover for his compatriots. The spindly mage scrambled out from behind the shell to try rotating the mirror and shove it through, his movements frantic.
Angelique ducked a thrown rock but trusted her ward to shield Evariste and Snow White.
A painful clang sounded behind her. Angelique swung around just long enough to see that Fritz had intercepted one of the rocks with a metal shield and was beckoning for Snow White to get back behind the armor wall.
Yes, they’ll be a good match. He’ll have enough preservation skills to help Snow White live longer.
Angelique used the onyx swords again—attempting to directly hit the Chosen mage with the strength magic. He nimbly climbed under the mirror, avoiding the attack, and from his crouched position, he managed to finally flip the mirror at an angle that let its frame slide through the window.
He jumped out after it, the stone mage and fire mage right behind him.
“NO!” Angelique loosened her hold on her magic so it raged freely around her.
Incensed, she darted around the stone shell and scrambled through the broken window—being careful not to scratch herself on the jagged glass.
There was a bit of a drop outside, but she landed on the roof of an intersecting castle wing with a solid thud.
“Angel, wait!” Evariste’s voice was slightly muffled inside the throne room.
Angelique ignored him and sprinted across the palace rooftop.
The fire mage happened to look back as she closed in on the party. He yelped, notifying the rest of the Chosen mages.
One of them shrieked—Angelique wasn’t entirely certain why—and while they attempted to pick up their pace, they wobbled precariously on the roof.
I should have taken Elle up on her offer to teach me how to run on roofs!
The mages started to panic as Angelique—more physically fit than any of them—continued to gain on them. She released her hold on the black onyx swords, intending to grab a fresh crop of weapons and/or jagged items outside the palace, but immediately, her guts started churning.
Her stomach rebelled, and Angelique crashed to her knees, retching once again. Her entire body rocked as she was sick, and she clung to the roof for support.
Between bouts of sickness, she looked up to see the mages flee farther and farther away.
I’ll never catch up with them, not when I’m this weak!
Angelique did an encore performance of her swearing abilities and attempted to stifle a sob.
She tried to stand, but her legs were shaky and refused to hold her.
Despite the cool outdoor temperatures, she was hot, and the taste in her mouth only further upset her queasy stomach.
Evariste hopped through the window and ran the few steps necessary to reach her, crouching next to her.
“They got away,” Angelique said. “I couldn’t stop them.”
“Angel, you just expelled a huge amount of magic in rescuing me. It’s not your fault.” He picked something out of her hair—glass, she thought.
Angelique groaned. “It doesn’t matter. That was the mirror the Chosen wanted! That’s the mirror the Snow Queen buried.”
Snow White poked her head out of the broken window, but at Angelique’s words, she ducked back inside. “Lord Vitkovci!” she shouted. “Send your soldiers after those men! I want Juwel closed and all guards to search for those intruders,” her voice trailed off as she walked away from the window.
“They won’t catch them,” Angelique miserably predicted. “That stone mage can open up Juwel’s wall for them.”
“They probably won’t get them,” Evariste agreed. “But Queen Faina is free of the mirror’s influence. You ruined their plans. And there’s a lot we need to talk about.”
Angelique was too sick to protest as she leaned into Evariste, closing her eyes even though they were sitting on a rooftop.
She was a muddling mixture of sickness from her price and emotions. She was elated—she’d freed Evariste! But the Chosen still had their mirror, and there was no telling just how much damage they could do with it.
“It is absolutely vital that you simultaneously send troops to both hideouts. If they haven’t been cleared out already, the first location you march on will notify the second.” Angelique juggled the rough, wooden bucket she’d been given as she scowled at the four guard captains she’d c
ommandeered. “Do you understand?”
“Indeed, mage.” The guard’s eyebrows went up as he squinted at her—likely trying to figure out her position in society. “We shall split our forces and investigate the two hideouts of these Chosen folk outside the city and be prepared for a fight with black mages.”
Angelique convulsively tightened her grip on her bucket. “Maybe I should go with you after all.”
“That’s not necessary…lady?” A second guard captain said—his voice going up at his guess of her station. “You did say you were almost certain both locations would be cleared out.”
“Yes, but maybe they left traps behind,” Angelique said.
The first captain flipped back through the notes he’d taken. “You already ordered us to apprehend any criminals and place a watch on the place, but you also specifically informed us we were not to touch anything.”
“Yes, but any number of things could be waiting there for you.” Angelique scowled down at her bucket, then glanced at Evariste.
I’d already be on my way to investigate the hideouts, but I’m loathe to leave Evariste, and taking him back to dens used by black mages—even if they’ve already fled as I imagine they have—is begging for trouble.
Evariste smiled at her. “They’ll only be outside the city, Angel. If something happens, I imagine you’ll feel it.”
“I guess,” Angelique said.
“You were only just released from medical attention,” Evariste pointed out. “If it is discovered you go haring after the black mages, however unlikely it is that they remain there, Berhta will insist you receive her…gentle…ministrations again.”
Angelique hunched her shoulders at the reminder of Berhta.
Since she’d used a great deal of her magic in such quick succession, Angelique’s price had hit her harder than it had in recent memory. Snow White had insisted Berhta (one of Glitzern Palace’s formidable medical attendants) see to Angelique.
Berhta was built similar to a bear, but with even more muscle to her. After wrestling Angelique into bed, she’d poured no less than five foul-smelling concoctions down her throat, even though Angelique had emphatically told her it would do no good.