by Karen Chance
But they weren’t dragging off Nimue.
A mighty rush of wind boiled around her, an impossible-to-defy act of nature that was nonetheless being defied.
By a shield.
There was a normal one on her arm, a small circle of bronze, barely visible at this distance. But out of it spiraled something huge, and almost the same color as the rain, making it hard to see against the night. Just a shimmering, gleaming disk, like the ones I’d seen Pritkin throw out at times, but far bigger and thicker. A magical shield large enough to cast a glowing nimbus over her and a few hundred of her people, gathered on the hilltop around her.
But it wasn’t doing a damn thing for the rest of us.
The only things shielding us from howling winds and sleeting rain were the surrounding hills, which was kind of a two-edged sword, since they were also trying to drown us. Water was gushing down them in full-on rivers, crashing through the rifts and gullies between the highlands, and pouring into what remained of the camp. To the point that people were actually swimming in the deeper areas now, while the few elevated ones were sticking up like islands in the sea.
It finally dawned on me why the fey would build a camp in a valley instead of on a hilltop like everyone else.
Because everyone else couldn’t drown you if you pissed them off.
Not that drowning was really needed.
“What the fu—?” Rosier screeched, and then gurgled as I ducked us underwater. And watched through the waves as a brightly colored spell streaked through the air where we’d just been standing.
And then more and more, lighting up the night as I surfaced, to see multicolored spells flying everywhere, turning the water in the air behind them into long lines of steam. And causing me to duck down to my neck again and look for cover. But everywhere around us, a battle was raging.
It looked like the covens had arrived.
“What are they doing?” Rosier shrieked.
“Trying to get the women out!” I yelled as a nearby patch of water was vaporized by a spell hitting down.
“They’re going to get them killed! And us along with them!”
He had a point.
I sloshed through the freezing water toward the only part of the house still standing—the tumbled group of rocks that had formed the chimney. It wasn’t much, but at least we were protected on one side. And the rain wasn’t slapping me directly in the face anymore.
Not that it seemed to help.
“We need to find Emrys,” Rosier yelled, straight into my ear. “We need to find him now!”
“No shit!” But I still didn’t see him.
But not from lack of light. Fires were burning everywhere, including underwater in spots, because magical flames aren’t easily doused. But they do follow most other physical laws, like sending bright shadows flashing off bits of palisade and floating islands of tents, and reflecting off the waves, making the whole camp look like it was moving.
Which wasn’t helped by the fact that it was.
Because there were still people in here—a lot of them. Some were huddled together like us, under whatever shelter they could find. Others were in groups, circled by slavers and their private armies, unable to run. Still others were crouched behind the remaining bits of wall, waiting for their chance to make a break for it. Or running around, shouting names in spite of it all, trying to find family members in the chaos.
I didn’t give much for their chances. Not with flocks of bleating animals swimming through the surf, clusters of Nimue’s guards battling witches, and knots of half-human camp followers sitting among floating piles of cookware, looking unsure whether to stay or run. But most had made the latter choice, which meant that there was movement, movement everywhere, and no way to tell in the dark which running form was Pritkin’s.
“We need to stay here,” I told Rosier.
“What?”
“Here! He said he’d come back for us!”
“And if he doesn’t?” Rosier demanded. “If he’s hurt?”
I shook my head. “He isn’t!”
“How do you know?”
“My power would tell me!” It was the one bit of comfort I had. If something I’d done was causing a problem for the timeline, I should get a warning. More than that, I should be jerked to the source of the trouble in order to fix it, much as I had once been with Myra, Agnes’ heir. Who had gone rogue before it was cool.
But my power was quiet, the golden cord that connected us at rest. Instead of thrumming like a harp string the way it should have been if I’d set Pritkin up for harm. And if I hadn’t, he should be okay, because he’d survived all this before.
Right?
“Then where is he?” Rosier demanded.
“I don’t know—”
“That’s not good enough!”
“What do you want me to do, Rosier?” I asked, turning to look at him.
“Get down!” he screeched, full in my face, making me jump.
And to wonder how he expected that to help with three tornadoes suddenly twisting together in the skies above us.
The only saving grace was that they were high, very high. Giving us a perfect view as three savage coils of destruction braided together, becoming a single strand of hell. A boiling mass of fury that ripped through the air a moment later, stabbing down like a great spear, straight at Nimue—
And was absorbed.
I blinked water out of my eyes, thinking maybe I was seeing things. But that was undoubtedly what was happening. The almost colorless shield over her turned black and brooding, taking on the hue and pattern of the violently swirling maelstrom feeding into it. The one it finished swallowing a moment later, the surface of the shield bloating to maybe twice its already considerable size.
And then throwing it all back.
The princess took a flying leap to another hill as the storm’s rage sheared off the crest where she’d been standing, sending a mighty blast of mud and dirt skyward. She also threw a whirlwind behind her, to counter the larger storm, I guessed, and try to slow it down. And it worked—sort of. A dozen small funnels peeled off the larger one, spiraling crazily out over the surrounding hills, ripping apart tents, chasing down groups of guards, and causing a hundred little shields to bloom against the night.
But it wasn’t enough.
Because the main force of the storm hit a moment later, still more than capable of knocking her off her latest perch and sending her flying—
And me ducking, although I didn’t need to. Her body spun through the air in our direction, but well above my head. And then splashed down in one of the lower parts of the camp, hard enough to cause a burst of water to fountain up at least a story high.
It splattered down on me like thick rain as I waded forward, trying to reach her before she drowned. While dodging the mass of people who were suddenly splashing through the water toward us. The previously disorganized crowd had just gotten their shit together in a big way, and were headed out of camp, battle be damned, and threatening to mow me down in the process.
“What the hell?” I asked Rosier as they passed us in a stream of hard elbows and churning water.
But he didn’t answer. I glanced at my shoulder and found him with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, staring past me. At the dark-haired princess who was somehow back on her feet, throwing off the world-shattering blow with nothing more than a snarl.
I pushed a fall of soggy hair out of my face, and even through the pelting rain, I could see her better this time. A beautiful brunette with slanting blue eyes, ivory skin, and wicked red lips, who was doing a double take of her own. I thought that was a little odd, just at seeing me again.
Until I realized: she wasn’t looking at me.
For a long second she and Rosier locked eyes, and the fierce expression she wore slowly changed into something else. Something
I couldn’t quite read, even when her face cracked and her lips curved, because it was just too bizarre. Until she burst out laughing, a sound of pure hilarity chiming over the chaotic scene like a peal of bells, and so incongruous in that setting that I could only stare.
And then stare some more when she leaned over and tweaked Rosier’s little cheek.
“You should have stayed in the tree,” she told him breathlessly.
Then she was gone, running back across camp as easily as if there was no flood, because for her there wasn’t. Little patches of water solidified under her feet, like paving stones in a creek bed, catching her footfalls before she could make them. Like the wave that rose on cue, surging toward a remaining bit of palisade, up and over and carrying her with it, straight at—
“Oh,” I said, staring stupidly.
And finally realized why everyone had been headed this way.
Because Nimue had caught another storm.
I had a moment to see lightning crackle off the surface of her shield, to see something catch fire inside it, to see an inferno spiral across the formerly colorless exterior, turning it into a raging disk of red flame—
Before it came pouring out, the twister exploding from the surface like a tongue of fire from a dragon’s mouth, one that just kept coming, growing into a massive thread of fiery death that strained for the heavens—
But came hurtling back to earth when she suddenly released it.
The princess shielded, a speck of blue under the raging crimson torrent, but a group of Nimue’s own guards weren’t so lucky. The princess’ shield deflected the fire onto them, exploding half of them into ash that scattered on the wind like confetti, while the rest—who had somehow managed to get shields up—went spiraling into the heavens. Just small black specks among the clouds as that destructive finger hit down, carving a divot the size of a swimming pool out of the hillside.
And then kept on going. Jumping from the hill down into camp, tearing a furrow through the waves, sending wafts of steam skyward, and ripping apart the few remaining tents before heading for a wagon. A wagon perched on one of the remaining bits of high ground. A wagon someone must have dragged up there because it seemed like the safest spot in camp.
A wagon full of children.
Time seemed to slow, the deafening noise to fade, the only sound remaining the beat of my heart. The only thing I could see was terrified faces staring over the edge of the cart, the approaching firelight reflected in their eyes. Along with the dead certainty that nothing would deflect it, because nothing was in the way.
Until we were.
I hit the ground, along with the water that had been all around me, because I hadn’t had time to select it out. Heard my power clanging in my ears, telling me what I’d already instinctively known: that they weren’t supposed to die today. Stared at the swirling red column, fear roiling in my gut, like the last of my potion, burning its way down my throat.
And then I was throwing everything I had at the gleaming vortex, a glittering wave of Pythian power, the purest expression of godly force on earth—
And barely made it flinch.
I stared in disbelief at the swirling mass of red and black and gray. Until I remembered: Caedmon, the fey king I’d met last time, had slipped out of a time spell, not once but twice. Because fey magic didn’t respond to mine the way that earth’s did.
It barely seemed to respond at all.
Stop, I thought, my hand outstretched, my heart racing dangerously fast as the column glimmered and gleamed, like firelit rubies. Stop, I thought desperately, straining as it filled my vision, slowing enough to be mesmerizing, but not enough to matter. “Stop!” I heard myself shout, as I felt the heat, smelled the smoke, saw the wind of it lift my hair. . . .
And then lift me, too, ripping me off my feet in what I guessed was slow motion, since my power was having a visible effect now. But it didn’t feel all that slow. I went whipping through clouds of steam and smoke, the burning camp swirling dizzyingly around me, as I desperately tried to rein it in. As the maelstrom and I whirled together in a deadly dance that was only going to end one way, because I wasn’t strong enough.
I couldn’t stop it.
But a second later, it hitched anyway, like a bucking horse suddenly draped with a second lasso. And then again, stalling now, losing speed. And again. I couldn’t see why, but I knew I wasn’t doing it; I was still being spun around the glowing column of death, turning with its energy even as it slowed, as it tried to suck me in, as it reached out to claim one . . . more . . . victim. . . . Before finally grinding to a halt, as still and quiet as if it really was carved out of a single, giant jewel, gleaming in the darkness.
Like the three strands of golden power—Pythian power, I realized—that were connected to it. Like the three women glimpsed through the smoke, their faces lit up with reflected firelight, who together had tamed it. Like the face of the woman who jerked me out of the sky a moment later, down to a large, heaving bosom.
And a pudgy hand that tightened painfully on the back of my neck as I stared into furious brown eyes. “Oh.” I licked my lips, tasting ashes. “Shit.”
“You have no idea.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Gertie!”
Nothing.
“Gertie!” I slammed my palms against the blank white wall in front of me.
“Would you please stop?” Rosier asked, sounding as weary as I felt.
“This is my fault. I should have just shifted the wagon. Stupid—stupid!”
“Yes, it was,” he agreed.
I hung my head. “You’re supposed to argue with me,” I said, although he was right. I’d used up the last of our potion and hadn’t even gotten anything for it, because of course the Pythia of the time would be drawn to something like that. Of course she would. And of course she’d bring her friendly neighborhood posse along for the ride. I could have stayed in hiding and let them take care of everything, but I hadn’t stopped to think, even for a second, and now . . .
I looked around, again. At nothing, again. Because there was nothing to see.
Absolutely nothing, except for a blank white cell. No, not even a cell. A white, rectangular box with no door, no window, and no way in or out, because a Pythia didn’t need one, did she?
But I did, because my power was gone.
Not exhausted, not blocked, gone. Like Gertie had somehow stripped it from me. But she couldn’t do that . . . could she? I’d been told that it was mine, until I died or passed it to a successor. That no one had the ability to take it from me, not Gertie, not anyone! I tried to convince myself of that even as I felt an overwhelming sense of loss, a terrible hollowness where our connection ought to be. Something that had become as much a part of me over these past months as a limb was missing, like a chunk carved out of my soul.
Gertie, I thought, and slid down the wall.
“You had a split second to make a decision,” Rosier said. “Exhausted, in the middle of battle, whilst freezing to death. You made the wrong one. It happens.”
“It doesn’t happen. It can’t happen.”
“You can’t hold yourself to that kind of standard. No one—”
He broke off when I put my head in my hands, as if realizing that the last thing I needed was another lecture. For a while, we just sat there in silence, me trying to think and Rosier . . . not doing much of anything. Because what was there to do?
“I never thanked you,” I finally said, “did I?”
His eyes were closed, and they didn’t open. But his voice sounded alert enough when he spoke. “Thanked me?”
“For helping, back at Nimue’s. I think I might have lost it, and gotten us all killed, if you hadn’t . . . intervened. So thank you.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rosier didn’t have any eyebrows yet, but he wrinkled some skin at
me. And yeah, I guessed some crazy stuff had happened since then, hadn’t it? “In the corridor,” I said. “You know, with the two fey?”
The wrinkling continued.
“In front of the portal?” I could feel myself blushing. Trust Rosier to make a simple thank-you awkward!
“I simply told you where the gate was,” he said, opening his eyes. “Although I didn’t expect you to plow through a cave-in headfirst! I still maintain—”
“I’m not talking about that,” I said, wishing I’d never brought it up.
“What, then?”
“Never mind!”
“You can’t thank me for something and not tell me what it is,” he said testily. “And it’s not as if we have anything else to—”
“The sex, okay?” I snapped, spelling it out. “Happy now? Thank you for help with the sex!”
He blinked. “What?”
I glared at him, too tired to be interested in games. “Drop the act. I know it was you. You did the same thing in the car—”
“What car?” He scowled. “When have we been near any—”
“A couple of weeks ago? Spartoi? Dragon’s blood? Ring any bells?” I made every sentence a question because Rosier still looked clueless. Although why, I had no idea.
It had been memorable.
A few weeks ago, Pritkin had been injured in a fight with the Spartoi. In fact, he’d been about to die, but we hadn’t been near any help, and it might not have mattered if we had. Regular old dragon’s blood is bad, but the blood of a shape-shifting demigod son of Ares was on a whole different level, and he’d been covered with it. It had been eating him alive.
I’d had to sit there, watching him die, with no ability to do anything. Except for the obvious, because incubi only heal one way. But he hadn’t been responding, hadn’t even seemed to know I was there, and I’d been frantic because I was about to lose him—