by Gwynn White
“That’s hardly news, Eliezar,” Boa snapped. “We took Angharad. Our wards now keep Piss Swill out of his gold mine. We knew he’d send readers after us. The real question is why you went grubbing around in Stasha’s head?”
The flames pouring off Stasha died as quickly as they’d started. The fire protecting the tunnel snuffed out. If what happened in Angharad was anything to judge by, ice would soon follow.
Boa did another of her flying dives and wrapped her arm around Stasha’s shoulder. Hoarfrost crackled across both of their skins.
The ice hadn’t come from Boa.
But anyone looking at them would assume it was Boa’s magic. She must have anticipated the big freeze once Stasha’s fire quelled. Pity Boa wasn’t coming with her to Zephyr to be on hand to cover for her every time the water magic reared its head.
And as for Eliezar digging through her head?
How could Eliezar have taken control like that? It was almost as devastating as her white heat. Despite being her teacher, he shouldn’t have the right to that kind of invasion, surely? Especially given her deal with the tree. Had he seen that she had water magic?
Eyes giving nothing away, Eliezar shrugged. “How else am I supposed to train warriors if I can’t see into their magic’s minds to understand what’s blocking them? I have to talk with their magic, even if it’s merely to open the lines of communication between them.” He turned to her. “My true skill lies in listening to your magic. I don’t take control or try to tell it what to do. You must be the master of your power.”
What an uncanny choice of words. They were supposed to comfort her? Darkness claim her, how was she to hide from a fae who could read her like Klaus would read the books in the Ilyseryph library? Her pledge to her pendant and the tree had bound her to Eliezar until she learned to control her power. If he hadn’t yet seen—and chatted with—her water magic, it was just a matter of time before he did. Eliezar would never hide something so big from Averin. No doubt Averin would spill the news to his family. The stakes had just ramped to the sky. Panic melted the hoarfrost silvering her skin. Water drops the size of coins splattered onto the marble floor. Let them think it was fear of the spiriting readers.
Averin rounded on Eliezar. “How much time do we have?”
“They’re about three jumps behind us.”
“Averin, Eliezar, and Trystaen warded the temple last night,” Frea said. “They’ll never break through.”
Averin looked at Frea like the archer had sprouted a second head. “All the wards in the world won’t protect us if a Pyreack army pitches their tents outside. They wouldn’t even need to waste magic on us. Starvation will do the job for them.”
“Averin’s right. Time to move.” Boa’s voice was crisp, businesslike. “Everyone spirits out with the fae who brought them in. Scatter to keep them guessing. Final rendezvous point, Chantawa.” She grabbed Stasha’s arm. “You and Klaus are with me.”
“Not this time, Boa.” Averin grabbed Klaus with one hand and Stasha with the other. Before Stasha could jerk away, he said, “Boa, you may have beat me to it in Angharad, but you aren’t taking Stasha and Klaus from me again.” He looked over the crowd. “Everyone headed for Ilyseryph comes with me.” Trystaen and Eliezar closed ranks with Averin.
Boa clicked her tongue. “Don’t start with me, wind boy. Stasha going with you is insanity. It’s exactly what Piss Swill will expect. His best readers will be on your ass before you complete your first jump.”
“And that’s why we’re leaving now,” Averin said equally as firmly.
Stasha winced as Averin’s grip on her arm tightened. She exchanged a what-do-we-do-now look with Klaus, who shrugged.
Averin continued, “We’ve a long way to go to get across Ocea and Atria before we reach Zephyr.” He looked at Feral Fox and the boys. They huddled together behind the fae. “Coming? Because your ride leaves in about ten seconds.”
“Averin, don’t make me fight you.” Boa’s fingernails morphed into icy claws, each as long as Stasha’s hands. “Stasha must spirit with me. You can take her once we get to Chantawa.”
Averin blew out a sharp breath, and the air around Boa corkscrewed in a tight vortex. Fury burned in Boa’s mauve eyes as it swirled her into the air.
Frea’s arrow scraped as she pulled it back and aimed at Averin’s face. “Release her or die.”
Stasha threw her head back and snarled, “The Zephyr-Ocea alliance sure was short-lived. Maybe that’s why Piss Swill has had you on the run for centuries. You can’t keep off each other’s throats long enough to fight for his demise.”
Cheeky, but true. Even a scrawny orphan knew that.
Bow fixed on Averin’s eye, Frea snarled. “You dare—”
Averin’s wind failed abruptly, and Boa thunked to the ground. She teetered and flapped her arms to balance. Only when she was steady did she withdraw her ice claws.
Frea dropped her bow.
“Boa,” Stasha said before the princess could reprimand her. “Averin and I have a deal. You know that. I must go with him, regardless of the consequences. And so must Suren.” She looked around for her pretty fae.
Suren pushed through the crowd and stopped at her side. Now all they needed were Feral Fox and the boys.
Feral Fox took a step forward, then hesitated. He looked first at Boa and then at Averin. Whatever he saw in them soured his expression. Maybe it was like choosing between a meal of snails or garden worms. The boys hadn’t moved either. Terrified of what the Pyreack would do to them if they stayed, she wanted to plead with them to come with her, but that wasn’t fair. It had to be their choice.
Vlad broke cover from behind Ivan. “We’ve all had the sweet taste of killing murdering fae. I’m not about to stop now.” Fists clenched, he stomped over to her group and scowled at Averin. “Can I train as a warrior in your army?”
Stasha swallowed a smile. Little Vlad was a true champion.
Face as sharp as an eagle’s, Averin towered over Vlad. “By fae, I assume you mean Pyreack?”
Vlad swallowed. “Of course.” He shifted from foot to foot.
“Keep that distinction in mind. If you’re willing to fight, then I’m willing to train you.” Averin mussed Vlad’s hair. “And as I’m now your commander in chief, my name is Prince Averin, Master Vlad.” He looked Feral Fox right in the eye. “Anyone else brave enough to join my brand-new human unit? I’m calling it the Askavol Fighting Pit.” His voice was light, but the muscles straining beneath his clothing were taut. Averin wanted to be away from here.
Feral Fox scratched his stubble. “Fighting pit, you say, Prince Averin? Let it never be said that Feral Fox turned away from a challenge.” He waved at Goul and Ivan. “Come, lads. Looks like there are some battles to be won.”
Feral Fox and the boys were a foot away when Stasha’s fire crackled over her skin. Its hisses seemed to say, Burn them. Burn them.
At the same moment, Averin swore. “Pyreack in the tunnel! Boa. Everyone. Get out now.”
Averin pulled her close, and the world turned upside down. She landed briefly in a field of cows and was on the move again.
At what point would the readers and the Pyreack army catch up with them?
And would they even be ready to take them on? Or would more of her friends and allies die trying?
The world stopped swirling as Stasha’s scuffed red boots thumped down onto uneven cobblestones. She and her team had landed in a gloomy alley lit gray by the hesitant dawn.
She may have stopped, but sadly, aided by the stench of rotten fish, cat urine, and unwashed bodies, the contents of her stomach kept on moving. Bile, mostly, hurled up over herself and Averin. The foul mess added to the vomit Klaus, Feral Fox, and the boys had already spewed over them all. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
“Lovely.” Averin grimaced and stepped back. He drew his sword, a sure sign he’d expended all his magic on the jump. Hardly surprising given he’d spirited nine people, hopefully, right across a country it would norm
ally take months to cross on horseback.
Despite the early hour and the ice streaking the cobblestones, raucous laughter and off-key singing spilled into the alley. One end opened onto a town square and the other, a road. Both were jammed with fae. Some of them fired flares of icy magic into the air. Almost all of them carried tankards and wine bottles.
“Sounds like they’re celebrating our victory.” Suren’s chest puffed out like he’d been the one to take Angharad. Perhaps not unwarranted. If he hadn’t opened the portcullises, they wouldn’t have had such a speedy victory. “Before leaving Angharad, Boa instructed Frea to spread the news to every fae in Ocea that we’d taken the mine. Must have been the party of the century. By now, I guess they’re mostly blind drunk.”
Averin’s brows knotted. “Right. So she did. Trust Boa to complicate things. We can expect every Pyreack soldier billeted here to be on the streets today.” He turned left and right to Trystaen and Eliezar. “Glamour the alley while Stasha and I plan our next move. We don’t need visitors. Drunk or sober.”
Neither Trystaen, Averin’s first, nor Eliezar, his second, showed any reaction to being relegated to guard duty while Averin consulted with her. She didn’t know whether to also puff out her chest or to call Averin an idiot. What did she know about getting a party of nine, including humans, to Ilyseryph? To start with, she didn’t even know if they should head north, south, east, or west. She opted for a smug smile.
Magic streaming from their hands, Trystaen and Averin separated, trotting silently to each end of the alley. Almost as an afterthought, Averin added, “Suren, do something useful. Stand guard with Trystaen.”
A fireball sprung to life in Suren’s hands as he slid across the icy cobblestones after Trystaen. He and Trystaen stopped at two vagrants huddled under a burlap blanket against a dirt-blackened wall. The pair lifted their heads to stare at them. Although it was too dark to tell if they were fae or human, she guessed they were human. No human would want to be caught in a fae celebration that risked a crackdown by Pyreack soldiers.
Trystaen waved a hand trailing green light across their faces “You saw nothing. You never heard us.” Their heads lolled, and Stasha caught their gentle snores. Her eyes bulged. It was that easy to get inside a human’s head? Hopefully they’d survive the chaos.
As if to prove her point about frightened humans, Ivan and Goul shuffled closer to Feral Fox and Vlad. Klaus was almost welded to her side. Their wide, fear-filled eyes matched their sickly green pallor. To reassure them, she squeezed each of their hands in turn. “You’re all doing famously. And don’t worry about the vomit. Averin’s used to it.” She gave Averin a cocky smile. “I’ve upchucked on him every time we’ve spirited.”
“That she has.” Averin grunted. “One of her more endearing traits.”
Feral Fox cracked a wavering smile. “Where are we? How close are we to Chantawa?”
She turned to Averin, “Please say we’ve spirited almost all the way to Chantawa, wherever that is, and that, after a light breakfast of pastries and honey chai, you’ll be ready to jump again.”
“I wish. You’ve been to Chantawa. It’s Boa’s camp in Atria, where you first met her. As to where we are now.… We’ve landed in Swiftguard in Ocea. It’s a god-forsaken fishing town on an island in the Black Loch. The river Weydeen flows out of the loch and goes right past Chantawa. I chose it so we don’t have to wait for me to recover from the jump.”
Clever Averin. Leaving by river would also confuse the spiriting readers. There’d be no magical trail for them to follow.
Averin waved a hand. “That grimy building behind us is the Sturgeon’s Roe Tavern and Inn. I had the misfortune of staying here once, back in the days when I was searching Zathryth for Stasha. Pastries and honey chai are most definitely not on their menu.” He grabbed her arm. “The readers? Are they on our tail?”
She blinked, then shifted her focus inward to her magic. Still and peaceful, a wisp of fire slept in a glittering ball of ice about the size of her fist. At least her contrary powers seemed to be getting along just fine.
Talk to me, she said to them. Can we expect trouble?
Neither of them stirred.
She scowled. Thanks for nothing.
“I take it communications are still down.” Averin hefted his sword. “We must expect the—”
The sky above them cracked open. At least twelve red-clad Pyreack fae thundered toward the split.
Blue-green flames burst from Stasha’s fingers. She lifted both hands, ready to blast them when the Pyreack were in range. At the street side of the alley, wind curled off Eliezar’s fingers. He was also ready, but concern etched his usually emotionless face.
“Wind magic is too dangerous here,” Averin hissed. “Chuck those flames, pit princess. Get in first. Use white heat if you have to. Finish this before we even get started.”
Her flames recoiled at his command. They scarpered back under her skin as if speared with schorl. Curse Averin’s quick thinking.
Get back here, she snapped at them.
The son of Zephyr’s commands cannot be obeyed. Seemingly without a care in the world, her flames snuggled down and purred like a cat on a sunny windowsill.
She swore under her breath at yet another bargain that looked to be spiraling out of control on its first day out. What could she possibly have missed in her deal with the tree? With Pyreack barreling out of the sky toward her, there was no time to delve into that disaster.
I happen to agree with Averin, she snarled at her fire magic while flicking her fingers.
No cheery, potentially life-saving sparks flashed.
He commanded first. That overrules anything you now say. Her fire magic smirked. Especially since you admit that he makes your toes curl.
She let rip a string of internal swear words, but it made no difference. Her fire magic had curled into a blackened piece of coal.
Rigid and cold in Eliezar’s icy wind, she watched helplessly as Pyreack boots thudded onto the cobbles between her group and Eliezar. Their owners were hidden behind a wall of flame that cut Eliezar and his magic off from view. To quench a fire of that size and ferocity, Eliezar would have to pull every drop of air from the alley. Everyone would suffocate.
Water was the only solution.
Before she could stop it, her mind conjured ten rivers. True and straight, they’d explode out of her and engulf that fire. It would be quenched in seconds.
Water rushed through her. Ten waves broke against her fingertips, barely contained by her skin. More water rushed after it. Without release, her fingernails would shoot straight out of her hands. Painfully.
No! Tree! Stop it.
The water sloshed back into her core. It rolled itself into an icy black ball and glowered at her.
“Stasha. Today,” Averin rasped. He clicked his fingers. “White heat, pit princess, before we’re all fried.”
She clutched her head with both useless hands and hissed, “I made a bargain with my magic. I can’t call on my white heat until I know how to manage it.” Now wasn’t the time for explaining the finer points of her deal.
Averin’s eyes bulged. “Couldn’t that have waited until we got home?” He sheathed his sword and pulled out a pair of throwing-knives.
Furious with herself, she snapped at him, “You don’t get to ask that question until a fae you’ve boiled alive explodes in your face.” She didn’t even have a blade to bring to the fight.
Averin shrugged. “So be it.” He tossed the two knives. They spiraled across the alley and vanished into the wall of flames. If they hit anyone, she couldn’t tell, for no yelp or cry of pain could be heard above the roar. The burning wall advanced one determined step closer.
Tears stung at her uselessness. When would white heat hit Klaus and everyone else she loved?
“They may be advancing, but they’re not attacking,” Averin said, sending two more knives flying into the fire. “Stasha, just look fierce, like the thrower of white heat. I’ll wager two s
ilver coins that’s why they haven’t attacked. They’re dead scared of you.”
Her eyebrows shot up at that truth. Even better, Klaus and Averin were right—bullying people really did beat killing them.
She mustered all her swagger, tossed her head back, and, like a traveling magician, beckoned to the soldiers with her hands. “Scared, little fae? Quaking behind your pointless wall? You should be. A flick of my fingers, and I could turn you all into ash.”
The line of fire wavered. Through the broken ranks, she caught a glimpse of a soldier with bars on his shoulders denoting rank. He looked up at the sky and muttered something.
A second group of Pyreack dropped out of the clouds. Instead of landing on the opposite side of Stasha and her friends, thus hemming them in, they landed behind the wall of flame. Above the acrid reek of fire and magic, she caught the sickly-sweet smell of strawberries and honey.
Radomir.
This time, bullying wouldn’t cut it. She’d vowed to kill him for murdering Tarik. Her fire stood alert and ready as she searched the newcomers for his cruelly twisted smile. Safely ensconced in the center of the firestorm, he locked eyes with her. “If it isn’t my lucky day,” he yelled. “Of all the spiriting trails I could have chosen to follow, I got yours.”
His arrogant words didn’t match the fearful shiftiness in his pitch-black eyes. Radomir didn’t want to be here. Yet, he wasn’t stupid. He’d recognize the enormity of his discovery. If he could capture her and take her back to Darien, he’d recover fully from the last two humiliations she’d inflicted on him.
Also, he had to know that she couldn’t fight fire with fire. It was all down to her white heat. Dreading its ferocious, indiscriminate power, she looked inward for it.
Nothing distinctive in her fire magic shouted, “White heat over here.”
Her desperate prodding did hit a block in her core as solid and as tangible as any brick wall. She sensed her white heat pacing like a caged dragon behind it. She clawed mentally at the wall, searching for a way in.
Not until you’ve mastered your magic, a voice she didn’t recognize said in her head. It had to be the tree. Urgh… confounded bargains.