Wren would die.
Isabel didn’t know if her soul could withstand what would come next.
After the first two days, after they’d said all they had to say and fell silent, the tension began to build. Every passing moment ratcheted up Isabel’s anxiety, fear gripping her in a way she’d never felt before, not during the mana fast, nor while she carried the Goiri bone, not ever.
She was going to kill Wren.
A glimpse of the kind of guilt such a thought evoked was enough to send a thrill of panic coursing through her.
She jumped when the door opened. Phane stood in the doorway, savoring their fear … that was all it took for Isabel to regain control. In a moment, she remembered her training at the fortress island and detached herself emotionally so she could face her enemy with a clear head.
He seemed more smug than usual-not a good sign.
“It’s time,” he said, closing the door loudly, causing all three of them to jump again. “I’ve learned Enu’s spell.”
The moment closed in around Isabel. She was out of options. Wren was forfeit. She summoned her anger, building it quickly before muttering the words she’d remembered by rote to help her mind focus on seeing the results she desired. Light, bright and hot, streaked from her hand and hit Phane’s shield right in front of his chest, dissipating in a scintillating display of color.
“Run!” Isabel shouted.
“Not so fast,” Phane said, touching his slave-master’s ring and dropping both Lacy and Wren to their knees, gasping for air. He released them after watching them struggle for several seconds. They gasped for air, each breaking into a fit of coughing.
“I really like these,” he said. “I’ll have to have the Babachenko send more.”
Isabel started to get up, but he pushed her back into her chair with his magic, holding her in place while he cast a spell. She tried to brace for it, tried to resist, but it came over her like a wave, separating her body from her free will, leaving her totally vulnerable. Azugorath seized the opportunity, flooding into Isabel’s psyche with all of her hate and bile.
“Finally,” the Wraith Queen said, standing triumphantly in full possession of Isabel, looking down on Wren without pity. “Is this the pittance you want killed?”
“Yes,” Phane said.
Lacy staggered to her feet and bolted forward, launching herself headlong into Isabel’s midsection and crashing to the ground on top of her, then she rolled to the side a moment later, struggling to breathe past the slave collar’s constriction.
“Don’t try my patience, Princess. You are not nearly as valuable to me as Isabel is.” He left her writhing on the floor, strangling.
“Please. Kill her quickly,” Phane said.
Azugorath approached Wren. Isabel could hear the words of her light-lance spell begin to form in her mind. She saw her hand raise toward Wren, heard her lips breathe life into the words of the spell, but then Wren did something that surprised everyone … she started singing.
Not the timid, under-her-breath singing that always made Isabel smile, but loud, full-throated, unabashed song shouted to the sky with passion and pure joy. The kind of song that calls forth thunderous applause. Her voice rose and fell, holding every note without rush, as if in that moment, her greatest purpose was to fill the room with music.
Isabel watched through stolen eyes and was in awe.
Wren had chosen her favorite song and was delivering a masterful performance, so much so that Phane and even Azugorath both seemed stunned by it, neither seemingly able to put what they were seeing and hearing into a context that they could comprehend.
Isabel understood perfectly. She reached for the veil shrouding the light and met it with love for Wren, love for her music, love for Alexander, and love for life itself. She didn’t struggle with it, or fight it, or rail against it, or confront the veil in any way. Instead, she simply held all of the love she could muster up to it, and the realm of light responded. At first, just a glimmer shined through, but moments later, life-giving light flooded into her psyche … and then it was gone. Azugorath had pulled back again, choosing to defend the veil blocking Isabel’s connection to the realm of light over maintaining control.
“I know how to fight you now, Phane,” Isabel said, turning to face him.
“One battle does not win the war,” he said, motioning to Lacy and releasing her collar. “Next time, I’ll gag your little friend before I hand you over to Azugorath.”
He left the room, whistling a tune.
Chapter 29
Alexander smiled when he saw the ruins of the Lancers’ forward operating base, still burning and spewing soot into the air. Plans in the west of Andalia were going well. The people remaining in the western province had taken to the Old Law with enthusiasm, then taken to the battlefield to defend it. Lancer fortifications were on fire all along the boundary between the western forest and the plains. Talia had leveraged two hundred Rangers and eight Sky Knights into an insurgent army of well over three thousand militiamen.
That small army had launched its first major offensive during the night, attacking every significant Lancer position along the border with fire, then withdrawing and regrouping, moving north to prepare for the primary objective.
Over the coming days the militia would move along the north coast, taking one seaport after another, but never attacking the shipwrights, instead offering them jobs farther west, then burning the docks, the shipyards and the port buildings before moving on.
Alexander set aside all of the other battles taking place around the world and focused on the coming minutes. He could see Mithel Dour looming in the distance, its thousand-foot semi-circular cliff cutting an unnatural face into the mountain range at the heart of the Andalian Isle. The palace cliff looming up behind it completed the other half of the circle, together defining the city’s boundaries.
The wyverns floated in well above the city, silent on the wind and invisible against the grey night sky. Alexander tapped Kiera on the thigh, pointing to Grant’s balcony. She nodded, leaning into her wyvern, tipping into a dive, and quickly losing several hundred feet of altitude before pulling into a shallow descent. The remaining seven Sky Knights held course for the palace.
Alexander saw the men positioned around the balcony and the yard, all of them hidden, but not to his sight. Easily fifty men, overseers, armed with clubs and armored in scale mail, hidden around the otherwise vacant Grant estate … all of them waiting.
The Babachenko knew he was coming.
It made perfect sense. He was a divination mage. Acquiring knowledge with magic was his stock in trade.
“Enemy,” Alexander shouted into Kiera’s ear. “Drop me quickly, then fall away and come back around.”
She nodded, smiling into the wind and guiding her wyvern with a combination of leg pressure and delicate tugging on the reins, bringing the beast into a flaring landing on the balcony, terrifying two men who were trying to hide behind the balcony railing, sending them scrambling for the stables.
The wyvern leaned forward, her snapping jaws just outside the stable doors, her bladed tail hovering over the side path leading toward the house along the balcony. Alexander pulled his lacing free and slid to the ground, linking his mind with Chloe before he hit. Several overseers seemed to appear out of the shadows. He ignored them, calculating the distance to his target. Chloe came into existence, spinning into view in a ball of light, bringing the Thinblade with her into the world of time and substance just moments before he reached it. His sword in hand, he assessed the situation and chose to flee.
But before he could, a club hit him in the back, knocking him to one knee, pain radiating from the point of impact. Men rushed in from all sides. He set the pain aside, drew the Thinblade and focused on the moment. Three men were closing in on him, all of them raising clubs that could put him out with a hit.