Soldiers sweep down the staircases, rousing courtiers from their seats as I glance in Taavi’s direction with a brow raised.
“We should flee,” he growls out, big jaws moving with stilted words. My brows go up because that hadn’t exactly occurred to me. But … I lift my eyes up to the sky. There’s no shield above us; the glasses are gone; Taavi is free. There’s no better time than the present, right? “On my back, mate,” he snaps, blood and saliva dripping to the ground.
I ignore his use of the word mate yet again, my gaze lifting up to Dorothy. Tuala remains by her side, wearing a diaphanous green gown, the skeleton key clutched in her hand. They’re both looking my way, like they know what Taavi and I are thinking.
It’s time.
If we’re going to go, we have to go now.
“Ozora,” Taavi growls, and my attention turns back to the arena … and General Mannix striding across the grass. Behind him, Breise is on her knees, wrists bound with glowing silver shackles. Her guardian has reverted back to wolf form, collared with the same magic. “Hurry now.”
I scramble up onto his back as the general pauses, swirling his finger in a figure eight. The shackles appear on my wrists, just as they did before. That initial feeling of panic takes over me as I feel my body empty of magic. I might not be an expert in the field, but now that I know the power is there, it’s quite obvious when it’s not.
My attention moves from the shackles to General Mannix’s face, that cold, hard impassive expression of his leveled on me.
“Dismount your guardian, Oz, the Great and Terrible,” he commands, his voice like a cemetery, full of quiet gravestones and laughing crows. “I won’t ask twice.” He makes a circle with his finger as Taavi tries to turn away, locking him in a glowing silver collar.
My guardian’s knees buckle and he lets out a snarl, stumbling as his legs give out and his front half crashes to the ground. Mannix is already pulling off his glove, reaching to twist the tip from his finger.
I exhale again, tasting honey and coconuts, and then open my eyes. Energy trickles out from my belly, not unlike an orgasm unfurls through the body, reaching into my fingers and toes with grasping fingers. The scent of gardenias hangs heavy and sticky in the air.
Bain’s magic.
My eyes widen as I realize what’s happening.
General Mannix lifts his finger up to point at me, and I have no doubt in my mind that he’ll pull the trigger without hesitation. On impulse, I fling my right arm out and a gust of wind appears on command, ruffling the general’s silver hair and green cloak. His gray eyes narrow, but he doesn’t draw back, his hand jerking violently as he takes fire at me.
But a column of wind’s already started forming around me, blocking the bullet’s trajectory and sending it into the wall instead of my flesh.
The general grits his teeth, but it’s not him I’m worried about right now: it’s Dorothy.
When I look back up, I see that she’s still watching me, the only sign of her displeasure a slight pursing of her lips. She lifts a hand my direction and panic spirals through me.
I wish I were anywhere but here, I think frantically, my gaze drawn around to the skybox where Stryker waits. Even if I can get Taavi up and moving with Bain’s magic, I have to grab the wizard on my way out. I have to.
Sliding off of Taavi’s back, I slip and fall, the heels of my shoes hitting together as I land sprawled across the ground. Pretty sure I twisted an ankle, too, but I make myself stand up, moving around to stand in front of Taavi, so I can take his big head between my hands.
Three steps later … and something strange happens.
A lurching sensation churns my gut and, try as I might, I find myself doubling over and losing what little I had in my stomach. When my knees hit the ground, it’s with a jarring that makes my teeth clack together.
I haven’t fallen on soft grass. Instead, I’m now in the skybox beside Stryker.
“Oh, you’ve figured out how to use the shoes then?” he asks casually, leaning down to help me to my feet. My head spins as I struggle to steady myself, collapsing into his arms despite myself. And the air, it still reeks of gardenias. Although, I have to say, I owe Bain a bit of thanks when I see him again.
“The shoes?” I ask, looking down at the stupid things. The color drains from my face when I see that they’re glowing, like silver stars.
“There’s always a trick to magical objects,” Stryker continues obliviously, as if the arena isn’t up in arms, searching for a witch—likely Bain—searching for me. If we’re going to run, we don’t have a lot of time.
