Page 275 of Burn Her They Said
My pulse pounds to the beat of our war song, until it halts altogether, pausing as I stare out at Fray to gauge his reaction to what I swear I just heard—but I cannot be sure—not until his own frame freezes in place when the distinct screech of a Dragon carries down from the clouds above us.
Tree bark bites into my fingertips when I shove off of it and will my wobbly legs to carry me forward. My muscles shake and strain in protest with every step as I frantically scan the sky for a talon, a tail, a snout—anything to prove we just heard a Dragon.
Fray turns back with widened eyes, and I mirror his expression, because this newest screech sounds closer than the first.
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Worthy
Varic
My pulse pounds in my ears as this is all too easy. For the hallway to be clear. For us to be able to move through the gray arches and leave the Throne Room. It’s all too convenient compared to what has happened already, and the hairs along the back of my neck stand on end as I wait for the next obstacle.
I check that the intersecting corridor is empty before saying, “Lars, I need you to take either Cirrin or Malin to the dens first. I will go last, since I can shield or blast as necessary.”
“What about the soldiers guarding the forest? You don’t think they will intervene?” Cirrin asks.
I shake my head. “It’s not their place. Besides, haven’t you seen them and their assigned witches all streaming in here?” Realization crosses his expression. “There may not be any left by the time we get outside.”
Lars reaches for Malin, who holds his hand up to stop him. “I need to stay and help Varic. I can make him levitate so he doesn’t injure his ankle further.”
“That’s a lot of magic—” I begin, but he snaps his head back to glare at me.
Cirrin takes hold of my arm. “I can heal you.”
“No,” I command. “A broken bone takes too long.”
“Fine.” Lars locks eyes with Malin as he reaches for Cirrin.
Then, just as I am about to part my shield to allow them through, Malin says, “Someone is approaching.”
We all turn as sparks flit across the surface of my shield, alerting whoever just tried to blast us that I am wielding one which they cannot otherwise perceive.
“Where is she?” Ivo asks as I face him.
“No.” Cirrin’s voice is resolute as he squares his shoulders and pins his eyes on Ivo, whose smile only grows.
“He’s shielded,” Malin explains as Cirrin raises his hands as if he’s about to try to send his magic over to the snatcher.
“Aim for the ground around him. I’ll part his and allow your magic in.” I gather up some blast energy in my palms while my heart hammers so fast that white crowds around the edges of my vision.
Cirrin’s hands splay over my shoulder blades as he imbues me with the cooling sensation of his healing, though he shouldn’t be wasting his magic on me. He should be saving it for Tasch. Regardless, I send the blast forward, through my own shield, to slam against Ivo’s.
“What do you need?” Malin asks, as we both gawk at the way my power behaves contrary to what it did only the night before with the Emperor’s.
A piercing screech enters my hearing as my vision begins to waver, and I try to send another blast forward.
“I don’t know. I’m not used to being this weak.”
Maybe Tasch was right. Maybe I have been wrong about my power never waning. Perhaps I do not know my own strength.
Lars’ boots clomp over the marble as he paces in a line behind us. “I can run at him, try to scare him into dropping his shield.”
Malin glances back with his brows knit in the center. “I’ll try to help.” He apparently sends his magic where mine attempts to break through Ivo’s force-shield.
“Where are Imperial Grand Witch Tasch and Imperial Guard Fray?” Ivo glares at me while we all refuse to answer.
Cirrin places a hand on Malin’s shoulder while I direct what energy I can conjure. Tears prick in my eyes as I glance over at my fellow Guards responsible for making this possible—giving me what I need to maintain the shield while I blast more of my power toward Ivo’s.
