Page 143 of Sword & Sacrifice

“Stand down, Niall,” another voice interrupted him.

Since Emmaline had only met Valerian the day before, it took her a moment to recognize the voice. Something was different about it—the cadence of his words, a new tone of superiority. She’d seen him cradling Penn protectively and thought he’d won the mental battle against Niall’s master. If Valerian lost, what happened to Penn? What will happen to Mama?

Emmaline had seen Alistair’s magic at work before. Watched a creature made of ice hold Silas underwater. Saw him almost bleed out from one of Alistair’s curses. Niall had only captured them because he’d caught them by surprise. Emmaline wasn’t sure her mother could defend herself against Alistair.

“You—” Niall began, then stumbled over his next words, “Oh, Master, it is you.”

What proof did he show Niall? Emmaline wanted to watch the confrontation but couldn’t risk exposing herself.

“Leave us,” Alistair ordered.

There was a long pause before Niall said, “No.”

“What?” Alistair’s voice was as cold and dangerous as a blizzard.

“Either you are my master, and we will stand against the witch together, or you’re the mercenary and a convincing actor, trying to trick me into letting you all escape. Leaving you alone with her would be a stupid mistake.”

“Do you think I’m too weak to fight one witch?”

“After the trials you’ve faced, I won’t take that chance.”

Another pause, and then: “We’ll discuss your insubordination later.” Followed by a heavy thump against the floor.

Mama sighed in relief. “I underestimated you, Valerian,” she admitted. “I really thought he’d won.”

Emmaline raised herself into a crouch to look through the window. Light leaked in from the open doorway, revealing Niall unconscious on the floor with Valerian standing over him.

Mama approached slowly. “Where’s Penn? We should leave now, before Niall wakes.”

“He’s getting dressed.”

Emmaline’s brow furrowed. Valerian’s voice still sounded odd, like he hadn’t quite shaken off the role he was playing. She remained crouched outside, staying out of view.

“Where will you go?” he asked, slowly approaching Mama. Illuminated from behind, his face was shrouded in shadows, obscuring his expression.

“To the cottage. I’ll examine you, make sure nothing of Alistair remains.”

“No, we won’t be joining you.”

“Valerian?” Mama’s voice grew wary, suspicious.

“Run away to your cottage, Witch,” the mage ordered. “Hide behind your little barrier and perhaps you’ll survive what happens next.”

“Alistair.” A flash of lightning accompanied the hissed name, illuminating the mage’s face. His head was half turned to the side, so all Emmaline could see was the smug curve of his lips and a gleaming, ice blue eye.

“Or you could stay,” he continued, untroubled by the threat of the building storm. “I’ve promised to allow you and your daughter to go free.” His gaze flitted to the window.

Emmaline’s eyes widened and she ducked down again, futilely hoping he hadn’t seen her.

“But I’m sure we can renegotiate. If you’re half as skilled as your reputation suggests, you’d undoubtedly be an asset.”

“I would never help you.”

“Even to save your daughter?”

An invisible fist gripped Emmaline’s mental shields. She’d built them out of roses and their thorny canes. Beautiful, dangerous, but not strong. Before she could react, he ripped a hole through the brambles and dug in his claws.

You should have listened to them and run, a sinister voice whispered through her mind.