A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 50 Nevelyn Tin’vori

50 NEVELYN TIN’VORI

Nevelyn vaulted through the soundless dark.

Her father had once taught her that a divided mind was a dangerous thing to take into the waxways, but that was exactly how she felt. One part of her mind was thinking of Ava and the fact that she hadn’t been able to write her sister a second letter to say they were leaving for Meredream sooner than expected. She was also trying not to worry about the fact that her sister hadn’t answered the first letter she sent. Ava was smart. Hopefully, she’d see the Heights on fire and know what to do. Another part of Nevelyn’s mind was with Dahvid in that distant burial chamber. She hoped her brother knew she could not live without him. That his goal wasn’t to play the hero, but to survive. All these thoughts echoed in that lightless place.

And then her feet set back down. A grass-covered hillside. Forest on their right and left. A slight slope leading to a nearly hidden rampart. Meredream.

It looked like a dream—until she saw Able Ockley. His lips were so bright and red that he looked as if he were wearing lipstick. And then the lipstick dribbled down his chin. Blood, Nevelyn realized. That looks so much like blood. An arrow had punched through his throat. A second one in his chest. A third in his abdomen. Ockley stumbled past Nevelyn, raised his wand, and cast one final spell. The magic didn’t thunder or roar or pulse. The spell that issued forth didn’t even make a sound. She watched a crescent moon form on the tip of his wand. A small flick of his wrist sent the magic racing into a group of charging soldiers. She watched as the magic unmade them.

There was no other word for it. The way their limbs suddenly abandoned them. How their bodies quietly crumbled to dust. Ockley collapsed sideways as his spell sent shockwaves back through the ranks of the surrounding army.

Army. There’s an army here. Waiting for us.

Nevelyn’s mind finally caught up with her body. Ren Monroe had come bursting back into the room. She’d screamed that this was a trap. Ellison Proctor… he had… crawled across the sculpture. Extinguished the flame. Accelerated the spell.

This is a trap.

Ockley’s spell saved her. It was just enough of a distraction that she could get her bearings. Enough time to cast a shield spell as another volley of arrows thrummed in from the tree lines. Her shield caught one that would have been a death blow. Others weren’t as lucky. She heard screams. The birth pangs of true chaos. Nevelyn whipped around, searching for Josey, and nearly trampled him. He was down on the ground… but alive. His face full of terror.

More arrows came. Nevelyn pulled the boy to his feet, tucking him protectively into her, and began slowly backing up to where the other wizards had formed a makeshift defense. A few of them had cast wards just in time. Avid Shiverian was now gliding through their ranks like a seasoned general. Nevelyn knew enough about magic to understand that she was using binding magic to seal the edges of their shields into one larger barrier. Nevelyn and Josey plunged inside that protection as more arrows whistled overhead. There were bodies everywhere. People down and wounded.

But as she looked out, she saw chaos there too. Ockley’s spell had backed them up. No one was eager to face the same potential fate. She also saw people fleeing. Abandoning the gathered army and running away. She didn’t understand why. All that mattered, however, was that far more were staying. The Makers had somehow gathered a literal army—and the bulk of it sat between the wizards and Meredream. Projectiles were still being launched from both sides of the forest. Most were deflected, but each one caused the larger ward to flicker. Small cracks were already starting to form. They were cocooned safely away thanks to Avid, but how long would the shields last?

A great horn sounded. There were shouts from the enemy generals. Once more, the army began its approach. A slow march toward their circle. Nevelyn knew they couldn’t ward off projectiles and close-range combatants. If enough of the soldiers pressed in on them, their shields would shatter and the battle would be reduced to tighter skirmishes. Fights that favored hand-to-hand combat. The surrounding circle that was slowly tightening into a hangman’s noose.

“Add layers to that outer ward!” Avid was shouting. “I’ve bound them together, but we need a second layer. Make them pay for every step! Projectile magic at the ready! Wake up! We did not come all this way just to die!”

Her voice was like a welcome sort of lightning. Loud enough and bright enough to shock some of the wizards back to life. Nevelyn saw them stagger into position. Casting additional wards or regripping their vessels. The tightening of their ranks made the one flaw in the formation all the more obvious: Ellison Proctor was making a break for it.

The handsome boy with the bright curls had betrayed them. She watched him sprint through the barrier, his red scarf clutched in one hand, held high enough that everyone could see it waving in the air. Nevelyn couldn’t think of a spell to stop him in time.

Damn it, he’s getting away.

But arrows punched through his chest. Ellison staggered, two steps to the right, and then he fell. Nevelyn’s eyes shocked wide. They hadn’t spared him. Even though he’d clearly given them this location for the trap—still, they hadn’t spared him. Which means they won’t spare any of us.

“Children to the center!” Nevelyn screamed, realizing that this was life or death. There would be no mercy for any of them. “I don’t care if you think you’re ready for a fight! There are about to be soldiers crashing through the wards and they will not hesitate to gut every single one of you. I cannot allow that. You are our future. Get to the middle and have your vessels ready. If the lines break, be ready to cast your own wards! Get moving! Now!”

Avid Shiverian offered a grateful nod. The children started scrambling to the middle, but the larger problem was still coming. The army was only twenty paces away now.

“Anyone with combat experience,” Avid shouted. “Get to the outside of the formation. You have magic. They do not. It’s time to use it. Hold nothing back! Punish every step they take. I want Balmerick students layered in behind the first group. Let’s keep communicating. Call out any breaks in the line. Everyone else—children and the elderly—”

The young girl cut off sharply. Nevelyn saw why. Another figure had separated from the group. It was not the same jolting sprint as Ellison Proctor. Instead, she watched the frail figure stumble outside their protective wards: Ingrid Shiverian. Nevelyn’s first thought was that the older woman was confused. That she’d stumbled out beyond the safe zone by accident.

But then fire raced out from her raised wand with terrifying speed. The burst forced back the approaching soldiers. Ingrid took advantage of their hesitation. Her next spell was a comet of fire. It streaked over their heads like it had been shot from a cannon. The spell hit the largest tree in the forest. Ingrid swung her ward the other way and cast the same spell.

Fires ignited instantly. Spreading from branch to branch, limb to limb. The first soldier who lunged for the old woman caught a third bolt of fire right in the chest. The fire spread from him to the two closest troops. There were screams. Ingrid looked like she might cut a path through their entire army—until the first arrow caught her in the chest. Then a spear plunged into her stomach. She lost her grip on the wand she’d used her entire life, then fell. Avid didn’t scream. She didn’t fall to her knees. Instead, ever efficient, she sounded the order for the first attack.

“Projectiles! Now!”

Her grandmother had provided an opening. The first line of wizards took a step outside the barrier, and then streaks of every kind of magic cut through the air. Soldiers crumpled beneath blows of invisible force. Some were launched backward. One fell to the ground, writhing as his skin burned with some kind of acidic magic. Ingrid’s fires were working too. Most of the enemy archers were too worried about the fire-eaten branches above them to keep firing. At the edges of the group, she saw a steady stream continuing to flee from the battle entirely. Several dozen at least.

We’re winning. We have enough magic to win.

But then soldiers from the waiting ranks stepped up. Every single gap they’d just made, filled in an instant. Beyond them, rows of soldiers waited to do the same. Her eyes traced outward and she finally saw that they would need to win hundreds of battles, back to back to back, just to have a chance. Her next thought was much darker than the first.

We’ve already lost.