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.
Malin’s head swivels to the arched doorway. “Fuck, more are coming this way.”
“You can do this, Varic. We will not let this snatcher keep us from Tasch.” Cirrin’s words stir up the reminder of what my magic was capable of the night of the Emperor’s assault in Annovia.
Instead of displacing his magic, I draw it in. I siphon it. I pull his now wavering power into my body and release a breath when my blast energy glows brighter and splits his shield down the center.
“You did it.” Malin’s eyes widen as he turns to me while Cirrin must be sending his healing to Ivo as the snatcher’s eyelids flutter closed.
“That’s for Hendry,” Cirrin sneers as he sends more and more of his magic into Ivo’s chest as he falls to his knees with one muted arc of his blast energy skittering over the floor, only to die out as he loses consciousness.
“Thank you, Cirrin,” I say, though his eyes remain fixed forward.
“Cirrin,” Malin’s voice is warning. “That’s enough. You did your part. It’s time to let him go.”
“No, it’s not. Not for all of those years he harassed Hendry.” His tone is gruff as he speaks through gritted teeth.
I take hold of his arm and shake him. “Cirrin, hey.” But he doesn’t relent. “This isn’t you. You’re not a killer.”
He shrugs out from my hold, and I look to Malin for guidance. I could cut him off; I could condense my shield so that his magic would not have a chance to break through it, but that feels cruel, and this needs to be his decision.
“I’ll speed you away right this second if you don’t—” Lars begins.
“You don’t understand, Varic,” Cirrin sneers, cutting Lars off. “These Guards—these monsters—they’ve tormented us. Tormented him. And now we finally have the opportunity—”
“No.” My voice comes out stronger than expected. “Your pain is real.” He turns to face me. “And you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you did this.”
Yelling carries from the Throne Room, and Lars looks from me to Malin, then takes Cirrin by the shoulders.
“I was there every time this fucker messed with us, and I agree. He deserves everything that’s coming to him—” Cirrin nods, seeming to take in every word.
“And I promise he will suffer, but it won’t be because you caused it. ”
“Ivo!” Danor’s voice calls as Kosta carries him, speeding over to Ivo’s sleeping form.
Danor’s gaze lifts to us as we take several steps back, my shield holding strong, expecting Kosta to run straight toward us.
Malin taps me twice on the arm with his magic made solid, and I lift my shield at the bottom, allowing him to send his magic out to secure both Danor and Kosta’s wrists, which are now held out to the side in an unnatural position.
“You cannot stop us,” Kosta says. “We will find her and bring her back to him. No matter where in the Continent you may try to hide. It will not matter. His Majesty will have his bride.”
My pulse kicks from his use of this term for Tasch, and sparks ignite in both palms without my need to prompt them.
Then Kosta and Danor’s eyes flutter shut as Cirrin brushes past me to focus on his latest victims. The sorcerer’s muscles slacken, and Malin sets them down slowly with his own power.
Yet Cirrin seems to keep going, since neither of the Guards’ chests rise nor fall.
And I could prevent him from carrying the guilt of killing them if I just stopped parting my shield.
But this is Cirrin, and it needs to be his decision, so I turn and nod to Malin, then Lars, to indicate our friend is in need of our help.
We each set a hand over his arms as I pivot around to look him in the eye, which he avoids. “Cirrin,” I try, without any indication he’s heard, while sending what I can of my own healing magic to detect a faint pulse left in the Emperor’s Guards. “You don’t need to do this.”
“I can’t let them stop us.” His voice sounds so distant; it cracks my heart.
“We won’t let them, I promise. Now, can you please save some healing so I don’t have to do any further damage to my ankle?”
“I will never forgive myself if I release them and they’re the reason we never reach Tasch.”
“You can’t think like that,” Malin says.
“Come on, let me take you to Brea.” Lars lowers his hand to take hold of Cirrin’s, then taps twice with his ring finger.
Cirrin rolls his lower lip inward as he considers our speed Guard, and my heart slams against my ribs in anticipation of what he will say next. “You’re right.” His eyes cast down to the ground. “This isn’t what Hendry would have wanted.”
He nods to Lars, who folds him in a hug, and I indicate the opening in my shield, then barely blink before they vanish.
Malin stares down at my feet as the sensation of his magic surrounds my lower body, feeling like some sort of eerie energy field wrapping around me, buzzing and tingling. I stare at it, transfixed by the way my feet hover above the ground.
Footfalls carry down the hall as more Guards, soldiers, and their assigned witches rush toward the Throne Room, while I keep throwing my gaze behind us to make sure the Emperor isn’t following.
Panic sears my veins like a poison as Malin curves his neck around the corner before steering me through the tall arched passage with his magic.
“Take the—”
“I know.” Malin holds up his hand to silence me.
Heat creeps up my neck before it spills across my face, so hot it burns behind my eyes. Shame gurgles under the surface, and I shake my head against the thoughts of being a failure, since now is not the time to address anything aside from getting to Tasch.
Malin practically jogs with me down the hallway, but we still need to move faster. We need to already be harnessed to our Dragons and taking off to find her.
I let out a heavy breath when he directs us down the lesser-used path—the one I was going to suggest when he cut me off. A hall which leads to the eyrie.
My heart squeezes with the possibility of sending a falcon with a missive to let her know we are alive and are on our way to her—but it’s too big a risk.
We can’t even allow a trusted falcon to know her location.
And stopping to write a letter right now would be ridiculous.
We will get to her soon enough. A letter would bring her little reprieve, as she won’t possibly feel comforted until she sees that we’ve made it.
A black blur emanates from a doorway ahead, and even though I expect him, I nearly yelp once Lars comes to a stop in front of us. He bends forward, and we wait as he catches his breath with drops of sweat falling from his forehead.
“It’s,” pant, “a lot,” pant, “easier.” He coughs, “going down, than up.”
He grabs hold of my wrist and looks back at Malin.