Chapter 52 Astrid
She’s my mate. She’s my mate. She’s my mate.
The words run through her head, the enormity of what’s just happened distracting her so that she doesn’t notice the Flame Thrower at first. Not until she feels Skylar move, hears Gwen’s scream and the piercing cry of Bastet, does she realize that a wall of burning-hot fire is coming straight for her.
Heat sears her skin, the power of it staggering. It is too late to run.
She throws her arms up, calls to something low in her gut, her Gift and her magic, and pushes back against the Blooded power that’s about to swallow her whole.
“Forsvare!” she yells, shutting her eyes against the flame.
Burning flesh fills her nostrils, her own skin sizzling under the onslaught, and she thinks the spell has failed her once again, just as it did six years ago.
But then the heat recedes, the pain with it.
Her eyes fly open. Shouting erupts from the crowd—onlookers all on their feet, some running now—as the white-hot wall of fire smashes up against the invisible wall she’s created and rebounds toward the dais.
It rushes its maker, who, with only fire at his disposal, has no way of stopping it from incinerating him and the two Dreki at his back. He barely has time to scream.
Astrid collapses to the ground, panting. She did it, she cast Forsvare. She’s never cast a defensive spell that powerful, and she almost laughs. It failed her six years ago; it failed her father. It did not fail her today.
She is not useless.
Arms wrap around her as Skylar collapses on her, crying like Astrid has never seen her before.
Her heart is beating wildly and she hugs Skylar’s waist, clinging to her, drawing strength from her as she gets her breath back.
She can feel it then, this link between them.
The mark that has formed on her head tingles as though pleased with the contact with its other half.
The wording of the Covenant—it must have been a loophole.
Because when the mating bond formed, two did become one. Just not in the way people expected.
Two souls forged together to become one.
“Let me see your hands.” Skylar pulls back to look at Astrid’s fingers, which are blistering. Pulling out a healing solution, Astrid downs half and offers the rest to Skylar, who drinks it, then throws it to one side.
Astrid stares at Skylar. At her mate. “What the fuck is going on?”
Skylar chokes out a laugh. For a moment Astrid laughs with her until a large body pummels into her, knocking her to the ground and licking her cheek.
“Bastet!” She grasps him about the neck and hugs him as tightly as she can.
She’s alive, Bastet’s alive, Skylar’s alive, Kaida’s alive.
They’re all alive. Excitement bubbles inside her, and she opens her mouth to speak to Skylar, but then she notices Kaida’s fearful squeaks. The fear in her mate’s eyes.
“Astrid,” Skylar says, her voice a whisper. The fear in it has Astrid’s stomach dropping. Skylar’s eyes are focused over Astrid’s shoulder, at the main gates to the arena. “Shit just got a whole lot worse.”
Astrid spins and the blood leaves her face. Pouring inside are dozens and dozens of Vatran soldiers, nearly all of them bearing the mark of the Blooded. She feels Skylar’s fingers tighten around her arm until it’s painful.
“They’re lining the stadium,” Skylar murmurs. “They’re surrounding us.”
There’s a cry from the dais and both Astrid and Skylar jerk their heads toward the sound.
The soldiers, they’re attacking the Ulvene.
Attacking her mother. Spells fly as the witches battle cast, her mother ensnaring groups at a time in her Gift before cutting them down.
Veronica moves like a dancer, bodies falling where she steps, and Fionn has the queen’s back, shield raised and hand outstretched.
The king and queen watch, surrounded by the black-cloaked Primes who are staving off the Ulvene, now on the offensive.
So, this is what the king had planned. To kill Astrid and her mother, whatever happened.
“Those cowards,” Astrid seethes. “YOU GODDESS-DAMNED COWARDS.”
“I agree, Little Witch—” Skylar ducks as an arrow flies for them, and another, her power incinerating them before they can strike. Astrid casts Forsvare once again to shield them all. “But now is not the time for bellowing up at them when we’re being herded by hundreds of fucking Vatran soldiers.”
Astrid takes her claw, the other still somewhere at the edge of the arena, and loads herself with a vial—one of her flesh-eating potions, which she’d prefer to save for the Vatran king, but she’ll have to owe him.
Tendrils of Skylar’s power roll across the ground, forming a circle around them, the sand billowing up where it flows, and it seems to be the only thing holding the soldiers back.
Astrid delves into her Gift, feeding it to her mate, but it’s draining for Bastet, to take so much magic from him and pour it into Skylar, and it’s tiring for Astrid to battle cast and fight at the same time.
Arrows are arcing for them and they bounce harmlessly off Astrid’s shield, but she can feel it weakening every time. She casts over and over, chanting the shield until it sounds like the song of midnight prayers.
Skylar is turning on the spot, eyes everywhere. “You need to get out of here. Get on Bastet, take Kaida, and go.” Astrid is about to tell her to get on with her, that Bastet can carry them both, but Bastet answers for her.
EVEN IF KAIDA WERE STRONG ENOUGH TO FLY INDEPENDENTLY FOR LONG, OR I STRONG ENOUGH TO CARRY HER, WE ARE NOT LEAVING MY SOUL-BONDED’S MATE HERE TO DIE.
He launches for a Physick who’s strayed too close through a gap in the barrier Skylar created, tearing his larynx out.
Blood sprays across the dusty ground. Bastet tosses the lifeless body away.
He’s moving more slowly, she can tell, so she pulls back a little on her Gift.
Kaida is trying with all her might to conjure fire, but the baby dragon can only manage small sparks.
“Can’t you just turn them all into husks?” Astrid asks, throwing another of her potions, casting to carry it farther. It lands and she hears a few of the soldiers scream.
Skylar unleashes another burst of power.
“As much as I’d love to, I don’t really want to reduce my dragon, my mate, and her familiar to husks along with these two hundred soldiers.
” She grunts, the fatigue evident in her voice.
“Even me, the most powerful and mighty Chosen Heir, Mother of Fire Dragons and Death Bringer, being powered up by you, can’t exercise that kind of control on that scale. ”
Astrid would laugh if it wasn’t so dire. What are they going to do? The barrier Skylar is maintaining to keep the soldiers at bay is getting smaller and smaller, and the four of them are pressed up against one another, turning slowly as if on a wheel, watching as the Blooded get closer and closer.
Goddess, they’re going to die. They survived the duel just to die at the hands of the traitorous king. She carries on casting until she feels lightheaded. Until her voice breaks and her throat aches. Bastet’s breathing is labored.
They’re going to die.
Then the sky erupts as thunder explodes above them.