Chapter Seven #3
He thought of Cala, of Ferna, of Ada, so precious to him, and definitely not deserving of some power-hungry man’s scheming trap.
Goddess, help me protect them.
He found those points of magic that felt like his family and clung to them.
He envisioned his shields forming around the three of them, wherever they were, whatever they were doing.
He hoped they wouldn’t be too startled. He hoped that Ferna was as close to the baby as she’d stuck for more than a week.
And he prayed over and over again that Ada was still alive.
He strengthened each shield in his mind’s eye, determined that nothing would get to them…
even as he tried to push aside the knowledge that this was a terrible situation to be in.
Multiple shields on multiple people that he couldn’t see, and his own shield subject to the pressure of the water and what he assumed was soon going to be a bombardment.
Because Var was a fool, and multiple quavering shapes were looming above him through the distorting layers of magic and water.
Could he form an avatar to fight them as well as maintain these shields?
Var cursed himself for not keeping up his training more assiduously once he became king.
Oh, he still used his magic, of course. He was able to shield and protect himself.
But he spent more time these days lighting crystal lamps and complaining about Tor than acknowledging the use of all the play they’d once done together.
When was the last time Var had trained with any of the guards?
He gritted his teeth, glaring up at the wavering shapes who couldn’t possibly make out his expression, but he was glaring anyway.
The first blow fell against his shield, and then another and another.
Var cursed. No shield was infallible, and he could do nothing but strengthen it and remind himself that he was stronger than anyone else in this room.
He was also in the worst position of all of them, but he couldn’t let that stop him.
If he could bring them all down, he still wasn’t sure how he’d get out from under the contraption that was holding his shield underwater.
(Wouldn’t that be an ironic way to die?) But he could only face one problem at a time.
If he brought down his attackers, that would considerably lighten the load on his shield, and there was a chance that he could use his magic to push the spikes out of the way.
(Or would more force like that just drive them through the shield?)
He drew a deep breath, dug deeper, and manifested his avatar above him, knowing it would be filled with his own resolution: kill everyone who was opposing him.
The bombardment faltered for a moment, and Var had just a moment to think maybe he really could do this—and then he screamed.
It felt like something had reached deep inside him and was shredding his insides, ripping something fundamental away with brutal disregard for the damage it was leaving in its wake.
Reeling from the pain, Var grasped harder at his shields, trying to rebalance something that suddenly felt dangerously off-kilter, like the magic he’d always been able to rely upon was… different, somehow. Diminished.
Oh, goddess, had he lost one of them, lost Ferna or Cala or Ada? He couldn’t bear that, he couldn’t. But… it didn’t feel like that?
Trying to filter past the agony screaming through him, he frantically tried to assess his magic.
His avatar was gone, but that was fine. The shields were most important.
There was Var’s—obviously, or he’d have drowned, but it was fine for him to be counting it when it felt like he’d received a mortal wound.
One for Var, keeping him alive because that kept everyone else alive.
One for Ada. (Would the magic have formed if she were dead?
This was something he and Tor had never tested, but he was going to choose to believe that no, it would only form around his alive and well sister.) And one for Ferna and Cala.
They had to be together, because it felt like one shield…
and he wasn’t going to consider any other reason why there wouldn’t be two.
Var just needed to hold these three shields with every bit of magic in him.
And that was when the truth washed over him of what the gaping wound inside him was.
Nostex had renounced his Fealty to Var, and he’d taken the entire realm of Filon with him.
What would that do to Var’s overall magic and health? Would it be enough to defeat him? He was clinging to these shields despite the pain, but had it weakened him too much?
He peered blearily up at the shadowy figures above him. How many were they? How powerful were they? What if there were more rulers conspiring against him, and what if they ripped their Fealty away the same way that Nostex had?
Shuddering, Var tried to push those thoughts away and concentrate. Right now, all he needed to do was maintain these shields. Each moment that he did so was another moment that his family lived.