Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“You are … the best thing … that has happened … to Zander …” He swallows. “Protect him.”
“That’s what you’re for, so stay with me. Gesine will fix you.” Except he’s fading fast, and Gesine likely won’t have anything left to give him.
If I can do anything to help, I have to try, and it has to be now.
On instinct, I hover my hands over his thigh, silently begging for my powers to help me.
A thread lashes out. Something cool and comforting, urging me to reach for it, to grab on and pull.
I do, and it unravels instantly, surging upward.
I realize what this is: my connection to Aoife, the one caster affinity that has eluded me completely thus far. The one I need to heal.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but nothing to lose. I don’t waste another second, channeling it into Elisaf, visualizing his bones sturdy and his flesh whole, rippling with muscle as he dances around the Cirilean sparring court, a competent adversary for Zander.
Elisaf sighs as my affinity cocoons his broken body and eases his pain. It quickly spreads, countless tendrils like tiny knitting needles, weaving fibers back together and staunching the flow of blood.
I’m doing it.
I’m putting my friend back together.
My heart sings with joy as I lose myself in this task, coaxing the magic to work faster. Of all the gifts and tricks I’ve learned so far, I would trade them all for this one ability, here and now.
“Zander!”
The ring of desperation in Abarrane’s screech splits my concentration and my hold on the healing thread. My attention snaps toward the battle. Zander is sprawled on his back, and the giant spear on the end of the grif’s tail aims down with a mighty thrust.
He’s not going to escape it this time.
“No!” The word tears from my throat.
A surge of power like nothing I’ve ever felt shatters inside me.
41
Zander
I leap out of the way, but not fast enough.
The grif’s tail catches my shoulder, sending my sword flying one way and my body another. I crash into the ground, the impact like colliding with a stone wall. I struggle to regain my focus.
“Zander!” Abarrane’s shriek is the only warning I have before I see the deadly spear driving toward my chest.
Nothing can protect me now—not my elven make, not my noble blood, and surely not Malachi’s fire in my veins.
A shrill scream rattles my eardrums a split second before a brilliant white light blinds me from witnessing my impending doom.
Intense heat scorches my skin.
42
Romeria
“Romeria … Romeria!”
I regain consciousness with a slap across the cheek. Abarrane hovers over me, scowling, only her face is lined with worry rather than anger or annoyance.
My head swims in that underwater sensation again, the one that means I’ve drained my power. I struggle to lean up onto my elbow, my arm wobbly.
The first person I see is Elisaf. He’s propped up with Zorya’s help, his tawny skin still tinged with an ashen pallor.
But he’s alive. I didn’t fix all of him, but maybe I fixed enough.
“Zander …,” My speech is garbled.
“He’s there. See?” Abarrane points to the figure walking toward me, slightly hobbled, his arm tucked into his side.
Behind him, the beast lies in a smoldering heap, its scaly flesh charred. “What happened?” I ask, but I don’t have the energy to wait for an answer.
I float away to the sound of Abarrane’s laughter.
When I stir again, I’m in a wagon and early dawn glimpses through the tiny driver’s window, cracked open for fresh air or light, or both.
My cheeks are chilled, but animal furs and a solid body wedged against my back keep me warm. I recognize the sweet woodsy scent even before I roll over to find Zander next to me.
“Good morning.” He presses his lips against mine in a slow, intimate kiss that awakens my senses. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” I croak, my throat raw. Not a hint of that second heartbeat lingers in my chest, my affinities drained. “What happened last night?”
He curls an arm around me, pulling me tight. “One moment, I was watching the grif’s tail spike coming straight for me, and the next, I couldn’t see anything at all. There was a blinding light and a wave of heat so hot, I thought my skin was burning.” He frowns as if he’s recalling the moments but isn’t sure of the truth. “And then the grif was dead, and I was unharmed. Other than my shoulder”—he rolls it—“which has healed already.”
Healed. That word … “I was with Elisaf … I was trying to fix his leg, and then I heard Abarrane scream your name, and I knew that thing was going to kill you.”
“It would have tore me apart from the inside out like it did Darragh.”
I grimace at the gruesome image he conjures.
“But you destroyed it with whatever you channeled.”