Page 212 of Blade of the Nightking

I peered down the corridor uncertainly. An arm suddenly closed around my waist, and I caught the sweet, fruity scent of the Ambrosia liqueur that had been offered to me earlier. Without even bothering to look, I pushed free of the inebriated male's grasp and hurried down the hallway to my right.

It was lined with closed doors. I slowed as I passed them, searching for some sign of a kitchen. Some mouth-watering aroma. Some indication that I was heading in the right direction.

Nothing.

I tried a handle. Locked.

Anger bubbled inside me.

I hated him.

I hated that he'd brought us here. Hated that I was bound to him. Hated that he'd seen my worst memory and, worse still, that I'd been forced to surrender my most cherished one to save him.

I tried another door. Locked. Then another. Locked again.

I'd already lost so much because of that monster. My true mate. My home in Solmire. And while I wandered the halls of a brothel searching for food, he was off reuniting with his lover.

The thought ripped through me with such force I could barely breathe. My magic responded instantly, tearing free with savage eagerness and flooding every inch of me. It scented my anguish and descended upon it with ravenous hunger. One by one, it devoured my emotions. The anger faded first, followed by the ache, until everything felt distant and strangely muted.

The tension in my shoulders and chest loosened. When I glanced down at my hands, I saw that I was glowing.

I stopped before another door. If Lady Elyndra was the only person in Illyra capable of wielding magic, would she have bothered warding the locks? Or would a simple key have been enough?

I reached inward and touched my power. It responded immediately, obedient and well-fed. Tilting my head, I sent a flick of magic toward the lock. With a soft click, it opened.

Apparently she hadn't bothered with wards after all.

I turned the handle and pushed the door open. Nothing. No sign of a kitchen. My stomach grumbled loudly in complaint.

I moved to the next door. And the next.

Each time, I sent a thread of magic through the keyhole, and each time the lock clicked open. But there was never anything beyond. Some rooms appeared to be private parlors. Others were crammed with old furniture beneath dust sheets. All were dark and quiet.

I stopped before the final door. I reached for the lock with my power—and hit a wall.

Not a physical wall. A wall of magic.

Wards.

Frowning, I examined the door more closely. I reached for my magic once more, sending it spilling across the invisible barrier. It glided over the ward, tracing its edges until the entire construct stood revealed before me in shimmering silver.

A dim flicker of curiosity stirred. My magic devoured that, too.

In a single breath, I tore through the ward as easily as brushing aside a cobweb.

Wrapping my fingers around the handle, I pushed open the door. The light from the hallway barely reached beyond the threshold, leaving the room beyond cloaked in shadow. I raised a hand and a small fae light flickered into existence.

Your magic is limitless. Aedric's voice drifted up from the depths of memory.

A grin pulled at my lips. Drawing my arm back, I hurled the fae light into the darkness. The moment it left my hand, it burst apart into thousands of glittering pinpricks of light that scattered like stars, illuminating the room all at once.

Silk draped from the ceiling in rich hues of purple, gold, and crimson—less like a room and more like some lavish royal tent.

I stepped farther inside, and movement caught my eye.

Immediately, I whirled toward the figure, only to realize it was my own reflection staring back at me from a large burnished mirror hanging on the wall.

I frowned. It was strange to find a mirror in such poor condition when every other one I'd seen in Illyra had been polished to perfection. I drew closer. The frame was tarnished bronze, its surface darkened with age, and it looked so ancient and out of place that I found myself wondering why it was here at all.