Page 227 of Blade of the Nightking

His expression held something I couldn't begin to untangle—something vast and aching that didn't belong beside the fury burning in his eyes.

The commander's arm began to rise.

"Nothing happened with Elyndra."

His words ripped the ground from beneath me.

Of all the things he could have said.

Of all the things he might have chosen in what appeared to be the final moments of his life.

He inclined his head, dipping his chin in a small farewell. And there, buried deep within the warm brown of his eyes, I caught the faintest flicker of silver.

The iron blade caught the pale light filtering through the water overhead.

I had seconds. Maybe less.

I reached for my magic once more—and caught it. With everything I had, I hurled it toward him.

The world dissolved.

And then I was hurtling through that familiar void—the vast expanse of Rìan's mind. Images flashed around me. Memories. Fragments of his life. They streaked past too quickly to grasp before dissolving back into the darkness.

Then I saw it.

Far ahead, a tiny spark, the last ember of a dying fire refusing to surrender.

My power reached for it, eager to help, eager to give.

Take it, I whispered.

The light blinked, as though it understood.

I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know if this would work. I didn't know if I could trust him. But in that moment, it was the only choice left to me—the only thing that might save him. Save us both.

It grabbed hold.

At once, my magic burst free in a great torrent, swelling into an unstoppable river that flowed straight into him. His met it with desperate need, drinking deeply from it in one endless, ravenous pull.

The spark grew. Brighter. Larger.

The tiny flame became a bonfire, then an inferno, power crackling outward in jagged arcs as lightning split the darkness and the entire void shook beneath the force of it.

And then he released me.

I slammed back into my body, stumbling hard enough to nearly knock the guard off balance. He let out a rasping curse and tightened his grip.

The commander drew his arm back to throw, the knife poised in his hand⁠—

Rìan's head snapped toward him.

A vicious, animal snarl tore from him as his eyes ignited in a blaze of silver. Power rolled from him in invisible waves, a storm without wind or sound.

The commander's expression faltered. Then it emptied completely.

His arm fell limp at his side as the knife slipped from his fingers, landing in the sand with a dull thud.

Around us, the guards froze, their faces slackening one by one. The hand fisting my hair loosened. The blade at my throat lowered, and I stumbled free.