Page 45 of Blade of the Nightking

Veylan dragged in a breath and didn’t release it. A thin line of blood slipped from his nose as his skin darkened, mottling into something sickly and wrong.

“Aedric… stop this,” I pleaded, my eyes fixed on the way his bare toes curled helplessly against the stone.

“No.”

“Aedric, you'll kill him!” My hand shot out, closing around his sleeve.

He didn’t look at me. “So be it.”

“He saved me,” I tried again, the memory rising with a clarity that burned. “When Hyperia attacked—he saved me.”

That made him turn. For a heartbeat, I thought—hoped—something might shift.

Instead, he pulled his arm free of my grasp, nothing soft remaining in his expression.

Anger ignited inside me, roaring to life at the realization that Aedric didn't care. That he would condemn another person to death today without a sliver of hesitation or remorse.

But I could stop him. I could—and I would if I had to.

My magic answered. It flew upward from that deep place within me with frightening force, drawn to my outrage, my fear, my desperate need to protect Veylan. It drank greedily from those emotions, swelling into something vast and untamed before I could rein it in. And as it fed, the fire inside me slowly guttered out, replaced by a strange, creeping numbness that spread through my chest until I could barely remember why I'd been so angry at all.

My arm drove forward, and the air seemed to rupture around me, power rippling outward in a silent, concussive wave that struck Calantha and sent her hurtling backward across the chamber. She hit the wall and crumpled to the ground.

Voices rose around me but I barely heard them.

Heat kindled beneath my skin in thin, searing lines. It spread quickly, growing hotter and hotter as it coursed through my veins. My magic gathered at once, spreading, pressing outward to smother the fire raging through me even as it searched for the source of the attack, the force that threatened to boil me from within.

I turned, the heat cresting into something nearly unbearable—and found him.

Sairus—his hand outstretched, fingers curled like claws, his gaze fixed on me with quiet, dangerous intent.

The sight of him broke something inside me. My magic spiralled upward with terrifying force.

End him.

End all of them.

My fingertips glowed silver, power gathering there, ready to be unleashed⁠—

Aedric stepped between us. The heat vanished.

In two long strides he crossed the distance, his hand closing around Sairus’s throat as he slammed him back into the wall, lifting him clear off the ground. Smoke curled where their skin met, Sairus’s flesh sizzling beneath his grip.

“Do not touch her.” Aedric's voice dropped to a dangerous growl, his hand tightening.

“Aedric! Aedric—please!” Calantha's voice cracked as she staggered to her feet, one hand pressed over her ember eye, the shattered remains of her circlet clutched in the other. Blood seeped from a gash in her scalp, staining the roots of her hair a shade darker.

Aedric held him there for one more breath, something dark and vicious coiling beneath his restraint—then released him. Sairus dropped, coughing, his skin blistered and red where Aedric had touched him. He pressed a hand to his throat, the hatred in his eyes so intense it seemed almost tangible.

“Apologies, my Lord,” he rasped. “A father’s instinct.”

The words sounded like they cost him.

Calantha moved to his side at once, gripping his elbow as she helped him to his feet.

“Take him to the Healers,” Aedric snarled. “All of you—out.”

Calantha guided her father to the wall and led him through, the guards following close behind. Hamish lingered only long enough to cast a brief glance in my direction before slipping through after them. The chamber fell quiet.