He ran for the ballroom, following a flood of noise—the shrieking of crows and people alike. The Casters haunting the wide doorway were not prepared for someone attacking from behind, but Weston, who had hung at the back of the group, caught a glimpse of Baron’s approach. Turning with a shout, he drew his own sword.
Baron used the force of his charge to knock the weapon aside, but Weston had enough skill to keep ahold of his weapon andgrab with his other hand, forcing Baron to shy back from his Casting.
“Stand down, Weston,” Baron panted. “We’re friends.”
Though Weston was five years older than Baron, he’d not activated his Fluid Casting until after his first Casting test. Baron had taught him how to make wine.
Weston fell into a defensive stance, jaw clenched.
Then alionroared, shaking the very walls.
Though they both staggered, Baron recovered first, darting forward. Weston parried his slash but reacted too slowly to the follow-up lunge, and Baron’s blade slid right past his to pierce the man’s shoulder. Weston cried out, and Baron shoved his forearm into his friend’s chest, pushing hard until he pinned Weston against the wall and opened a path. Then he spun out of reach, drawing his sword free, throwing himself past the other stunned Casters and into the ballroom.
Just in time to see Widow Morton shove Aria through an open window.
“No!” Baron screamed. If he’d dealt with Sarah faster, if he’d—
His shout drew the lion Affiliate’s attention, and in a flash of white, Leon transformed, already flying in a leap. His fierce yowl was nothing like the heart-stopping roar of his counterpart, but it was enough. He slashed his own claws through the lion’s fleshy nose, drawing blood, and the giant lion poofed into a scrawny yellow housecat.
“Start running, whiskers,” Leon snarled.
Once transformed by Leon’s magic, the lion Affiliate fell subject to his commands like any other housecat. A battle of Affiliates was all about who landed the first strike.
Under Leon’s command, the yellow cat skittered around before darting out of the ballroom. It would be a race to see which would happen first, Leon’s magic wearing off or the cat dropping of exhaustion.
Corvin moaned, curling around his injured leg. He was already pale and shivering. Even with both hands pressed to his thigh, blood continued to flow past his already-slick fingers, pooling on the floor beneath him.
Baron had been frozen—staring at the broken window where Aria had disappeared, his heart pounding out that repeated denialno, no, no—but seeing Corvin’s pain, he lurched forward at last.
From behind, he heard Sarah’s anguished voice. “What have youdone? Those are my sons!”
While she held the other Casters at bay, Baron used his blade to shred his vest, then, nudging the boy’s hands aside, he wrapped Corvin’s leg as tightly as he could. In the back of his mind, he saw his father. Heard the swirling echoes.
Now he could see Aria as well. One more person he’d failed. One more love he’d lost.
Not Corvin too.
“It hurts,” Corvin whimpered.
“I know.” Baron touched the boy’s cheek, leaving a red thumbprint. “Deep breaths, Corvin. You’ll be fine.”
He tried to believe it, but he felt the danger in the keening song of Corvin’s blood on his hands. Even with the gashes bound, blood soaked the wrapping. Something was wrong. The injury was too deep, or in a bad place.
“Baron, do something!” Leon begged, his voice high and frightened.
He’d said the same thing while Father had been dying.
What had Baron done then?
There’s nothing I can do, my lord, I’m sorry. There’s nothing anyone can do.
Baron’s magic shied back from the blood, curling within him like a child huddled after a nightmare. It was happening again. It was happeningagain.
Nothing anyone can do.
“Am I dying?” The thought seemed to have just occurred to Corvin as tears spilled down his cheeks.
Sarah rushed over, falling to her knees beside the boy, her blonde hair frazzled. She glanced at the wound, then clutched Corvin’s face with both hands. “Baby, it will be all right. Shh. It will be all right.”
