“Yeah, but you’re one person,” she said doubtfully.
“Only one way to be sure,” he replied. “Try it.”
“Now? Here?”
He leaned back against the rock, arms crossed. “Better here than when a dozen blades are aimed at us. Keep it in the treeline though. Don’t want them to see it.”
“Right, okay. Give me your hand.”
Kara gripped his hand tight as she pulled at the threads of their power. His strength rose in her alongside her own magic, quick and sharp, but when she pushed it out it came out wrong – a russet-tinged mist spilling only a few feet before thinning to nothing. Not enough.
Panic gripped her. “Why isn’t it–?”
“I think because it was instinctive,” Sebastian said, unshaken. “You were trying to save me.” He squeezed her hand. “Think of that, Kara. Think of me. Saving my life.”
She nodded once, allowing her fear of losing him, the need to protect him, to fill her. This time, the magic surged golden, hot and blinding – but too fast. It spilled out into Sebastian immediately, completely uncontrolled. He staggered back with a grunt, his grip on her hand tightening convulsively. His gaze unfocused and his knees buckled as if he were about to collapse.
“Sebastian!” she cried, pulling her magic back. The mist disappeared at once. “I didn’t mean–”
“M’kay.” He blinked sleepily, bracing himself against the rock. He shook his head. “You nearly had me under.” He steadied slightly. “Still hate that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, shame blooming.
“Don’t be,” he said, his expression clearing as the fog lifted. “It’s effective. That’s good – it means it’ll work.” He nudged her shoulder. “Next time though, watch where you’re aiming.”
She dropped her gaze as the guilt lodged inside her. She couldn’t believe she’d almost done it again.
“Kara,” he said pulling her chin back to him. “Stop that. It’s fine.”
She gave him a reluctant smile and he tugged her into his arms. “Thank you,” she whispered.
As the afternoon wore on, he made her try several more times, until gold mist trailed in front of her controlled and fully at her command.
“Very good,” he muttered approvingly at her last attempt. “It’s almost time.”
She watched the fading sunlight, nerves fluttering unpleasantly.
“The patrol went past five minutes ago. Now’s our window. You ready?” he asked her.
Not really.
“You have done things like this before, right?”
“Similar.”
She stared at him.
“Southern Isles rebels. Less organised.”
“Sebastian.”
“We’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
Her hands trembled but she nodded anyway.
And so, together, they crept towards the edge of the rocky hill and peered down into the valley, at least fifty feet below them, torches flickering in the darkness. There were more than twenty men her magic had to reach, all armoured with blades in hand. Her magic had to reach them all – and it had to be fast, before one cry carried to the temple.
If I get this wrong, if I’m not quick enough, Sebastian could die.
