Page 107 of Prince of the Sun

His girlfriend.

Did I really just think that? Oops.

I refocus on the plan, darting backward to meet Cara. Shebends over and starts to fiddle with her hiking boot, where a thin knife is hidden in a slip that Berendir showed her how to make in the rubber sole. She straightens up and passes the knife to me, grinning. “Time to shine, Lightbearer.”

I grin back at her. Then I lower the tip of the knife to my left palm and draw a diagonal line through its flesh.

Sunlight floods from my hand. The guards surrounding Daerios and Berendir whip around, then immediately throw their hands in front of their eyes, hissing. Sunlight doesn’t kill a Shadow Elf instantly, but it does cause them extreme pain. If they’re exposed to it for too long, their skin begins to boil, the way a human’s would if you stuck them inside a microwave.

Daerios and Berendir capitalize on the Shadow Elves’ distraction by tackling two of the guards and snatching away their sabers. The guards try to grab them back, but the light streaming from my hand has blinded them. All they can do is paw uselessly at the air.

“To the river!” the lead guard yells. He alone remains behind, clutching both Michael’s forearm and the Shadow Sword. “Block their way out!”

Good. Send them exactly where we want them. And while we’re at it…

I flip around, shining my palm on the lead guard. He yelps, dropping both my brother and the sword as he recoils from the light. I don’t have much time left—the wound is healing quickly—so I rush forward and snatch Michael’s elbow, scooping up the Shadow Sword as I drag him back toward the others.

“W-what did—” Michael stutters. “What on Earth was—”

“I’ll explain later.” My palm has sealed, leaving us in darkness again. I shove my brother toward Daerios and Berendir, who place a hand on either of his shoulders and drag him between them. I toss the Shadow Sword to Daerios.

“I need a bow and quiver,” Cara announces. “I feel weirdlynaked without them.”

Berendir’s face splits into the biggest grin I’ve ever seen him wear. “That’s my girl.”

“Allow me,” I say. Then, using the dagger, I reopen the slit on my left palm, cut open a new one on the right, and, crossing my wrists through the restraint of the manacles, point one hand in either direction. Groans of pain come from both the lead guard, who is now writhing on the ground, and the rest of the detail running toward the river. “Go!” I yell at Cara.

She sprints over to the leader and unhooks the bow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulders. He tries to fight her off, but she rears back her hiking boot and kicks him in the crotch. His whole body freezes. Cara yanks the weapons off his body, gives him one last kick for good measure, and runs back to meet the group.

The lights from my palms start to wane. “What are we going to do about these manacles?” I ask.

“Leave that to me,” Berendir says. “For now, let’s go get the bastards by the river.”

At the river, the battle is utter chaos.

We’re outnumbered four to one. Five to one, really, with Michael being more of a body needing protection than any sort of help. Daerios and Berendir disarm the first guards they can, throwing them to the ground and swiping their weapons before spinning around to engage in battle. Cara doesn’t leave the tree line; she scampers up the branches and crouches high above, sending arrows down into the fight. High above, skaelor circle,looking for a chance to dive into the fight. I think I hear the telltale growl of urrath in the forest.

We’re surrounded.

The leader has vanished, probably running back to Árrion to inform the Shadow King of our betrayal, but it matters little. We have at least an hour’s head start. If we can take down just this group of guardsandsafely cross the river, we have a genuine shot at escape.

We don’t need to kill all of the guards. In truth, we don’t need to killanyof them, but I’m not complaining about my friends’ ruthlessness. The Shadow Elves murdered my father and held my brother prisoner for almost a decade. As far as I’m concerned, the more of them that die, the better.

I place the point of the dagger at the top of my left shoulder. Then, gritting my teeth, I slice through the skin and drag it all the way down the outside of my upper arm, over the elbow, over the back of my forearm, and up to my knuckles. Then I switch hands and repeat the incision on the other side. Light shatters out of me, streaming like spotlights out in either direction.

It’s awful. More painful than anything I’ve experienced since we began this journey—save the moment I thought Daerios was going to die. But it works. The Shadow Elves gasp, hunching over or simply falling to the floor at the blinding force of the light.

My friends turn to gape at me. I can only imagine how I must look: a tiny woman with wings of golden light, like a bird flying on the rays of the sun. I lock eyes with Daerios. He does not smile. Does not frown. His expression is one of pure awe, lips parted, Shadow Sword dangling at his side.

“Now!” I yell, not taking my eyes from Daerios. “Before the wounds close!”

Then I turn around and dive into the river.

The effect is instantaneous. Light floods out into the water,filling the entire river with its power. Though I cannot see through the bright blur ahead of me, I can only pray that it does what we hope it will: chase away the shadow monsters that lurk in the river’s depths. If all goes according to plan, my body will chart a safe path that my companions can follow.

Once I surface, I chance a peek over my shoulder and find four heads bobbing in the golden waves behind me. On the shoreline, the Shadow Elves are staggering back up to standing positions, waving their spears and howling in anger at our escape. They cannot follow us into the river; they’ll probably boil.

I paddle steadily forward, moving with the current that pushes us downriver. After a minute or two, we reach the other shore without incident. I press my hands to the black grass on the shoreline and haul myself out of the water. To my surprise, when my hands make contact with the grass, it’s color changes. The wounds on my arms haven’t yet healed, and the ground appears to react to the light; the blades, once completely devoid of color, steadily warm to a familiar green. The sight makes my heart leap. It also distracts me to such a degree that I don’t hear my friends clamber out of the river until a pair of wet arms wrap around my waist. I jump, but Daerios holds my center tight, pulling me in close and whispering, “Well done, Lightbearer.”