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Chapter Seventeen
The woman who stoodin front of the ragtag group of survivors didn’t seem concerned that her little band of soldiers was dwindling.
Sorin glanced at Amy.
She was pale, her strength waning but she remained on her feet and resolute.
“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you,” Ronna said in a jeering voice.
Sorin felt Amy sway next to him and he put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Whatever magic the witch had put in her words smacked against him but, predictably, rolled away, leaving him unaffected.
Amy, though, sucked in a breath and even with his support, she was growing weaker.
In front of them, grunts and voices rang out from the large pit, now a muddy trap that held dozens of men. The mud was littered with bits and pieces of wood—pecan wood, Sorin’s suggestion, after he heard what Gia had been guiding Amy through.
Gia wasn’t a hedge witch, but she’d worked with more than a few in her life time and the sort of witchcraft Amy had been unwittingly practicing was an odd sort, mostly instinctual, so although what she’d shown Amy would be mostly crude and definitely a one-trick wonder, it would work.
And it had, as evidenced by the men still trapped in the cloying, sticky mess of mud and twigs, the pecan-riddled dirt helping to bind Amy’s amateur hex. The rest of the protection came from the stones around the perimeter of the property, a protective spell that would end once the magic that made the spell was used up or after Ronna expended enough energy, either via her own magic or had enough of her men smash themselves bloody trying to climb a stone barrier that fought back.
Stone isn’t as intuitive as wood, but it binds easily enough with blood, Amy. Just tell it what you want and it will give to you, as long as you’re willing to pay the price..
Sorin had aided in paying that price. He’d asked if it had to be her blood alone and Gia had admitted she didn’t know, so they’d tried.
Now the glyphs on the stones were drawn in blood from Amy, Gia and Sorin and they were strong enough that even he felt the humming, lingering power. He suspected Ronna would have to go through several platoons of men before she broke the spell.
Amy didn’t have that long.
“Stay here,” he said in a soft voice.
She gave him a wary look but stayed quiet as he climbed down the steps.
He felt a touch of wild, beautiful energy against his senses and knew it was Gia. Stilling, he cocked his head, knew she’d somehow sensed what was happening.
He reached out and felt her, along with the boy, miles from where he was, far south of here. Safe.
But still she’d sensed what was happening.
You need to be focused on the boy right now, he tried to tell her, nudging her away from the scene unfolding before him. She might be angry with Amy but they’d been friends...of a sort.
But Gia didn’t take well to being nudged or protected.
Sighing, he extended a mental hand to her.
“If you must know, witchling, reach out to me.”
It didn’t surprise him that she sensed what he wanted, or that she accepted.
It was something of a surprise that her...essence, so to speak, so easily merged with him. Like she’d stepped into his skin, she was suddenly there. He could feel her heat, her power, her very being.
“That’s Ronna,”she said.
Sorin didn’t respond to that. Instead, he told her what he needed her to know. “Amy is faltering. She has minutes, maybe a half hour. But Ronna is strong.”
Gia went quiet and Sorin knew she understood. Whatever they were going to do, it needed to be done so Amy could die at peace. The magic she was expending was draining her quickly. Soon, she’d have nothing left to give—her blood was the catalyst for the spells, but she wasn’t trained and had no way to draw power from anything but herself. That source was almost tapped out.
“Let’s get it done, then,”Gia told him.
Sorin shifted his attention to the world without and found Ronna watching him. When he met her gaze, something dark and greedy moved in the back of her eyes. He smiled. Thought she’d found prey, did she?
