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As expected, they panic and conjure a wall of golden light around themselves, forming an enormous bubble. Even Ahelin follows suit. She drops hers as soon as she sees both she and all her priestesses are protected by their shield.
This gains me several precious seconds. Enough to conjure my next spell.
“Telum!”
Aether blasts from my fingers, the spell mimicked by my clones. Every blast is directed to the same point in their shield. I aim for the weakest area, where the barrier is maintained by a young priestess. Her brow creases as she struggles, but she isn’t strong enough to withstand the blow. My magic tears through her shield, sending her flying back into the wall. Priestesses hurry to her side, though enough remain to hold the rest of the shield.
I don’t know how badly my magic struck the young priestess, and I can’t let myself dwell on it. I must focus on fighting the rest of them, fighting for my chance to destroy Arluin and avenge Nolderan.
“Mizarel,” the High Priestess shouts, and a spear of light blazes toward the nearest clone. The rays pierce the clone’s chest, and it disintegrates into violet dust.
Four Reynas remain.
A priestess strikes the clone to my left.
Three Reynas.
Even though I split myself into five, my clones can only cast the same spell as me. I can’t cast both defensive and offensive spells, whereas the priestesses are so many in number that they can do both with ease.
At this rate, I will be defeated. I must do something. But what? Their shield is so strong, and targeting the weakest priestess only pierced their defenses for a fleeting moment. Now the other priestesses have covered the gap and made the wall even stronger.
An idea flashes in my mind. A way to shatter their ranks. It is reckless, but I have no other options.
I drop to my knees and slam my palm against the stone. “Terra!”
Green light bolts across the floor, heading to where Ahelin stands at the center of the priestesses. The ground quakes, my magic ripping it apart. The temple shakes with the disruption. Dust billows out as the walls and ceilings grind against each other. Zephyr whimpers. I don’t turn to see where he hides. Judging by where the sound comes from, he must be cowering in Natharius’s cell.
The priestesses shriek as the floor gives way. The crack isn’t wide enough for them to fall through, though the chasm plunges countless feet underground. I can’t risk making the earthquake any more violent without causing the entire temple to collapse on us. Even now, the walls tremble enough that I fear I may have miscalculated my spell.
Though the spell inflicts no immediate harm on the priestesses, it achieves what I intend. Their concentration is shattered, their shield with it. They are also momentarily surprised by the chaos. Even Ahelin is caught off-guard for a second. And it’s a second long enough for me to cast my next spell.
“Ignir’alas!”
Flames burst from my fingers, rising into the wings of a phoenix. The inferno crashes down on the priestesses. Ahelin has enough time to throw a hasty shield around herself. Other priestesses react quickly enough to protect themselves, but a few are left exposed and suffer the full impact of my spell.
They scream as the fire consumes them. The smell of burning flesh fills the dungeons. It isn’t a smell I miss. It reminds me of the night Nolderan fell, when I used my flames against the undead—the reanimated corpses of those I knew.
I banish the memory as quickly as it rises. I dull my senses and rid myself of the smell. I cannot afford any weakness. My past will not cripple me. Not now. Not ever.
Some priestesses fall. The others race to their allies and smother them with golden light, desperately trying to heal them.
Rage blazes in the High Priestess’s eyes. “You will pay for this, witch.”
Shards of golden light rip through the air. Her attacks are focused on one of my remaining clones, but a few shards scatter through the dungeons and fly dangerously close to me. I lurch away, and the bolt skims my cheek. Though the ward of light magic felt soothing, this spell feels far from it. It scorches my flesh, leaving a burning line in its wake.
A similar line appears on my clone’s cheeks, though the one Ahelin struck is already fading away. The High Priestess’s attention snaps to me, the real me. The fact my clones now bear my injury is enough to reveal me as the true Reyna.
The High Priestess gathers magic into her fingers, as do all her unwounded priestesses. I clutch Father’s staff and draw on all the aether I can.
“Muriz!”
My shield barely manifests in time to stop me from being immolated by their holy fire. Golden flames lick at the violet walls encasing me. I grip the staff tighter, throwing more aether at my shield. With my concentration devoted to the barrier, the mirror image spell shatters and my last clone disappears.
Holy fire licks at the violet light. A hole emerges overhead. I focus on mending that part of the shield, but with my attention diverted there, the rest of my shield unravels.
No!
The priestesses unleash another barrage of golden flames. My shield struggles to withstand it. Flames pierce the barrier. They lick at my sleeves and the ends of my hair. I pour every ounce of strength into the shield, using Father’s staff to pull more aether toward me. But the magic in my blood is almost drained, and I lack the strength to weave the aether in the air into my shield.
