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Taking a deep mental breath, she let her mind expand. Cracking the door of her consciousness wide. Seeing the universe of mage energy as a crackling horizon of writhing light. Pulsating in all colors and patterns. The endless power a well that could be drawn on for infinity. Giving her the strength of millions.
In Doran, the Morkoth magic had tempered that energy. Allowed its use without ill effect. She’d not that luxury. Unwarded and defenseless, such a violent surge in power could kill. But she’d run out of options.
The gathering of mage energy into her body filled her until she felt as if too many shared her skin. They warred within her, crushing the breath from her lungs, warping her muscles, clamoring in her brain until the din deafened her. And still she called for more to come to her aid.
Light infused her. Filled her vision until it scorched her eyes from their sockets. Until all was flame. Until she became a living firestorm of energy and power.
“Kuntell galloes. Ladra galloes. Gul devnydh a galloes.” The words came thick as ropes. Binding Doran. Tightening around him. Wrapping him in the same fire that consumed her.
“Merwel re’m galloes.” Flinging out her arms, she released the fusion of Other energy. Let it pour from her eyes, her mouth, her fingers. Let it tear into the Morkoth-tainted Amhas-draoi. Set him ablaze.
Blinded, still she felt him falter. Felt his power ebb. The tremble in the air as Neuvarvaan and Doran fought against her control.
A gun blast from the other side of the room broke through her control. Set
the energy rippling and curling through her body.
It was time.
A maelstrom of light and sound, earth and air threatened to shatter her bones to dust. Pull her body apart nerve by nerve. So many thoughts not her own. So many dreams and hopes, skills and spells. She wove them into a weapon not even a Morkoth-aided Doran could withstand.
Screaming her defiance and with the last of her strength, she torched his very soul, shriveling him to ash and choking smoke and a few floating embers.
Remembered nothing after.
Chapter 29
She had no recollection of Cam, dazed and wounded, carrying her out of the warehouse. No memory of Brodie Mackay’s explosive awakening, the death glow of Neuvarvaan marking him as Undying even as he made an anguished escape into the confusion and anonymity of the city. No recall when they spoke to her of the dark hours she spent between life and death when all had despaired but the one man who’d never left her bedside.
Until the day she’d awoken.
Cam had walked away even as she struggled up out of the swamp of unconsciousness, whispering his name through cracked lips. Sending a silent plea for the comfort of his strong hand in her own. The steady weight of his presence reassuring her when all her dreams left him for dead.
There were others there to welcome her back to the world of the living—Gram, whose silver-gray eyes burned clear with relief and love, her father enveloping her in a bear hug that threatened to crush the breath back out of her lungs. Scathach, who stood as one among three other Fey, two men and a single woman whose brilliance outstripped her companions’ as the sun’s bright light eclipses the stars.
Dressed in shimmering white, her silver hair coiled against her head, her upturned eyes a fathomless whirl of blue and gray and green, she stepped to Morgan’s bedside, dropping her hand to the scabbard at her hip. Neuvarvaan safely back in the hands of the warrior-goddess Andraste. She bowed her head. “We owe you a debt, little sister.”
Heat crawled up Morgan’s neck at the tribute. Stung her cheeks. “I only did what I was asked to do. Nothing more.”
A ghost of a smile tipped the corner of Andraste’s lip. For her, probably the closest thing to laughter she’d ever get. “Even so, the Fey do not forget an owing. You have only to call upon us.”
Gram stood, shooing the group of Fey before her like ill-behaved children. “That’s enough. All of you. You’ll tire her out with your grand bowing and scraping. She needs her rest.”
The two males tossed their dark hair, flinging the tiny woman black looks before blinking out of sight. But Scathach and Andraste both allowed the rough use, no more than indulgence in their cool gazes. Gram might have given up a life among them for a mortal’s love, but she still held a strong whip-hand among the children of High Danu.
“Wait,” Morgan called.
Andraste turned back, her perfectly arched brows raised in question.
“I do have a favor to ask. Ensign Traverse, the soldier who survived Neuvarvaan’s attack. Can you help him? Restore him to the way he was?”
The warrior-goddess tilted her head. “This is what you truly wish?”
Morgan swallowed. Eternal youth. Riches unimaginable. Great power. She knew she had but to ask and Andraste would see it done. The Fey didn’t favor mortals with wishes very often. But their honor required a fair reckoning when they felt a debt owed.
Morgan lifted her chin. Faced Andraste with all the strength of the Amhas-draoi behind her, her tone final. “It is.”
“Not even the true Fey can undo all the Morkoth’s black magics.”
