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But Lyrena bore the real burden. Not only could she summon fire to her fingertips, she could shape and wield the flames that were consuming the village.
I paused in my own efforts more than once, in awe of the deft way she manipulated her fire gifts.
For all the months I’d spent in the elemental court, I’d never seen one of the elementals wield their magic on this scale.
Sweat slid down her temples, turning the hair at the nape of her neck dark brown rather than her usual bright gold. Watching her, I knew—we all knew—the cost of this magic would be steep.
I shot Osheen a look—all that was needed to tell him I’d return shortly. A hundred years fighting together had its advantages.
Lyrena’s effort was admirable. We couldn’t just let the fire burn. If it spread to the forest, it could destroy a dozen villages and even more homesteads. I didn’t particularly care about the fate of the humans. But we might need their help, had needed it once already. The least we could do was rally our magic to ensure that their homes survived another day.
But Lyrena’s expenditure of magic was futile. There was no one to save, no survivors who might thank us for preserving the remaining structures. Then I saw her.
Not Lyrena.
Veyka.
One glimpse of her pale face and I knew nothing would convince Lyrena to stop. No matter the cost.
Veyka’s entire body was shaking.
I knew her well enough, was intimately familiar enough with her body, to know it wasn’t from exertion.
I also knew better than to offer her empty words or tell her to rest. I’d just earn myself another knife wound.
She did not stop until the last flame winked out.
Lyrena was still standing, though I wasn’t quite sure how. Most fae would have been comatose after an expenditure of power like that. However, she managed to throw up a hand to stop Maisri, who tried to follow Veyka as she started toward the center of the village.
“You will help me make camp.” She caught the girl’s shoulder, turning her firmly away from the charred wreckage.
Even Maisri didn’t argue, though her eyes flashed, her head turning as she followed Veyka with her eyes. Even if she could not do so with her body.
Lyrena propelled her forward, eyes fixed on the edge of the forest over my shoulder.
I let them pass, my entire focus on the center of the village.
The stone fountain was scorched, darkened by soot and ash, but largely undamaged. Veyka stopped at its edge, staring down into the reservoir.
Long enough, I almost caught her up.
But just when I thought I’d reach her, she spun on her heel and strode in the opposite direction.
I wanted to rush after her.
But my feet stopped beside the fountain.
What had transfixed her?
The water—what remained of it—was a black sludge. Dark, swirling.
I didn’t understand.
It was stupid to try.
I’d seen plenty of warriors reeling, desperately trying to cope in the wake of a bloody battle. They’d fixate on a sound or an image, seemingly random. Only important in their twisted perception.
Minds dark and damaged.
