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“I would advise against that,” a deep male voice scolded. No trace of the thick, rolling western accent she was accustomed to.
Ordering Tenah to refrain from anything was the equivalent of begging her to do just the opposite. However, the only shadows that knew that were either dead or Corrupt.
Her chest ached at that empty thought, and the world seemed to drop away. How could she be so selfish? She hadn’t even thought to ask the death king to revive Ames. Wouldn’t he have stood a better chance at defeating her father? That was, if he wasn’t in agreement of her father’s destruction. Had they misread him? Could he have had ulterior motives when her father brought him home from war?
Panic shot its burning venom into her veins. For the first time since she could recall, she lost all control of her magic. Flames wrapped in black lightning burst from her fingertips. The welkin cut the air with a loud screech and careened sideways. Tenah slid from its back, her hands scrambling to find grip along its front limb.
The beast shrieked, ripping her free with dagger-like claws and tossing her out into the open sky. Tenah’s screams were swallowed up by the roar of the wind then silenced by deep, powdery snow as she sank into it. The cold did little to numb the fresh slashes in her thigh and shoulder, burning hotter than the undesirable magic still buzzing in her channels.
Curses spewed from the figure that dropped into the snow next to her. This was headed up by an impressive rant about slaughtering the useless welkin as it glided away, abandoning them in a frozen wasteland.
Seeping blood and dark magic, Tenah rightly freaked. She stumbled to her feet, disoriented and unbearably cold. She made it all of three strides to the tree line before an arm hooked around her middle and pulled her against a solid body.
“Tenah, please!”
She jerked around to face her captor.
Renton.
A mixture of relief and horror flooded through her. In the sunlight, his long hair shone like Vozarian wheat fields, and his eyes glittered bright green with mesmerizing flecks of yellow. He no longer wore his illusion, his bone armor on full display. Her gaze snagged on his weapons as she recalled how he’d stabbed her father for casting the very same magic electrifying her body at the moment.
Releasing a crackle of lightning, she broke free and made another reckless dash for the trees, as if they would protect her. All it would take was a knife to her back, and she’d be downed if he wished it.
No way she’d bargained for another life just to immediately die. What cruel trick was the death king playing?
She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting through the pain. Flashes of the gathering crashed over her. The reverberating clang of weapons. Glass shattering. Rolling flames and splintering wood. A choir of screams and desperate prayers. Blood pooling in the floorboards she’d spent her childhood sprawled across. Her father’s black, soulless eyes—dark magic given flesh and blood.
A pit opened inside of her chest, sucking everything in like quicksand. A ruthless, all-encompassing force took and took until she was certain there would be no pieces of her left. It gnawed worse than a ravenous hunger, unable to be satisfied.
Renton caught up to her as her wounded leg gave out. He drew her against his chest, and his back landed in the snow. He rolled them both over, caging her. His harsh expression made her wince, colder than the soaked fabric of her tattered dress.
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but you need to get control over that magic right now,” he said roughly.
Her teeth chattered as she stared up at him with wide eyes and labored breaths. “Frostbite,” she whined.
“Magic first or neither of us is getting back up,” he emphasized, motioning to the field of black electricity forming around them.
Tenah shook her head. “This isn’t mine. I didn’t-I didn’t summon it. I’ve never…”
“Hey, it’s okay.” His voice softened. “Our immediate concern is your injuries.”
But whatever this was burning inside of her, it refused to settle. Braced over her with one arm, Renton pulled out a tiny vial churning with pungent charcoal smoke. When he popped the cork, the contents tumbled out. It wrapped around her hands until she no longer felt the searing buzz of toxic magic. The Chaotic storm dissolved above them.
“What did you do to me?” she whispered, examining her hands.
“It’s called creeping smoke. Temporarily halts a caster’s magic.”
Her eyes shot up to him, fear spiking. “You stabbed my father.”
“I’m not going to stab you, unless you want to keep it up with that forbidden magic.”
“Reassuring,” she muttered, throat constricting. Gazing up at the sky, she sucked in a lungful of glacial air. Then she crawled out from under him, ignoring the traitorous part of her brain that wondered what his weight would feel like pressed against her.
Renton didn’t hesitate to scoop her up into his arms.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she protested. She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want to find comfort in him at all.
A muscle in his jaw flexed as his hold tightened. “You demonstrated that quite spectacularly. Tell me, how far do you think you’d make it before you bled out or succumbed to the cold?”
