Blaise is begging me not to go, but the fire is feeding on me like the withering wick of a candle. I want to scream at her that I’d like to stay, that I wish we had more time, but my throat is burning.
Arms wrap around me, dragging me across the slick floor, out of the heavy rays.
Immediately, my skin starts knitting itself back together, a pain altogether worse than the burning itself. I force open my eyes and find the source of the hole in the ceiling that almost ended me.
Above us perches a wyvern, its silver scales glistening in the heat of the Naenden sun. Around us is light, reflecting off its shimmering scales, off the stark white marble of the palace.
It’s beautiful, and also deadly.
“You need to run,” I tell Blaise, my throat still dry despite the fact that it’s healing.
“No, no. I can’t leave you like this.” She’s shaking, grabbing onto me and pulling my back into her chest.
“I’m already healing,” I say, but it’s no use. It’s not as if I’m going to fool Blaise into thinking I’m not defenseless should more of the ceiling cave in, exposing me to the sunlight even in the alcove she’s dragged me into.
Blaise ignores me, so I try again. “You’re the one wearing paldihv. You can still help your friends.”
Blaise stills at that, and I know I’ve got her.
Guilt punctures my conscience for using her friends as a means to get Blaise out of here, hopefully to safety, but I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Until Blaise grabs my hands, then drags them up to her face, tucking my fingers underneath her chin while another rests at the base of her skull.
“What are you do—”
A sickening crack as Blaise yanks my hands up and to the side.
A thud as Blaise’s body slumps behind me.
No.
I’m still dizzy from burning, but I manage to turn around in the alcove, cupping Blaise’s lifeless face as it lolls to the side. I’m back in the dungeon, cracking Blaise’s neck at the force of a command I couldn’t even remember until that very second.
No, no, no.
But Blaise’s curse will heal her, I remind myself, digging my fingers into my knees. She’ll wake up any moment now.
But why—
The shadows of the paldihv unfurl themselves from her face, seeping into my skin.
Oh. Oh, Blaise.
I grab her hands, intent on doing the same thing to her that she did to me, giving the paldihv back.
But then the wyvern shrieks, thrashing as it lands on the floor across from the alcove.
I only have time to guard Blaise’s limp body with my own as it spears its barbed tail at us, skewering me through my stomach.
CHAPTER 103
EVANDER
Orion and I cut through the colonnades of the palace. It wasn’t difficult to get in, given a wyvern had already smashed through one of the marble domes.
I can’t imagine that was part of Azrael’s plan.
Ellie and her father managed to rally the entire art district into forging weapons and armor that might stand a chance against the Others.
We’ve yet to test them.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m confident in my wife’s genius, but it would have been nice if we’d had time to put them through a few trials.
Oh well.
I left my wife and daughter home in Othian. I intend for this to be the last time I do that.
As we race through the palace, Orion and I fight back to back. Summoning plant life is difficult in Naenden, where the sun licks the moisture out of the air, causing my magic to groan inside of me. Getting it to function is like prodding an adolescent to get out of bed in the morning.
Still, we manage, though we quickly find that summoning succulents takes far less effort and produces much more efficient results. Spindled plants are rather effective in fighting Others.
We’ve just cut through the central portion of the palace, ichor already staining our enameled armor, when we spot her.
She’s standing. Rather, lounging, in the middle of the palace garden, garbed in pajamas, flicking her wrist lazily as trees spring from the ground and spear through a host of attacking Others. Some trees have even sprouted high and fast enough to spear wyverns in midair.
Orion and I look at our vines, which to be honest, we were quite proud of only minutes earlier.
“Is it possible to love someone, and utterly hate them at the same time?” I ask, staring at my sister, Olwen. She yawns before snapping her fingers and producing a flytrap plant, which subsequently snaps the head off an oncoming wyvern.
