Gideon’s eyebrows arched. “We’re not trusting him now, are we?”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” I shrugged. “That’s not the same thing as trust.”
DeLaguna, Taviano, and their associates emerged from the house and joined the other members of the Council of Magic advancing on us, perhaps twenty in all.
“Where’s the rest of your cabal?” I asked.
“Dead or running for the hills.” Jackie spat in a thoroughly uncivilized way. “If they’re smart.”
But in contradiction to his assumption, a small group trooped into view, rounding the corner of the house from the rear. Ruelle Thibodaux, Baron Fontaine, and another man and woman I’d never seen before stumbled across the lawn in jerky, graceless movements. Thibodaux and his associates had not come willingly, it seemed. A group of scowling Council Magicians marched behind them, poking and prodding with some invisible force that seemed to compel the members of Le Poing Fermé to trudge into the clearing. I raised my estimation of opponents from twenty to two dozen, not including Le Poing Fermé, who appeared to have been neutralized.
“Is that all?” I asked. “I thought your cabal would be bigger, Jackie.”
“Don’t underestimate Thibodaux. He looks properly cowed. Trust me when I say he is not.”
From the crowd of newly arrived Magicians, one woman emerged. Tall and elegant, she held herself in a regal way: chin high, shoulders back, neck elongated. Her dark skirts billowed about her, and she wore a black jacket nipped at the waist. A sapphire brooch sparkled on her lapel, and her dark hair was wound into a high chignon at the crown of her head.
Brigette gasped. “That’s the woman who was looking for us when we were in Florrenco.”
“Then you should be honored,” Jackie said. “That is Belladonna Armati. She’s High Magus, the head of the Council of Magic. Some would say she’s the most powerful Magician in the world.”
“More powerful than you?” I asked. “I once heard Thibodaux call you a prodigy.”
“Not all of us seek the spotlight. And not all of us have such limited vision.”
“Wanting to be the head of the governing body of Magic is a limited vision?”
Jackie said nothing, but a silver sheen rippled across his eyes. Its coldness chilled my blood.
“Evelyn Stormbourne, Lady of Thunder.” The High Magus raised her voice, calling out over the roar of the rising winds. The skies swirled, thick with angry, bruised clouds. “You must answer for your crimes. Come forward, come peacefully, and you shall be treated with the dignity and respect due to your station.”
I gave Gideon’s good shoulder a reassuring pat. His nostrils flared, and the muscles in his jaw bulged. He did not look reassured.
Pulling the lightning close, I approached Magus Armati but stopped far enough away to leave myself room to fight. I folded my arms over my chest and assessed Fallstaff, taking in the smoking roof, broken windows, crumbling masonry, and the furrows and ruts scarring the grounds. “Peace? You want to talk about peace?” I gestured to my house. “My home is in ruins. Again. My kingdom has been stolen from me and held hostage by a wicked cabal willing to kill any who would oppose them. I have returned to my homeland to restore peace, but here you are, waging war on my sacred grounds, the homeland of my ancestors.”
I turned my gaze to DeLaguna, who had moved to Magus Armati’s flank, probably eager to receive her praise for his part in bringing down Le Poing Fermé’s wards and capturing Thibodaux and his associates. Taviano, however, was nowhere to be seen. If the coward were smart, he would already be running away.
“You speak of violations. Of crossing lines that can’t be ignored.” I raised both hands. “What do you call this? Is justice only in the eye of the beholder?”
Magus Armati’s brow furrowed. She seemed to consider my words as though she recognized some validity in them. Could it possibly be that easy? Could we end this day without bloodshed?
I wouldn’t bet on it, Grandfather said, as if he’d sensed the sudden rising of Magic before anyone else. Like a volcano erupting underground, the terrain shook under my feet. An indescribable power rocketed up from the core of the earth. Light, heat, sound—an incomprehensible maelstrom of sensation and energy burst forth and clamped onto me with jagged teeth. I shrieked and struggled against that terrible power, but the familiar sensation of Thibodaux’s touch filled me, from head to toe, with pain.
The same force that claimed me had taken the Council of Magicians and my friends as well. Writhing and screaming, they crumpled to the ground. Ruelle Thibodaux and his associates strode forward, enshrouded in a peculiar darkness. Baron Fontaine and the other two Magicians from Le Poing Fermé surveyed the chaos of their attack, but Thibodaux had pinned his eyes on me.
He flicked his fingers, and I shot into the air, hovering high above my friends, who thrashed in pain on the ground. A red haze of anguish filled my head.
“You think we weren’t prepared for such eventualities?” he asked. “That we wouldn’t know this moment was coming and prepare accordingly?” He sucked a tooth. “I’m disappointed that your expectations were so low, Magus. The Council sits in its high basilica, and they grow soft and complacent, confident in the supremacy of their power.” He coughed a harsh sound. “You don’t know the meaning of true power. None of you.”
“You can’t know just how right you are.” Jackie appeared beneath my feet, cloaked in a silver glow. His movements were slow as he fought against Thibodaux’s Magic, as though he were encased in enchanted tar. “You’ve certainly underestimated my power. But perhaps you won’t anymore.”
“You would cast aside your loyalties for this girl?” Harsh laughter ripped from Thibodaux’s belly. “She’s weak, an utter disappointment. Where is all that power you promised us? She’s nothing—certainly not a goddess. Today all your hopes for her have proven to be empty.” Ruelle raised a hand and clenched his fist. Pain bit deeper into me, clamping down, piercing my bones. “She isn’t worth betraying your cabal. Forget her, and all shall be forgiven.”
“Do you really want to talk about forgiveness? After what you did to my family?” Anguish filled Jackie’s face. “After what you’ve done to me?” he roared. His silver glow expanded, lashing at Thibodaux.
The older Magician countered, and his associates returned fire.
“Look at the Magician you’ve become after I stripped away the impurities holding you back.” Thibodaux stepped closer, his barricades rippling and stretching under Jackie’s relentless assault. “You could be the greatest power this world’s ever seen. You’d throw it away for her?”
“Without her, none of it means anything.”
An epic battle raged beneath me, Jackie battling for his life and the lives of everyone around us. One young man standing against four powerful Magicians, perhaps the most powerful of all.
I struggled to break through the pain and reach for the lightning, one strike to tilt the scales in Jackie’s favor, but the pain was too binding. Each nerve in my body blazed. It took all my strength and focus to remain conscious.
Grandfather, I can’t... I can’t...
Hold on, my girl. His voice was desperate. Just a little longer, hold on.
Ruelle yelled a sharp word and whipped a bolt of bright-fuchsia light at Jackie. The force struck Jackie’s silver shroud and disintegrated it. Before Jackie could recover, Baron Fontaine struck, throwing a blast that flung Jackie off his feet. He landed with a breathy cry. Thibodaux struck again, battering Jackie’s body.
“Evelyn.” My name was Jackie’s prayer, his plea for help. For mercy. For a share of that love I owed anyone who’d ever believed in me. And despite everything, Jackie had always been faithful. I should have fostered his faith rather than push him away. It was a lesson learned too late.
I’d thought of Jackie as my greatest enemy for so long. Even now I knew he’d only fought for me because he wanted a chance to use me for his own plans and schemes, but that didn’t stop my heart from breaking at the sight of this proud and beautiful young man dying at my feet. Jackie was my foe to defeat. I would have done it with mercy.
Thibodaux had no right to take that from me.
I reached deep inside myself. The pain clamped down, chewing, grinding my bones, but I bore it. I endured it long enough to reach the part of myself that belonged only to the thunder.
And that was when I heard it.
Through my own screams.
Through the roaring winds in my ears.
Through the cries of agony from all the people Thibodaux tortured.
A chant. A hymn. A prayer.
Familiar words I hadn’t heard since the day of my father’s funeral.
From a quartet of voices. No, dozens. No, hundreds. Hundreds of unified voices. Through pain-clouded vision, I spied crowds emerging from the forest around Fallstaff’s borders. They carried lanterns, thuribles, and censers filled with incense specifically blended to smell like the air during a storm. Together they raised their voices. Together they poured out their belief.
Their prayers were a sacred old song—simple words, easy to remember and pass down through generations:
Divine is the Thunder,
Let her be praised.
