But she couldn’t ignore the look on his face, the rapture as he watched Gael attempting to—well, Elyria wasn’t sure what she was attempting, but she was clearly using her magic to dosomething.
And Cedric was absolutely transfixed.
“Won’t it burn her?” he asked nobody in particular.
“She’s a flamecaller,” Elyria answered, as if that alone would explain everything. It should. For someone who had supposedly trained his whole life for a deadly competition against his enemy, the knight seemed shockingly naive in his knowledge of Arcanian magic. Heshould already know that being impervious to burns was just one of the many benefits of wielding fire magic.
If only we were all so lucky,she thought, resisting the urge to palm her thighs.
Gael let out a yelp as the flames finally subsided. Wings flaring, she started spinning in the air, movements erratic. She’d lost control, Elyria realized, as Gael began careening toward the ground, fast.
Too fast.
Elyria felt Cedric move at her side, darting toward the falling fae to catch her. At the same time, Cyren shot a hand out, a gentle gust of wind soaring up to meet Gael’s floundering body, slowing her descent. She landed softly in Cedric’s arms.
“What was that?” Elyria asked, incredulity coloring her tone as she rushed forward to meet them.
“Neat bit of magic,” Gael said, wonder warring with bitterness as Cedric set her on the ground, “but rather inconvenient. Flying isdefinitelynot an option anymore.”
“What do you mean?” asked Cedric, and Elyria resisted the temptation to laugh at his obvious relief.
“The fire burned some sort of ward into place.” She pointed at the sky. “The magic hooked into me as soon as the flame winked out. All of the sudden, I couldn’t fly anymore.”
Elyria unsheathed her wings with a frown, taking in the somewhat slack-jawed expression on Cedric’s face with pride. Sure enough, as soon as she attempted to lift off the ground, some unseen force pushed on her, keeping her down.
“Great.” Elyria turned to Cyren. “I don’t think the Crucible much cared for your plan, Cy.”
Kit chuckled. “Exactly. Not very ‘unity’ focused.”
Cyren’s wings flared irritably before he folded them against his back. “Don’t talk about the Crucible as if it’s some living, breathing thing.”
“Isn’t it though?” Elyria said under her breath, squinting at the sky. She didn’t think anyone heard her, but when she pulled her gaze back, Cedric was looking at her with bemusement.
Gael stepped forward, inspecting the wall of trees as if she might be able to see what lay beyond. “What now then?”
Elyria took another step toward the wall, sweeping her eyes over the tangled mass of roots and thorns once more. “What else can we do?” She sighed, pulling her staff over her head and discarding it in the grass, then folding her wings flat against her back. “Let me try again.”
“Are you sure you—” Cedric cut himself off at the dangerous look Elyria shot him.
Holding both hands in front of her face, Elyria splayed her fingers. She closed her eyes. Let her awareness sink past the grass, past the soil, into the heart of the earth. And she reached for the magic she could feel thrumming deep within each twisted vine, each gnarled root. It was faint, a veil placed over it. But it was there. The melody oflifewoven into the fabric of all wild things—a hymn of growth and potential.
With painstaking focus, she grabbed hold of the whispers humming within each root, the magic in each vine, beckoning them forth until she could feel them, grasp them.
And Elyriapulled.
It was like dragging an anchor through tar. Sweat beaded on her furrowed brow as she attempted to coax the roots apart. They did not want to budge, did not want to move. But eventually, she managed to unwind enough of the thorny tendrils to create an opening—barely two handspans wide.
“Kit.” Elyria’s whisper was a plea.
Kit sprang into action, three fingers pointed at the opening. Water shot from her hand, crystallizing as it met the roots, frost creeping along the vines. In seconds, the opening was encased in a thick sheet of ice.
Elyria let out a shuddering breath as she let go, stumbling back several paces. She met a column of stone, sturdy at her back as she slumped against it. Then the column placed two steadying hands on her shoulders, and she realized that it was not, in fact, a column at all.
It was a knight.
“Are you all right?” Cedric asked.
Elyria straightened as she whirled on him, color rushing to her cheeks. She didn’t have a chance to answer him, however, before Leona’s nasally voice snared her attention.
