“I figured you’d love to show off.”
Maeve looked back up at Kietel.
“I said no,” her voice shook more than she liked. “You don’t need me-you have your human army and their bombs.”
One of the metal cuffs on her wrist snapped loose and fell to the floor with a clang. The room fell silent at once.
“Kill him if you like,” said Kietel pointing at Nicklefrost. “I’m certain a Supreme needs only one free hand.”
Maeve looked at Nicklefrost. His expression blank.
“He struck you,” said Kietel. “Strike him back.”
Maeve didn’t move.
He circled her. “Come now, Sinclair, my boys are dying to see that Sacred Seventeen power from someone so young.”
He stepped towards her. She gasped as he grabbed her free wrist and held it up. The skin was raw over the tattooed three stars. A symbol of her blood.
“See those marks, boys?” Continued Kietel. “Those stars? Some of you here have them.” He looked down at her. “Those stars mean something to you, Sinclair?”
Maeve looked up at him. “Usque ad Mortem.”
Kietel grinned. He struck fast, and Maeve slammed up a shield, blocking his spell. Her hair whipped behind her.
“Give me both hands,” muttered Maeve, pressing her shield against him.
The other shackle fell to the floor with a clang. Maeve drew two fingers at her side.
Kietel released her, stepped away, and nodded.
Bright green light burst from her fingers, shooting towards Kietel. He blocked her with a dramatic wave of his arm.
“I trained with your father, you know,” said Kietel. “I was the top Bellator for years.”
“I know,” said Maeve. “He made you captain.”
Kietel fired on her, Maeve dodged his attack and fired back. His shield slammed up, and Maeve fired again, damaging the shield with fiery red sparks.
The room sucked in a breath.
“We’re playing with Dread Magic?” Said Kietel. “Alright then.”
He fired on her with deadly red hexes, each one dissipating as it hit her shield. She drew Mal’s magic through her arm. It was like breathing after suffocating. A silent sedation and rush of violence.
She pointed at him and pulled all of their Magic together. The curse shot to him at light speed and shattered through his defenses. Blood spewed from his arm, where a thick slice of his uniform had burned up.
Nicklefrost moved towards him.
Kietel held up a hand and then braced his wound. He stared at Maeve. “Well done.”
Maeve’s heartbeat was fast. Almost too fast. She was certain they could all feel her fear. She pressed her feet into the floor as her legs threatened to collapse. She was nearly drained. She needed a full meal.
“Now that the ice is broken,” he said. “Nicklefrost. Felden.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the center of the room.
The soldiers obeyed without hesitation, moving side by side.
“Enter one of their minds and jump to the other.”
