“For Noelle,” Ducot repeated like a vow.
There wasn’t enough savagery between them—not enough in all the world to satisfy them. The fight was intoxicating. It was liberating. It felt so good that Eira wanted to scream, to weep. Her magic raged unchecked as Eira swung her gaze to a new horde of knights rushing toward them from the central square.
Eira lifted a hand. There was enough power for this. She could stop them all in their tracks and?—
Movement distracted her.
The rooftops.
A man had positioned himself at the roof’s edge, rifle trained on her. Time seemed to slow as her focus narrowed on his hand, thumb gliding over the trigger. In a blink, the roles were reversed. Noelle was holding the rifle, and it was Eira’s chest that was blown through. Vengeance for the way in which Eira had utterly failed her.
Eira’s fingers quivered. Magic didn’t come fast enough as she was distracted by the phantom pain that arced between her ribs.
Why?The inevitable question echoed over the explosion that followed.
A gale tore through the town. It rattled windows, tore off shutters, and slammed doors. Glass shattered, flying through the air like deadly confetti. The man was thrown from the roof before he could take the shot. Eira looked over her shoulder to the entrance of town—the epicenter of the swirling storm conjured out of nowhere on a clear spring day.
There, Cullen stood, radiating power. In the eye of the storm, he was perfectly still, immune to the howling winds that ripped at her hair. Behind him were clear blue skies, an exit out of the array of brutal winds.
In his eyes was a promise: He’d tear down the town, if that’s what it took to save her.
Screams began to rise, louder than the woman’s, than Noelle’s. These people had suffered enough. Eira began to run toward Cullen and the entrance of the town.
On her way, she shouted, “Fall back!”
“We have them!” Ducot snarled.
She grabbed Ducot’s elbow, pulling him with her. “They’ll have more reinforcements before we know it.”
“I’m going to kill them all!”
Eira yanked him to face her, putting both her hands on his cheeks so he knew she was looking right at him when she said,“She’s gone, Ducot. All the blood and vengeance and death in the world won’t be enough of a payment to bring her back.”
Ducot’s face twisted. He opened and shut his mouth, as if he wanted to object but didn’t know how to. A guttural gulp escaped, like a sob cut short.
“I am not losing you to them, too.” The words faded into the wind. Eira’s thumbs stroked his cheeks, wet with tears. Her own might have been wet, too.
Wordlessly, Ducot stepped back. For a breath, Eira thought that he was about to run back to the knights held at bay on the other side of Cullen’s wind. That nothing would satiate his bloodlust until he killed them all—or joined Noelle by their hand.
His lips moved. Eira couldn’t hear the word. But it looked likeGoodbye.
Ducot outstretched his hand in Eira’s direction. She took it firmly and turned to run toward Cullen and the rest of their team. Ducot stayed at her side, trusting her to lead him from the swirling magic and chaotic city.
She didn’t make it more than ten paces before a shot rang out. A shout of both surprise and pain ripped through her as her leg gave out. Ducot’s hand fell from hers and Eira tumbled to the ground.
16
“Eira!” Cullen’s voice was the only thing she heard above the roar of the wind.
“Eira!” Olivin, more distant.
“Eira! Eira!” Alyss and the others.
Ducot was crouched at her side, hand gliding over her back, arm linking with hers. He yanked her upward as though she were little more than a sack of grain. Eira hissed, leg threatening to give out again.
She dared to look down.
The thing was mangled. Chunks of muscle were held together by strips of flesh. Bile rose in the back of her throat as her head spun.
