Her eyes were wide.
Vacant.
A heart-wrenching wail erupted from beside her. “Mama!”
Aya felt the nudge of Evie’s power as it wrapped around her fully, just as it had in Dunmeaden.
She knew exactly what the saint intended.
“Please,” Aya whispered.
“Finish it.”
Aya looked back at Evie, her image blurring with her tears. “Please,” Aya begged again.
“Finish. It.”
Aya’s hand rose, an invisible force compelling it upward. She trembled as she tried to fight against it, her nails digging into her palm, her mind screaming its resistance, but her fist unfurled anyway. Her power rose, pulled from the depths of her well by Evie’s volition.
“Please,” Aya rasped.
Not to Evie, but to her gods.
Please. Please. Please.
It was no use.
Light burst from Aya’s palm, a jagged line that speared across the space until it met its mark. The child’s eyes went wide, her body stilling for one breath. Two. And then she dropped to the ground beside her mother.
Dead.
Distantly, Aya registered the hacking coughs of the soldiers coming back to themselves, brought to the brink of death only to be yanked back by Evie’s hand. They melded with the continued din of those rushing to escape the docks. But it was lost to the roaring in Aya’s ears.
She’d killed her.
She’d killed her.
She’d killed her.
Andras grabbed her roughly, her head jerking as he hauled her back to Evie. Someone had given him shackles, but the cold bite of the metal as he fixed them to her wrists was not enoughto shake her from the fog that had descended over her senses.
Evie grabbed her hands, clucking her tongue as she examined the cut the sword had made to Aya’s wrist. She pressed her fingers against it, hard enough that a fresh surge of blood seeped from the wound. It should have hurt, should have had Aya wincing against it, but she hardly felt anything at all as Evie’s healing light knitted her skin back together.
The saint’s fingers moved to Aya’s palm, trailing over the scar there. Her head cocked in consideration as she took in the marker of all Aya and Will were to one another.
A broken sound fell from Aya’s lips before she could stop it.
A warm pulse of power rushed over her skin, and Aya slammed her eyes shut. She could not bear to watch this. Yet her tears escaped regardless, something deep inside her shattering as Evie removed her scar.
The power receded, and Aya forced herself to take in her palm. It was as smooth as the day her power had ripped from her in the market.
“There,” Evie murmured, caressing the healed skin. “All clean.”
She dropped Aya’s hands and turned to face Dav, straightening her tunic. “I trust you need no further demonstration, General.”
Dav’s sword trembled in his grip. “The king will have your head for killing those prisoners. Those were humans meant to be turned for His Majesty’s army!”
“Your king will be grateful that this is the only retribution I demand for your insolence,” Evie growled. “Now, unless you wish to join them,” she motioned to the dead prisoners, “might I request an escort to your king?”
