Turn around and face the wall,
See and hear nothing at all.”
Saints, his voice. Low and warm, threaded with a quiet, irresistible pull. The Hum magic stirred, weaving through the air in silken strands.
Every guard froze mid-step. Weapons clattered to the marble floor. They moved, docile as sleepwalkers, to the walls and set their foreheads against the stone like chastened children.
Edric blanched. “I said seize them!”
“The guards can’t hear you Wee-Dick,” Mav called, his grin sharp with defiance. “And soon, your guests won’t either.” Mav looked straight at me and winked.
I breathed a laugh as my tears spilled, hot and unstoppable. Mav sang again, turning to face the crowd.
“Gathered guests do not grieve,
I must insist you take your leave.
This wedding is nothing but a farce,
now it's time to move your arse!”
Chairs screeched in a discordant symphony. The glittering ballroom dissolved into pandemonium as the guests fled.
“I order you to sit down!” Edric yelled. “I will try you all for treason!” Red blotches bled beneath his face powder. “How—how did you—” Edric stammered, pointing at Mav. “You’re supposed to be dead.” His eyes widened in confusion. “Seize him!”
The guards remained unmoving.
Mav cocked an eyebrow, smirking. “Hm. Doesn’t seem like they want to.”
“I have other resources at my disposal.” Edric waved in summons.
The marble beneath our feet rumbled. Chandeliers rattled overhead, scattering prisms of fractured light.
“Tremors,” Branrir said, raising his sword aloft.
The deep velvet curtains along the windows snapped outward as a rush of wind blew through the space.
“Tempests,” Thistle hissed, vines blooming along her forearms.
The Tempests moved as storms given skin. Their fingers glowed blue as they summoned lashing currents of air and water. Behind them, the Tremors advanced, the floor spiderwebbed outward in their wake.
“Saints preserve us,” Branrir muttered. “There aretwo dozenof them.”
The center of the ballroom split open with a groan. A large Tremor—easily triple Mav’s width—rose from the pit.
“Correction,” Vesper said, tail puffed into a bottlebrush. “Two dozen and one, counting the marble mole.”
“Move!” Mav shouted over the rising wind.
He slung his lute forward, strumming a sharp, discordant chord. The sound shimmered gold, a net of magic flinging outward. The nearest Tremor froze mid-strike, his fists suspendedinches above the floor. But the others adapted quickly. Two Tempests whirled toward Mav, their combined gale-force sending him staggering. He gritted his teeth, strummed harder, and sang a piercing command:
“Winds that howl and walls that shake,
Turn aside for your own sake!”
The magic wrapped the air like a leash. The Tempests’ power faltered, the whirling gusts sputtering to nothing. Thistle used the opening to strike, sending vines surging across the floor. It snared the Tremors’ ankles, climbing higher, binding their stone-crusted legs. Branrir barreled into the fray, sword flashing. The Tremors broke free of the vines. One slammed a fist into the ground; jagged spires of stone erupted upward, knocking Branrir off balance and nearly impaling Vesper, who hissed and leaped to the safety of a toppled banquet table.
“Watch your paws, cat!” Thistle cried, twisting to defend him.
