Viggo charged toward the breach in the wall, his powerful legs eating up the distance even as the floor disintegrated behind him. Fairbridge kept pace at his side, wind magic swirling around them in a protective cocoon.
They reached the edge and jumped.
The world fell away in a violent tempest.
Cold air screamed past Viggo’s face as they plummeted into the darkness, ice and snow numbing his skin and frosting his eyelashes in seconds despite Fairbridge’s wind barrier. The frozen lake rushed up to meet them, a sheet of silver-white under the moonlight, beautiful and deadly.
Fairbridge’s wind magic roared, slowing their descent as best he could to keep them from becoming smears on the ice.
Evander raised a trembling hand toward the lake below.
Viggo felt the surge of magic despite his magic resistance—a pulse of power so intense it made his teeth ache. Ice-blue light blazed from Evander’s palm, spearing down into the darkness toward the frozen surface.
Shock reverberated through Viggo at the sight of the incandescent beam.
The lake exploded.
A thunderous crack split the night, the ice shattering in a perfect circle directly beneath them. Water erupted upward in a geyser of spray and foam, reaching for them like a living thing.
They hit the water hard.
The cold was a physical blow, driving the breath from Viggo’s lungs despite his Brute resilience. He felt himself sinking, the weight of his body and Evander’s dragging them down into the black depths, Fairbridge struggling a few feet above.
Warmth surrounded them.
Not the warmth of temperature, but of magic—a cocoon of swirling air and water that wrapped around the three of them like a protective embrace. Viggo gasped and found he could breathe again. Found that the crushing pressure of the water had been replaced by a pocket of stillness so sudden his ears rang.
Evander’s eyes were closed, his face slack with exhaustion, but magic still poured from him in waves. Wind and water worked in concert under his instinctive power, forming a sphere that held back the lake and carried them upward through the darkness.
Fairbridge sank towards them, his own wind magic merging with Evander’s to strengthen the barrier.
“Bloody hellfire!” the spy mumbled, wonder breaking through his usual composure as he gazed from Evander to the phenomenon around them.
Viggo could only hold Evander tighter and watch as the man he loved performed the impossible once again.
They rose through the water inside the protective sphere of magic, the frozen surface growing closer with each passing second. Viggo braced himself for the impact.
It never came.
The remaining ice simply parted, Evander’s magic carving a path through the frozen sheet as easily as scattering petals in the wind.
They broke the surface.
Evander’s powers carried them up and over the shattered ice before depositing them gently on the snow-covered shore. Relief weakened Viggo as his boots touched solid ground.
Evander went limp in his arms, the magic he’d wielded to protect them abating with a suddenness that curdled Viggo’s stomach.
“Evander!” He dropped to his knees and cradled the mage against his chest, one hand moving frantically to cup his face. “Evander, can you hear me?!”
His lover was deathly pale, his breathing shallow and rapid. A thin trickle of blood seeped from his nose.
“He’s alive.” Fairbridge knelt beside them and pressed two fingers to Evander’s throat. “His pulse is weak but steady.” He swallowed and met Viggo’s panicked gaze. “He’s simply spent.”
Fear kept its vice-like hold on the Brute’s heart despite the spy’s reassurance.
The sound of voices reached them then, distant but growing closer. Viggo’s head snapped up, his body tensing instinctively even as exhaustion dragged at his limbs.
Torches bobbed in the darkness, descending a mountain path. The orange glow illuminated figures in uniform. At the head of the group, his blond hair unmistakable even in the dim light, was Inspector Richter.
