No wonder they all fled, that very first day they helped us in Briarlock.
The wind is roaring around us, biting at my skin, tearing at my hair. My lips feel chapped, and my fingers are numb. I can’t feel my shoulder anymore. I can’t feel anything.
I’m sorry, I think. But I call my magic back to myself, dragging the magic of the wind and sky right along with it.
Dragginghismagic with it.
The power hits me all at once, and I’m not ready for it. It’s ice flowing through my veins, it’s gale force winds making me breathe. It’s a relief and an assault all at once, a power so fierce it’s trying to escape. My body feels like a blizzard is stuck inside my skin, desperate to get out.
Nakiis’s voice finds me. “Breathe, Tycho. This magic is not meant to be kept within you.”
I exhale, and I didn’t realize I was holding my breath. The air thatcomes out of my lungs is like a winter wind as it passes across my lips, and I shiver.
Then I look down at Nakiis. My arm has fully come out of the sling, and I’m pinning him to the ground, his wings splayed crookedly in the snow beneath him.
Snow.
My breath catches, and I look past him. An inch of snow coats everything in the barn: the straw, the equipment, the horses. Icicles hang from the rafters above, already dripping in the summer heat. As I watch, Mercy shakes herself, and snowflakes shudder free, drifting to the ground.
And my magic— my magic still feels like something alive in my veins telling me I could run a hundred miles or burn a hundred buildings or start a hundred wars. Telling me I couldfly. The power was always there before, but this is altogether different. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.
It’s familiar, too, because I recognize that it’sNakiis’smagic of the wind and sky bound to the sparks and stars in my blood. I can feel it with every pulse of my heartbeat. I give the magic a littlepush, and wind swirls through the space, blowing some of the snow and making his feathers ruffle.
Oh.
When I look back down, Nakiis is staring up at me, his eyes so dark. The sling has gone loose around my neck, and my tunic is a shredded ruin, but the pain in my shoulder is gone.
Part of me wants to let him go— but another part of me is vividly aware of the way he just tore me apart.
“How did you do that?” I demand. “How am I healed?” I flick my eyes overhiswounds, which aren’t. “Why aren’t you?”
“The steel of their weapon only touched you briefly.” He pauses. “I had to tear away the flesh it touched so you could heal what remained.”
“Oh.” Just the memory of it causes my stomach to roll again, and I almost have to close my eyes. “Should I . . . do that to you?” As I say it, however, I remember that Jax already coated my weapons with Iishellasan steel. I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to.
Nakiis shakes his head anyway. “It has been too long. My wounds are set.” He pauses. “You are the one who must fight when Xovaar comes.” A light sparks in his eye, a hint of his ironic humor. “But by all means, make yourself comfortable.”
It’s the same thing I said to him once. I swear and scramble off him. The snow has already gone soft, but there’s enough of it that it hasn’t fully melted yet.
“Go,” he says. “Find your armor. If Xovaar sensed our magic, he and the others will not be long.”
If.
But I nod, then shove to my feet. My bow and my breastplate are back at the forge because I couldn’t use them. But I need them now.
“Your magic . . . ,” I begin.
“Our magic,” he says, and there’s a note in his voice that I don’t like.
“Nakiis.” I frown. “I don’t want it. You can have it back. We just needed to summon Xovaar—”
“You can’t give it back, Tycho. My magic is carried within your body now. We are bound until you die— or until I do.” He closes his eyes. “Go. You don’t have much time. If he has another magesmith, he can travel far in seconds.”
I inhale sharply, but he blasts me with his magical voice, which is so much louder now that we’re bound.
— Go!
“Silver hell,” I mutter. I head for the double doors.
