Ibram places his hand on the sword at his hip. “I suggest you listen to the little man.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s your same height, Ibram.” I step around Talyria as I pull my dagger out of my sheath. I always keep it on me; indeed, it would be folly to not keep some sort of knife on you around here. Especially with guards like Ibram on the job.
Not that I probably need it now that I have Likho in my head. I wouldn’t know for sure though since I’ve always done my best to keep all the chaos at bay and not unleash it upon an unsuspecting Ruskhazar.
But I may be the most powerful being in this room.
May? Don’t insult me. You certainly are, without a doubt. Even if there is another sorcerer, I guarantee that they don’t have the same connection to their demigod patron as you do.
I hand Valentine the knife. It’s a sign of good faith so that people won’t start trying to back out of this, but also so that I can go about clearing my name as quickly as possible. Anything to put aside the doubt that Likho placed on my mind that I could actually be the killer.
Valentine bends over the knife studying it. He turns the blade to study the edges. “Hmm,” he says. He looks toward me and opens his mouth, but whatever he is about to say is cut off by a dagger flying through the air as if moving of its own volition. It slams into the priest’s throat, cutting his words off into a gurgle.
I feel my eyes widen in horror as I lunge forward grabbing the priest by his shoulders and gently lowering him to the ground. Did Likho do that? Or someone else?
Ibram yells. “Sorcery!”
Estelle screams like that is going to help the situation.
I look up, feeling the heavy cloak of shock settle over me followed closely by panic. Last time I was in a panicked situation like this, my neck was broken.
Worst day of my life.
Although this is trying really hard to claim the second spot.
I feel something nudge against my hand and look down to see that the priest is still alive. If just barely. He hands me a book that appears to resemble a spellbook. It has a neatly bound yellow cover with embellished corners.
I take it from him, a bit confused as to why he is handing it to me. His mouth moves, as if he is trying to say something, but nothing comes out. No words can make it past the dagger embedded in his throat.
I open the book, feeling my eyes widen as I scan over the spells. I was a terrible study at the Academy, but I know enough about Spellcraft to recognize these bear the markings of healing spells. They are not like any I have ever seen, extremely complex, far more than any spells that I learned.
Perhaps even strong enough to heal a mortal wound?
However, with my entanglement with sorcery I can’t just go around spouting spells unless I know that they’ll actually do some good. Spellcraft and sorcery are not meant to mix, and I’d rather not test my tenuous sanity, but I will if it’ll save him.
My eyes flick back to the man as I take in his empty gaze. Is he gone? Gently, I pry my dagger from his grip and hold it under his nose. No breath clouds the metal.
Inside my head Likho hisses in pleasure at another sudden and unfortunate death.
I gently close the spellbook. What a pity. He carried with him a book that could heal but was unable to save himself in the end.
Still, the poor man’s death has proved at least something.
The killer is indeed a sorcerer. And the killer is in the room with us since sorcery only works as far as the caster can see and sense.
Suddenly, there is a rattling sound, and I look up to see the wine rack shaking. I feel my eyes round as I leap to my feet. I whirl, pausing when I see that Talyria is just behind me. I grasp her arm and yank her along with me just as the wine rack falls over.
Costing my father a fortune.
A loud crash rings through the air and Estelle screams again, although I’m not sure why she thought that was necessary. We all heard her the first time.
I glance around, trying to determine who is doing this, but that’s the thing about sorcery, you can cast it without speaking a word. One has only to look at an object to control it, and once a sorcerer has control over an object another sorcerer cannot wrest it away,
Which leaves me in an awkward predicament as I turn to see the broken shards of the bottle begin to rise. They float there for a second and I set my teeth in frustration just as they shoot toward us.
I have only enough time to make one move. I throw myself in front of Talyria to shield her from the shards of glass flying through the air.
Chapter Ten
