They fell to the floor, snarling and scrabbling at one another. Brint grabbed the poker, and instead of getting into a futile wrestling match, she let it go, jamming her elbow into his throat during the opening her lack of resistance created.
He recoiled, choking for breath. Calya shoved off him and struggled to her feet. She stamped on his hand to make him drop the poker, but her feet were faster than her hands—she kicked it away in her panicked haste, snatching at air.
No matter. Her old training master had been onto something about running.
Calya took a few wobbling steps, adrenaline surging, but her brain lagged behind. Out to the pit, or back into the hallway? The pit room might be a dead end, but what if she ran into Brint’s Coalition cronies? If he was still here, surely, he must have co-conspirators hanging around to help him escape to wherever the supposed Wellspring Plan B was.
Brint took the decision out of her hands. Light streaked past her, hitting the window and shattering the glass. Calya screamed, her arms raised to ward off the falling glass as she ran for the door. Gods fucking— She’d forgotten that, though he wasn’t a particularly good mage, Brint wielded light and had played at learning some of the combat moves of a lightwrath.
Another bolt of white-hot light smashed into the open doorway, making her hesitate. The moment of indecision was enough for Brint to catch up, tackle her, and send them both to the ground again. As Calya scrambled to get up, she hissed in pain, broken shards of glass biting into her hands. The previous injury to her ribs roared back to life, making her gasp for breath.
More pain erupted along her scalp as Brint hauled her up by the hair. He dragged her back to the desk, grabbing one of her bloody hands.
“Sorry, Calya, but you’ve left me no choice,” Brint said through gritted teeth. “You get to be material now.”
He forced her palm against the poison’s brick enclosure. Calya screamed again as searing heat raced across her skin. A blinding light flashed up from the brick, and it felt like fiery needles stabbing into her hand.
When Brint finally released her, Calya ripped her hand back, expecting to leave a layer of skin behind. She heaved herself backward, only stopping when her shoulders thumped against the wall. She stared down at her palm cradled against her chest, preparing herself to see raw, burned flesh.
Her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the very real pain she’d just felt with the relatively normal skin of her palm. Sure, she had some cuts from the glass, but no extra damage.
Almost. Almost no extra damage. The last of the needle-like pain concentrated at the middle of her hand, fading—but not without leaving a thick, jagged line bisecting her palm. More than a simple scar. A brand, a marking like that on the glass sphere, only in miniature.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” The words fell from her lips in a horrified whisper.
“You asked me why. Why I got involved with this. Does it even matter anymore?” The fervor was gone from his tone. He sounded… sad, with a bitterness not entirely directed at her anymore but inward. “Money. Prestige to match my brother. Power. This far in, does it even matter?” He offered her a broken smile. “Like you said, it can’t end well, not anymore. For either of us.”
“Brint.”
“Unless you help me. Help yourself.” He nodded at her branded palm, holding a hand up to show he had one to match. “The Coalition would never let us out. Eylle’s bargain binds. Even if I got away, what then? You called this treason—do you really think the Upper Council at home would see it differently? Would the Valley?”
“Am I poisoned now?” Calya demanded, ignoring his attempt to play the victim.
“Yes. No.” Brint shrugged. “You’re with me now either way.” He came toward her, his hand outstretched to help her up. An offer that felt like it would seal her fate.
The wind screamed through the room, whipping loose papers and lighter bits of broken glass into a frenzy.
Calya grabbed a shard of glass and swiped at Brint’s hand. He jerked back in time to avoid being shredded, but she still managed to catch a few fingers. He staggered away, cursing as he clutched his hand.
“You hateful bitch,” he snarled.
“You forget, Brint dearest,” Calya said, summoning her most heartless smile. “I already chose a partner for this business venture, and it was never going to be you.”
He started toward her?—
But wind tore between them, crackling spots of blazing gold in the air keeping him at bay.
Calya looked to the office’s door in time to see Lowe come crashing through.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Calya was utterly uncharmed by anything, always. But Lowe storming right up to her, his wind snapping at his hair, sorely tested her resolve. He cupped her face between his hands, his eyes searching hers, bright and intense, as if he had to convince himself she was truly there.
His lips parted, the beginning of a sound emerging when his head whipped to the side. He pulled Calya against him, using his body as a shield between her and Brint’s wildly fired magic.
Brint fucking Avenor. Calya glared at him, stepping around Lowe. Her ranger tried to block her, his arm raised in defense. She nudged it aside, giving him a reassuring squeeze before she faced Brint unimpeded.
The golden boy of the illustrious Avenor family was looking positively rumpled. His handsome features, already marred by Anadae’s frost protection spell, had picked up several more scratches from their struggle. A bruise was beginning to bloom on his cheek, creeping above his beard. He was starting to look winded, too, chest heaving, mouth agape, which gave Calya a touch of smug satisfaction. Nice to know she wasn’t the only one not conditioned for fighting. He obviously wasn’t accustomed to such explosive magic use, if the sweat staining his brow and the slight shaking of his hands were anything to go by.
