He grabs one of the watchtower guard’s horns and blows into it three short times—a signal different from the main alarm—to garner the villagers’ attention. When they fall quiet, the fracturing of the ice can be heard loud and clear.
Every eye looks to the wall, then the courtyard descends into chaos.
Colden sends me down the ladder first, and though my strength is gone and my pulse is racing, I do well—until my foot hits a rung slick with frost.
I slip but manage to grab hold of the next rung down as I fall.
Heart thundering against my breastbone, I glance up at Colden. He stares down at me, nostrils flaring, but even amid his frustration, I see his love for me. “Don’t you dare disobey me ever again,” he says. “I will throw you over my knee.”
I’m too rattled to know what I’m doing, but I smile sheepishly and shrug, then keep moving.
Anotherthudof impact. This time, the wall groans.
“Go, Nephele!” Colden shouts. “Hurry!”
When my feet hit the ground, I stumble backward, my knees trembling. Colden jumps off the third rung and grabs me, rushing toward the castle.
More fire strikes the wall behind us,thudafterthud, until an unnatural rumble shakes the world as the frozen blockade shatters.
Colden yanks me down and covers my head as a curved, glacial shield forms above us.
As ice pelts the shield, people across the courtyard cry out in agony. Wood splinters, steel clangs, arrows scream, and the thunder of hooves beat the ground.
“If I tell you to stay put,” Colden says, “you’re not going to listen, are you?”
I pretend to think about it. “Not a chance.”
“Then stay alive. That’s all I ask.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I grip the hilt of my sword, and Colden holds out his hand. Chilly, crackling energy skitters over his skin and between his fingers. When he throws the shield of ice aside, we both come up ready for a fight.
Eastland warriors pour through the opening in the wall and flood the courtyard, followed by a flock of squawking crows that spread over Winterhold as surely as the falling twilight. Some riders bolt toward the village, hoisting torches and flaming arrows. Aggression rolls off them, all for people who have never harmed anyone.
My exhaustion vanishes, my energy renewed by rage and pure adrenaline.
Colden and I move into the fray. Fire has already taken hold of every watchtower, and the guards inside are trapped and screaming for help.
My king blasts the tower we just fled with frost, quickly dousing the fire. The guards grab their weapons and join the melee.
The haze of disbelief clouds my mind as I look around, cold shock gripping me in its unrelenting hand. Already, many of the villagers andwitches who came to defend Winterhold lie dead, their bodies burned to silhouettes of ash in the snow.
And above, on the ramparts. More ash,staining the castle’s stones as if their bodies had been flash-burned into the rock.
From behind my shield, I watch the invaders closely. When they nock their arrows, the tips burst into a living flame before release. And when they strike their target, that flame doesn’t just burn them. It infects, destroying from the inside, until fire pours from their mouths and eyes, incinerating their bodies until there is nothing left but ash.
Gods. If this is happening here, then it happened in the valley, too.
In Silver Hollow.
A warrior eyes me and turns his horse my way, brandishing his sword. I try to summon my magick. Even a drop. But there’s nothing left.
My heart hammers mercilessly. I’ve never fought like this. Only training fights with Colden, Alexus, and others from Winterhold. It’s never been life or death.
It is now.
The rider approaches. On horseback, he has the advantage of momentum, height, and reach. This is the least ideal situation for an attack, but I ready myself.
