This is madness. “How do you know?”
“I trust you.”
That’s stupidis my only thought before Roshan lunges forward, shoving me right off the edge of the seat. My knees take the brunt of the fall.Hard.
“What the fuck, Roshan?” I bite out.
“Now fight me.”
Taken aback, I collect myself for a moment before a serpentlike strike to my torso has me tumbling onto my ass, the breath blasting out of me. Pain blooms. He’s not playing around, because unlike the last time we sparred, this flaming hurts.
“Fight back,” he taunts as I stagger to my feet, before he delivers another vicious punch-kick combination.
Within seconds, heat kindles in the pit of my belly and shootsdown the length of my arms as defensive magic sparks across my fingertips in infinitesimal silvery-white arcs. The runes on my forearms ignite and spread like a wave crashing over a shore.
“Beautiful,” Roshan whispers in awe, staring at the gilded sigils on my skin, but I can’t even feel pleasure about the murmured compliment. As he attacks again, I manage to pivot out of the way and come up with a double-fisted jab to his jaw that he dodges. “You were holding out on me before,” he says, an approving glint in his eye.
“Some,” I pant.
I don’t admit that my father taught me to fight with fists and weapons from about the time that I learned to walk. That I’d only asked Roshan to teach me to get him out of his own head and maybe as a way to spend more time with him...
Frowning, I wonder if my father had prepared me because he’d guessed something like this could happen—that I’d have to defend myself. The thought of my parents keeping such a vital secret from me is gutting. But then I remember that my father never told me about living in Kaldari. Or about my mother’s protective power! How many secrets have they withheld over the years? How much more prepared would I have been for this moment if I hadn’t been kept so uselessly in the dark? Bitterness chokes me.
“Where did you go just then?” Roshan asks. “You were distracted.”
“They all lied to me,” I say dully. “My parents, my aunt.”
Empathy flashes in his eyes. “They wanted to protect you.”
“I hate lies.”
Roshan doesn’t move for a moment, a muscle tensing in his jaw, but then his stare shutters slightly as he moves back into fighting position. “Sometimes lies are a necessary evil.”
I wonder if he’s talking about his brother and the queen.
Ducking to avoid Roshan’s fist, I reorient myself, but he comes fast at me again. This time, I kick out, catching him in the gut, and hegrunts at the contact. A vicious series of punches and rapid kicks has him on retreat with wide eyes. But a sly answering sweep from his leg has me flat on my back once more, my skull colliding with the floor. White spots fill my vision and lightning roars through me.
Think of it as a web,Aran had said.An extension of you.
From my supine position, I inhale and press out, attempting to release the magic toward him to freeze him in place. I even sketch the rune for ice for good measure, but nothing happens. The magic coalesces at my center, but it doesn’t do much more than that, as if it intuitively senses that Roshan is not a threat.
Or thatIdon’t see him as a threat.
“This isn’t going to work,” I snarl, and push to my knees, facing away from him.
But before I can right myself, fabric envelopes my head, shrouding me in darkness and cutting off my airflow. Sounds assault me from all corners of the room: a door slamming closed, a thump, the dull tenor of someone grunting as though in pain, a crash of something, the clap of thudding footsteps.
“Roshan?” I shout, straining against the cloth. What in Droon is happening?
There’s no reply, only a groan and the sensation of the sack drawing tighter against my face, making me choke on rough, dust-filled fibers. Powerful, ruthless arms drag me along the floor—it feels like at least two people. A cloying patchouli musk fills my nostrils. I know Roshan’s scent and this isn’t it. I start to struggle in earnest, my fists punching and clawing, my legs kicking and flailing.
“Roshan, please, if you’re there, say something.” My voice is muffled, even to my own ears.
But there’s nothing but silence and the inexorable, suffocating pressure of the bag against my face. Smothering me. An unrelenting forearm squeezes against my neck. I start to hyperventilate as I gasp for air, and the burning sensation in the pit of my belly intensifies.My blood boils, fire liquefying in my veins. Oh, sands. I feel it the second my magic ignites.
Don’t kill anyone. Don’t kill anyone. Don’t kill anyone.
My control is thin at best, but the magical energy howling to life inside me like a thunderstorm doesn’t fragment. I don’t want to kill, but I’m not above maiming my enemy... if my gift cooperates, that is. I focus on the arm so brutally cutting off my air supply with each passing second.
