“You know I can’t let you do that,” I say. “Because if you hurt a single hair on their heads, I promise you will find yourself in unspeakable agony.”
He nods at someone I can’t see, and I feel the blade at my neck a heartbeat later. Icy tendrils lace across my throat like eddies of frost, but there’s something else imbued in the blade, not just ice. There’s a power within... some kind of underlying death magic. I quell the instant roar of my simurgh and the burst of akasha in my blood that wants to incinerate the steel at my throat.
Where and how would they have gotten a weapon like this?
Or better yet, from whom?
The man sneers. “You’re flesh and blood like any of us, so pay attention. That blade will freeze your blood from flowingandeat away at your organs if you so much as twitch in a way I don’t like. And the little light show on your arms means nothing, Starkeeper.” He spits the name like it’s a curse. “The oracle might need you alive, but trust me, we can bleed almost every drop of you and still keep you breathing.”
Exhaling, I blink.The oracle?
My gaze drops to Aran’s, and I see the alarm and suspicion spark in his gaze. This is new. Despite Roshan’s hopes for a united peace throughout the realm, confirmation of an antagonist changes everything.Whois the oracle? I need to get the alderman talking.
“Such a good boy, following orders,” I taunt, trying to keep my face neutral while my simurgh roils beneath my skin against the corrupted magic it can sense from the knife still pressed to my throat.Soon, I promise her. “If you’re not the true leader, then who is? This oracle? Maybe the grown-ups should be speaking.”
“Iamthe starsdamned leader,” Alderman Rubias hisses.
“Are you sure it isn’t the oracle?” I press. “You seem uncertain.”
His eyes shoot daggers. “No.”
“Who are they?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he says.
I fold my arms, ignoring the razor-sharp blade cutting into the flesh of my neck. I don’t do anything to heal myself, letting the blood drip down my skin.
The alderman’s eyes snag on it and brighten. “See? The Starkeeper can bleed. Now, get me your king or we’ll sever your spine!”
Knowing I won’t get more out of him, I let my lip curl. “No.”
It’s the only thing I utter before I let my simurgh loose.
Chapter Two
Bands of iridescent magic shoot out of me, healing me instantly and sending the knife at my throat flying, while targeting almost every enemy within close range. It’s not enough, however, as more enemies slink from the shadows. Maintaining my control, I let out a growl of rage when I see two of our guards get taken out by successive blasts of fire from one of the mercenaries, and I instantly restrain the man, knocking his crossbow from his fingers with a savage flick of my magic.
Easing backward, I dodge a sword coming at my head, fire magic enveloping the entirety of the blade. I pull my dagger from my waist and send my starlight along it. Metal crashes against metal, and I relish the skill of the soldier before his much weaker weapon snaps in half. He begs for his life, so I crack him in the temple with the hilt of my blade. I might be powerful, but I’m not a murderer.
A shrill scream from one of the hostages in the tavern has me swiveling, and I cry out in horror as a glowing mace cleaves through a woman’s sternum.
It’s the fox-faced prick who’d stood over Cyrill.
Rage pumps through my veins, but I know if I break, if I lose control over myself, I’ll never be able to come back from it. I inhale, focusing my center... and leaning into the brimming wellspring ofakasha. My simurgh shrieks and lances a silvery whip at Fox Face, snapping the weapon from his hands and cinching around his neck like a noose. His eyes bulge as she drags him toward us like a fly caught in my shimmering web.
Gods, the power is intoxicating, darkness hovering on the edge of the light, whispering for me to end them all. I can’t bring myself to kill anyone—not even Fox Face—without a fair trial for their crimes, but I won’t lie: His screams of terror are music to my ears.
No time to celebrate, though, because more armed men pour out of hiding and into the room, fresh weapons at the ready. My father wastes no time crashing his fist into the nearest mercenary, and magic flies from Aran as he mutters offensive spells while clutching the jadu crystal at his neck. Holding my web of magic firm, I rush over to Amma, who assures me she is unharmed, and nod urgently to Cyrill.
“Get them out of here to somewhere safe,” I tell him. “We’ll handle this.”
“I’ve been wielding this pot longer than you’ve been alive, child,” Amma chimes in, lifting a blackened iron pan at her side.
I snort and give her a kiss on her lined cheek. “Fine. Just don’t get hurt.”
My eyes bulge when she takes out a mercenary with a fair whack to the head and a vicious chortle of glee, then immediately turns and sneaks up on another. In seconds, he’s slumped down to the floor.
I suppose I get my temerity from both herandmy mother.
