My Source. It was here.
While I felt a rush of elation, I hadn’t earned anything from my audience—not a flinch, not a single bat of an eye from the elven queen, her daughter, her court.
Flexing my hands, I pushed out in the air, as if I were pulling the ice apart, hoping the motion would direct my Source to follow the movement, just like it’d done when I was surfing in the Atlantic Ocean. This time it didn’t work, of course. Stubborn-ass magic.
Or maybe… maybe the dark power woven into the block was stronger than I thought.
Prickles of doubt speared my concentration, but I wouldn’t give up. I’d made it all the way here. Water magic was in my blood.
I could do this without my necklace.
I’d just have to try really fucking hard.
Mentally swatting away the intrusive thoughts, I poured all my focus into the element I was named for. My entire being—every ballooning of my lungs, every beat of my heart, every clench of my muscle—dedicated to releasing the water from whatever evil spell had come upon it.
My hands went white as the blood rushed away from my fingertips.
A loud crack shook the castle’s foundation.
Gasps came from inside, a chorus of panic and awe. Even the queen betrayed her fear when her hands shot to the railing, holding tight. I grimaced, redoubling my focus.
Darkness crept into the corners of my vision with each pulse of pain shooting to my head.
A fracture split the frozen river in two. It skittered up the waterway to the bottom of the falls, slabs of ice descending into the electric-blue depths.
The air quaked. A deafening roar filled my ears.
A cool breeze rushed past my face. The sharp whine of swords sliding out of their sheaths followed, as the royal court took a giant step back.
Hundreds of glacial shards blew out from the falls, pulverizing the frozen sheet that the river had become as the natural flow returned. I ducked under my arms, chips of ice bouncing off the railing, the banks, the stone.
Water plunged into the pool, shattering the silence, pushing the remaining ice blocks downstream.
A rumble echoed beneath my feet. Was the balcony shaking, or was that just me? I turned towards the castle. Everything—the sounds, the light, the world—seemed to move in slow motion.
My brows crumpled. People were applauding? Shouting, clapping, stomping their feet…
That—that couldn’t be right.
Beside me, Hildur straightened, looking annoyed as she brushed errant snowdrift from the skirt of her gown. “Well,” she snarked, voice low in my ear, “don’t keep them waiting.”
Clutching my stomach, I followed the directive of the waving, smiling queen—giving the elves a painful, pathetic bow. It was all I could muster; my muscles were so sore. The burnout hit suddenly, as if I had just run a marathon, leaving my body quivering and achy.
Their answering cheers echoed off the snowcapped mountains at a level my ears simply could not handle. I blinked rapidly. I was seeing double, triple. I needed to sit down.
I caught Gunnar’s eye. He was watching me closely, as if he knew something was wrong.
Oh God.
I took a deep breath. I would absolutely die if I passed out in the center of this balcony, in front of everyone, in front of him—the cool, elven guard.
“Alright,” I clipped out, swaying against a world that felt like it was spinning underfoot. “I did it. Can we go?”
“Oh,” the queen simpered. “It’s far too late. Another time. Tomorrow.”
“Are you serious?” My jaw dropped.
“Does it sound like I’m joking?” She walked briskly towards the open doors, her royal subjects in tow, dress flowing behind her in a wave of velvet and silk.
