Kel simply brushes his hand off. There’s only the ringing of rain clinking off the Spring Prince’s armor.
“Rosalina found a way to contact me. The magic of the Enchanted Vale calls to her,” Ezryn says. “She wants to come home.”
Kel stills at that. His shoulders tense. “She is home.”
“No, not yet.” Ezryn turns away from Keldarion. “But I’m going to get her. Brothers, are you with me?”
He looks at Farron and me.
I blink, stunned. Ezryn has never disobeyed Keldarion. Not even when he should have, like during the War of Thorns.
But he’s forging his own path now.
For Rosalina.
The answer blazes in Farron’s golden eyes, and it’s the same one radiating through my entire being. “Of course we are,” I say.
A crystalline sound rings throughout the gardens, the long echo of cracking ice, and I look past Ez to Keldarion. He’s picked up the sword Ezryn threw before him. He hasn’t held that sword in twenty-five years, but he’s holding it now, and damn if he isn’t a scary-ass motherfucker.
The ice blade shimmers blue in his hand, casting sharp lines over his jaw and white hair. The rain around him turns to shards of ice as he snarls: “I will end everyone in the Vale before allowingherback here.”
Fear courses through my body, and Farron grips my arm. But Ezryn holds no such compunction and raises his sword. “Then you’ll have to start with me.”
Kel shakes his head, then rushes forward, and the sound of steel meeting steel reverberates throughout the gardens.
“We’ve got to get in there,” I groan.
Farron’s eyes are wide as he takes in the scene. Kel and Ez move almost too fast to track, swords clashing, feet moving as they dance across the grounds, neither giving an inch.
“What are we supposed to do?” Farron shakes his head, long wet strands of brown hair falling in his face. “Kel is—”
“Come on, Fare. It’s three against one. There’s no way we can lose.” I grip tight to his shoulder. “For Rosie.”
His throat bobs, then he says, “For Rosie.”
With that, he digs into his orange tunic. “I’m certain I put a good spell in here.” He pulls out a soggy piece of paper and murmurs a low chant. A dancing spiral of leaves and wind swirl from his palm. They slam between Kel and Ezryn, jolting them apart for an instant before falling to the ground in a sodden heap.
“Oh fiddlesticks,” Farron mutters before pulling out more soggy paper from his tunic. “I thought that was a better one.”
Each High Ruler learns a way to channel the vast amount of magic we’re blessed with. Ez and I usually manifest ours into physical strength. Farron prefers to use spells, either from within himself or using written incantations as a conduit.
But Keldarion…
Keldarion’s a master of both.
“Guess it’s my turn.” I reach for my swords before realizing they’re back in my room. I only have time to mutter a quick curse before a torrent of hail and sleet strikes me in the chest, and I fly into a hedge.
“Get out there and fight!” Soft hands push me up. I blink to see Marigold huddled in the bushes, Astrid beside her. “You’ve got to bring her back.”
I gently touch my aching head. “But I don’t have my swords!”
“Are you a gladiator of the Summer Realm or not?” Astrid narrows her red eyes. “I want my best friend back, so don’t give up, okay?”
My head whirls as I stand. Ez and Kel move like flashes of lightning. Farron’s doing… I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing. Discarded pieces of paper lay littered on the ground, along with red mushrooms and strange spiky twigs.
I rush past him. “Lose the paper, Fare. Feel for your magic.”
He gives a frustrated sigh, running up beside me. “It’s not so easy.”
