“Killian has guests.”
“Wanted guests?” A third thud. “Perhaps that is a foolish question.”
“I’m not entirely sure he realizes hehasguests. Certainly,wedon’t want them.”
“You chose to deliver my book to Lannagaros, in Killian’s stead?”
Larrantin recognized the Arkon. “I promise I’ll explain it all later.”
The Arkon, however, turned toward Larrantin, frowning as he did. Given that they were standing in what was a magical building, and there were magical people on the other side of the door if one didn’t include the cohort, it shouldn’t have surprised Kaylin to feel the effects of a strong surge of magic travel across most of her skin. It was painful, not tingly.
He then looked at the book he carried. She wondered if his magic had changed what he saw, or could see, because the magic had definitely been his.
“I could almost hear Larrantin,” the Arkon said. “He’s here.”
Kaylin nodded. “He seems to recognize you. I mean, he spoke of you by name.”
The Arkon said nothing. Bellusdeo, however, cursed. The final thud against the doors had been no louder than the several that preceded it—but this time the doors burst open. They hadn’t shattered, but it didn’t matter.
Standing in the frame of the door was Candallar.
Chapter 17
Everyone in the entryway could see Candallar—except for Larrantin, whose gaze remained fixed to the Arkon, even as the Arkon stepped back. His eyes did flicker to the open doors, but Candallar seemed to be as much of a nonentity as the rest of the gathering.
Candallar had eyes for the Dragons, or specifically for the one in the gold plate armor. Bellusdeo lifted a hand, flicked a wrist, and a beam of purple fire struck the air in front of her face, rather than her face as Candallar had no doubt intended.
Clearly, the time for negotiations had passed.
The fire itself spread, the single beam aimed at Bellusdeo’s head splitting into multiple strands. The strands, unlike the beam, weren’t single lines of purple flame; they were much more like tentacles. Severn’s chain was up and spinning; he was fine. The tentacle shattered before it could reach him.
The Arkon was, elderly or no, as fast as Bellusdeo when it came to magic or shields—and he seemed prepared for the purple fire. Prepared enough that he turned instantly to breathe in the direction of his opponent.
Candallar leaped up, and the fire passed through him.
Emmerian didn’t gesture or cast; he simply breathed fire; yellow-white flame hit purple fire, and the two sparked and exploded, one shattering and the other dissipating.
Kaylin could leap out of the way of a simple beam—and had. But tentacles were always more of a problem. Always, she thought, in Leontine. Hope managed to stay rigid on her shoulder, his wing affixed to the front of her face. He opened his small, translucent jaws; Kaylin saw a flash of crimson and then a stream of what might—at a safe distance—have been smoke. It wasn’t. Hope’s breath threw small flecks of sparkling color into the air.
Given that his silvered stream of smoke had struck the purple flame, she couldn’t complain—but while his breath persisted, it remained a hazard for anyone else who was fighting in the foyer. The foyer had seemed large the first time she’d seen it—but it wasn’t large enough to be a significant and easily traversed battlefield.
She wanted, for one visceral moment, to be agoodstudent in Sanabalis’s much-neglected class. Or a Dragon. She tossed away her bracer, releasing the potential for her magic. It would find its way back to her at some point, probably through Severn.
I have the weapon, Severn pointed out.You have Hope.
She exhaled, finding her footing.Maybe this isn’t the time to talk about this?
It wasn’t.You have time to start beating yourself up about what you lack. This is more constructive.
Ugh.
I think Candallar’s going to try to take a window.
Larrantin could see two things: Kaylin and her familiar. He could also see the trajectory of the familiar’s breath. Ah. He could see what that breath struck. For just a second, for as long as the purple flame struggled against the transformation forced on it by Hope’s breath, he could see the tendril.
Larrantin’s frown transformed his expression. His eyes were a midnight blue that rivaled Teela’s at their worst. His hair, white and black, intensified in color, the white becoming so bright and harsh that it caused an instinctive squint; the black becoming a void, a thing that implied the absence of living color forever.
He could see the open door. He could see the encroachment of something. Kaylin had a second—less—to shout.“Close the doors!”She turned instantly toward Larrantin.
