But nothing happens. There is no crack, no bursting into flame. No sense of power flooding through her.
She draws her hand back, hates that it trembles. “Well. That was dramatic,” she mutters.
There’s a cough of what might be laughter behind her, and she turns to glare at the prince. Dick.
“I assume that’s all?” Skylar says. She doesn’t wait for anyone to answer before she moves this time. She thinks she hears someone say her name behind her, but she can’t be sure, because there is the sound of the ground trembling as the three dragons move, then the beat ofwings on the air. There’s a flash of light from Ziva, then an angry rumble of thunder filling the sky. Like Mjolnir is pissed at something and doesn’t care who knows about it.
She keeps moving until she’s far enough away from them to breathe, to think through the fog still clouding her mind.
She can’t quite get her head around what just happened. The fact that she is now bound to the witch. That this is it, no going back.
Six weeks, to learn how to kill a witch. Six weeks, to find Cam.
15Astrid
The punch to the gut knocks the air out of Astrid.
She doubles over, gasping, and thanks the Stars no one’s around to see her getting her ass kicked by Jessa. They’re on a training ground behind the stables, the nickering of horses occasionally punctuating Astrid’s grunts of pain. The gravel has made a mess of her knees where she’s found herself on them multiple times. They wanted to train in the arena, as Gwen had suggested, but the Vatrans denied them access and surrounded the entrance with Dreki. But Astrid doesn’t mind either way. Wherever she trains, she’ll be picking grit out of her scabs.
“For Sqaõi’s sake, Astrid, if I had a dagger, you’d be dead. First of all,this”—she gestures at Astrid trying to draw breath—“is why we’re working on battle casting—because it will save your Hel-damned life. Even a simple defensive spell could make a difference. Second of all, why the Hel didn’t you block me? If you can’t cast, at least fucking remember your training. Third, why are you not back in your stance? Are you a Hel-damned rookie? No. Are you the heir of Arturea? Yes.” Jessa claps her hands. “Get. Your. Shit. Together.”
Now they’re in Vatra, Jessa’s lost the empathetic,look inside yourself and be patientapproach to training and instead gone for a tough-love,I’ll kick that power out of youmethod. She’s determined to overcome Astrid’s block—and so is Astrid—but Astrid is exhausted, her magic depleted after five hours of this, and she’s about ready to pass out. It’s so hot, too, which isn’t helping. They’ve stripped down to shorts and sports bras, not that it’s brought them much relief.
“I. Am. Trying,” Astrid grits out, wiping the back of her neck. “It’snot that easy, Jess. I can’t just… switch it on. And I can win this duel without having to cast.”
“Of course you can, but that’s not the point. If you’re to be queen, you’ve got to be able to cast—in all scenarios,” Jessa adds, obviously not wanting to hear Astrid talk about how great she is at a litany of other spells. “And it’s going to help you in that arena. She might not be much of an opponent, but the Vatran heir is not to be underestimated. She’s handy with a dagger and obviously has some training.”
At the Blood Binding yesterday, Astrid noticed the lean muscle, the fluidity with which Skylar moved, but that wasn’t what had given her pause. No. It was the fact that Astrid had felt something in Skylar, a deep pain, as soon as they were linked. It had knocked her off-kilter. That, and the images that had bombarded her. They keep popping unbidden into her mind: a dark-haired woman singing softly, the words unfamiliar and hazy; that same woman screaming to run. Dreki closing in down a narrow, hot alley. Someone calling her Sugarplum. A young man, smiling, with light brown eyes and sandy hair. She shakes them off, not wanting to know anything more about the woman she has to kill.
“You can do this, Astrid. Just start with a simple shield likeDever—we don’t need to go big.”
We don’t need to tryForsvare—the strongest defensive spell a witch can cast—is what she means, but Jessa’s right: Astrid’s going to be queen and she needs to be able to battle cast. Apparently the Stars haven’t forgiven her yet for the life she took. Or perhaps it’s because she hasn’t forgiven herself. Before, trying to learn again had felt futile, given nothing she did would be enough to beat Zryan. But things are different now. She’s not dueling to die but to live; she’s not casting to survive, she’s doing it so she can rule and rule well. No one else is going to be hurt because of her. What happened to her dad, it wasn’t her fault. She can do this.
She sweeps a palm over her body and whispers, “Dever,” pouring everything she has into that one word. Her body begins to shimmer and she holds her breath, waiting, until she hears a popping sound—the shield snapping into place. She pulls herself a little straighter,unable to stop the smile that forms. That’s the most progress she’s made in a long time.
Astrid dances on her toes. “Okay, let’s go, Sadist.”
“Did you just call me Sadist?”
“It’s what Bastet calls you.”
Jessa stands with her hands on her hips. “I like it.”
“I knew you would—”
Jessa strikes, quick as a viper, with a roundhouse kick to Astrid’s stomach. She flinches, but the blow is deflected.
“That’s what I’m talking about. Good.” Jessa cracks her knuckles, a sly smirk on her face. “Now attack me. And I mean properly. If it’s half-assed, I’ll float you naked through the Stone City. So cast, Astrid.”
I can do this.
The spells run through her head, ripe for the plucking; and Astrid grasps at them, trying to hold them in her mind, attempting to shape them with her mouth, but the words don’t form. Instead, images of her father, dead, blood foaming at his mouth, jumble with the letters and sounds and magic she needs. It was her fault. Her breathing is shallower, the taste of bile lingering at the back of her throat, her hands and her legs tingling.
She can’t do this.Useless, useless, useless. She’s going to be queen, and she can’t do this. The image of Bastet soars into her head, and it’s his dead face she’s seeing.
Jessa swipes at her. “Do it, Astrid. Attack me.”
She can’t cast. But she can fight.
