“Are they supposed to do that?” I whisper to Feylin.
But before he answers, the four leap off the fountain and scatter in opposite directions, crashing atop tables. Plates and food batter the ground. Porcelain and glass shatter against one another.
“Run,” someone screams.
And that’s when I know that the horses are not, in fact, supposed to do that.
24
People—witches and fae alike—scatter across the yard. Before there’s a chance to say anything to Feylin, he takes a step. Magic whooshes from his body, slamming into one of the water creatures. The horse breaks apart, splashing onto the grass like a waterfall.
There are still three of them left. The creatures rampage over tables, sending people running and screaming for their lives.
I’ve got to do something. I can’t just stand here.
I grab a broken chair and run toward one of the horses. There’s a slim chance my shard of wood will do anything against the magical creature, but at least it’s something.
The horse lifts its front legs, and a shrill neigh rips from its throat. Beneath it stands a wizard who’s shooting magic up at it.
Wait. I know that wizard. It’s Devlin.
He’s throwing blades of magic that look as sharp as a knife’s edge, but they dissolve into the beast, not causing any damage. Why not?
It hits me. The horses were created by Feylin; maybe only he can destroy them.
The creature stomps the ground. Where its hooves land, clumps of grass fly into the air. It’s as solid as ice, but only Feylin’s magic can touch it.
I whack the beast’s flank with my stick, but the wood slices straight through, coming out the other side. I lunge forward, following the swing, and stumble to the ground.
The horse turns to me and rears again, both hooves above my face, ready to stomp out my life. Panic winds around my spine and yanks my heart against my ribs. But before I can blink, the creature explodes into thousands of water droplets that splatter me.
Feylin stands where the creature had just been, a dark look on his face.
Now’s not the time to apologize.
He pulls me up, and his gaze flicks to the other horses. There are two left, one of which is barreling across the lawn toward town. Next thing I know, it bursts like a water balloon.
Feylin’s shoulders sag, and a shadow falls on his jaw. The magic he’s using, it’s taking a toll on him. He must’ve spent a lot of it on the ceremony, and now he’s wrung dry.
People are scattering like fire ants rushing to fix a broken ant bed. My family’s among them. They’re dashing toward the castle, to safety. Feylin runs off, searching for the last creature, who’s disappeared in all the chaos.
My heart plummets. This is my fault, every bit of it. How can this possibly be made right? But I’ll worry about that later. First—stop horses, then make apologies.
A scream grabs my attention. The last beast charges to my left, head down, nostrils flared. Ryals stands in its path, legs trembling.
Feylin whips around. His face contorts like he’s summoning every last drop of magic he’s got.
And it’s not coming.
The horse’s hooves are as strong as steel. Ryals will be trampled if I don’t act.
I throw myself toward him, pumping my legs as fast as they’ll go. The horse is bearing down, nearly to him. We’ll collide. It all plays out in my head. The three of us will meet at the same time.
Unless I do something.
“Ryals,” I yell.
He turns toward me, his face twisted in fear, his eyes shining because he knows tragedy’s bearing down.
