It feels good.
Finally, the sunrise is almost upon us, the sky turning purple and yellow.
“It’s time,” I say over the bond.
Then I drop my hold on the magic, exposing us.
Anassa and Cratos take off, moving at full tilt toward the Siphons’ lines. We must look like streaks of white and black against the terrain, we’re moving so fast.
We’re already amid their camp when a cry goes up from someone who spots us. Shouts travel through the camp, and horns sound. Siphons scramble from tents, grabbing weapons and pulling on armor in a hurried rush.
But they’re too late.
Their unnatural speed aids them, but it’s not enough to stop the death we deliver. Stark and I move in tandem, slashing throats as one Siphon gets close, then another. My knives have a life of their own, directing my arms in a deadly dance.
We reach a clearing in the tents that looks to be about the middle of the camp, and I touch minds with Stark:“This spot is perfect. Cover me?”
“My pleasure.”
He and Cratos whirl around to cut down the next attacker. Then four more Siphons close in, and the two of them become a whirlwind of blades and teeth, movements too fast and dizzying to follow.
Anassa helps, smacking down with her massive paw a Siphon who gets too close to me. She decapitates him in one vicious bite.
Meanwhile, I reach inward to that place in my heart where the shadows dwell, praying this will work. I sink deep into focus like Siegrid and I have been practicing.
I saw myself in the foresight vision.
I know I can do it. Isawit.
For a moment, nothing happens as I struggle to block out the sounds and sights of fighting around me.
The spot where the magic lives is like a psychic bruise deep inside me, tender and potent. My body remembers the shadows activating, dancing to my will.
Still… nothing happens, and I let out a frustrated growl.
Is this it?
Have I condemned us to death, all because the useless Sturmfrost Queen can’t get her powers to work when she needs them?
The spike of irritation and anger sends a little tendril of shadow out from that secret, locked-up place inside me.
It’s just the smallest whisper, but still…
“Use it,” I hear Anassa through my focus.“You are not Siegrid. You are Meryn Sturmfrost, Queen of Nocturna. You aremy rider. And you and I do things our own way. Do not stifle your anger because someone told you it wasn’t polite or proper. Anger can change the world when wielded correctly.”
I grit my teeth. Anassa is right.
Fuck Siegrid and her stupid fucking calm.
Thisis what works for me.
I channel every piece of myself that burns with rage. The flame of my fury is locked deep away, eternal and aching.
But it’shere, always with me.
Itisme.
Images flicker across my eyelids.
