Last screamed, the ruins of the wedding arch around her, her poison vine smoldering. Her wedding dress was smoking. Bright orange embers singed the tulle and the lace, winking like hell’s gemstones.
She snarled at the old men and twisted her hands. Giant, dinosaur-size teeth snapped through the air, racing at Celia and Ragnor. The disembodied teeth were twice the size of a human and as sharp as a needle. With every bite, a spray of venom shot from the teeth, leaking a pungent, evil smell.
The taller old man stumbled back, and the smaller steadied him. He twisted his hand and conjured a giant hand that swept the teeth aside. At the same moment, the Clark threw a giant granite slab. There wasn’t any time for them to counter it or even dodge.
Celia and Ragnor were about to be crushed. A breath before the granite hit, Jacob rolled in front of them and ducked under the rampaging waterspout. The water hit the stone. The stone exploded, and the water evaporated.
“Ha!” He laughed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Now, this is a wedding.”
“Ward,” the Clark yelled, “move!”
Behind him, the shorter old man—Ragnor?—twisted his hand. A volley of knives flew through the air, speeding toward the conjurers.
Last had stumbled again, her tall, narrow heels catching on the rubble. She grabbed Luvic’s hand, yanking herself upright. He spun, shifting her behind him.
I pulled the knots free, and the knives disappeared.
The shorter old man snarled and shot a stream of poison at Primus. I was like a marionette on a string, tugged by Jagger’s will. I jumped in front of Primus and frantically untied the knots. The poison stung the air in front of me and then was gone.
Primus’s laugh rolled over and through me, leaving me cold. “Look,” he said, pleasure filling his voice.
I’d missed it. While I’d been protecting Primus, the older man—Celia?—had conjured a long golden spear. The old man’s face twisted with wrath. The spear shot through the air, speeding lightning-fast toward the Bard.
The old man snarled, his chest heaving.
The Bard threw out his hand, twisting, attempting to conjure a defense.
It was too late.
He knew it.
The spear moved as quick as a blink.
It slid through the Bard’s chest, piercing him. The metal struck cleanly through his breastbone and thrust out his back. Blood seeped free, and the Bard collapsed to his knees. He fell forward and grunted as the spear lodged against the stone floor and skewered him further.
The old man—Celia?—smiled with triumph, his grizzled face limned with justice.
Luvic shoved Last away from him, pushing her roughly toward the Clark. Then he began to laugh.
A chill skittered over me. That wasn’t Luvic’s laugh. It was melodious, as clear and bright as a bell. Luvic’s laugh was a mischievous gurgle that flowed from him like an underground spring. It made you smile despite yourself.
This laugh was a striking bell, hateful in its intensity.
The old man’s grin slipped from his face. He glanced at the dying Bard. The man on his knees with the spear through his chest—he’d fallen forward, the metal pole sliding through him. His two hands pressed against the stone, trying to keep from slipping any further. A dark, hoarse cough tore from his throat, and blood dripped from his mouth.
Then the illusion that had been netted around the Bard began to unravel. It was a weak illusion. I hadn’t thought anything of it—the Bard always had illusion around him. Knots to keep his hair brown and perfectly windblown. Knots to hide his wrinkles. Knots to make him as beautiful as any Bard a hundred years his junior. I hadn’t looked below the illusion, because I didn’t think I’d needed to. Besides, looking below it would show me a Bard.
A horrible premonition filled me. I tugged at the unraveling knots. They slipped free.
The dying Bard became Luvic.
The old man—Celia—stumbled backward. Luvic stared at him, the corner of his bloody mouth lifting into a smile, and then he collapsed. The spear jutted grotesquely from his back.
The one who looked like Luvic but wasn’t began to laugh again. It was the Bard’s laugh, but just to make sure, I slipped through the knots and pulled them free. The illusion flew away like a piece of paper in the wind.
The Bard didn’t notice—or didn’t care—that his illusion was gone.
“You’ve killed my heir,” he said, pointing to the old men. “Now let’s see about killing you.”
